Chapter 15 A Weapon of My Own
ELARA
I stare at Kael. The sounds of the pack’s celebration outside are a distant roar, like the ocean heard from inside a seashell. Here, in the quiet of the lodge, the only sound is the frantic pounding of my own heart.
“The past has a way of catching up,” he says again, his voice a quiet intensity that pins me in place. “The question is, are you going to keep running from it? Or are you finally going to turn around and face it?”
I want to scream at him. What does he know about it? About the humiliation. About seeing the pity in every eye. About hearing your own mate, your other half, declare you worthless in front of your entire world.
“Face it with what?” I ask, and my voice is a thin, brittle thing. “I just found my wolf. I don’t know how to fight. I don’t know how to do anything but run. You’d be taking a liability onto your team.”
The word tastes like poison. It is Damon’s word. I am using his weapon against myself.
Kael’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t argue or reassure me. He just holds my gaze.
“He was wrong about you, Elara. He was wrong about everything. He used the Games as an excuse. A convenient way to justify his own ambition. He saw a game and he saw a prize. He never saw you.”
“He saw a wolf-less girl,” I correct, the words sharp.
“He saw what he wanted to see,” Kael says, taking a step closer. “I see a woman who survived three years in exile. I see someone with a tactical mind sharpened by having to be invisible. I see a silver wolf the likes of which haven’t been seen in a generation. He was a fool. Do not let his foolishness define you.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” I whisper, turning away from him. I can’t look at the belief in his eyes. It is too heavy. “It’s your pack’s chance. I can’t be the reason you fail.”
“You will never be the reason we fail.”
His voice is absolute. A statement of faith so pure it hurts. I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself, and walk away from him, needing air, needing space from the certainty in his voice.
I find myself in the large communal kitchen. It is empty. The whole pack is outside, celebrating the coming challenge. A half-chopped pile of carrots sits on a cutting board, forgotten. I pick up the knife.
Anya walks in, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She stops when she sees me, her warm smile faltering slightly.
“There you are,” she says. “Running from the noise?”
“Something like that.” I bring the knife down on a carrot. A sharp crack echoes in the quiet room.
“It’s a lot, I know,” she says, leaning against the counter opposite me. “But it’s a good thing for us. A chance to be seen. To be taken seriously.”
“I know.” Another carrot splits under the blade.
She is quiet for a moment, just watching me. “You’re thinking about your old pack, aren’t you? That they’ll be there.”
I stop chopping. I rest my hands on the counter, staring at the pieces of bright orange vegetable. “He will be there. Damon.”
Anya’s expression hardens. The kind Beta disappears, and for a second, I see the warrior she is. “Good. Let him see you.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “See me what? Fumble my way through a trial? Make a fool of myself and this pack?”
“See you alive,” she says, her voice intense. “See you with a wolf he could only dream of. See you standing with a pack that knows your worth. Sometimes, Elara, the best revenge is just to thrive.”
She pushes off the counter and comes to stand beside me. She places a calloused hand over mine, stilling the knife.
“I ran, too,” she says, her voice dropping so low I have to strain to hear her. “My old pack… my Alpha… he wasn’t a good man. He saw strength as something to be owned. Controlled. I wasn’t strong enough to fight him, so I ran. I ended up here. Found Kael. Found a home.”
She looks me in the eye, her own gaze filled with the ghosts of her past. “But a part of me always wondered what would have happened if I had stayed and fought. If I had just stood my ground once. You have a chance to do that. Not just for us. For you.”
Her words are a mirror to Kael’s. Face it. Stand your ground.
“He called me weak,” I say, the confession tasting like shame.
“Then prove him wrong,” she says simply. “Not to him. Who cares what he thinks? Prove it to the girl he tried to break.”
She gives my hand a gentle squeeze and then leaves me alone in the kitchen, the scent of her conviction lingering in the air. I stare at the knife in my hand. A tool. A weapon.
Damon used the Games as a weapon against me. The thought hits me with the force of a physical blow. He picked the one thing he knew I could never be a part of and used it as his reason, his shield.
He made us a victim, Luna’s voice rumbles in my head. It is the first time she has spoken since the announcement. Her voice is a low, dangerous growl. He made us a casualty of his ambition. He will be there. At his precious Games. He will be there with his chosen mate, his strong wolf. Let him see us run.
The thought of it, of facing him, of being in that arena, fills me with a terror so profound I feel sick.
We are not the girl who cried on her birthday, Luna snarls. We are not the ghost who hid in a city of humans. We are the Silver Wolf. We do not hide.
Her pride is a fire in my blood. Her fury is a steel rod in my spine. She is right. We are not that girl anymore. I have been running for three years. I am tired of the sound of my own footsteps.
A new feeling begins to smolder in the pit of my stomach. It is not hope. It is not courage. It is rage. A cold, clean rage directed not just at Damon, but at the broken girl I allowed myself to be for so long.
I put the knife down. My decision is made.
I walk out of the kitchen, through the lodge, and back out onto the porch. The celebration is in full swing. The pack is alive with energy. Kael stands in the middle of it all, talking to some of the warriors. He is their Alpha, their leader. But he looks up as I appear, as if he felt my presence the moment I stepped outside.
I walk down the steps, my head held high. The pack members part for me, their conversations falling quiet as I pass. They are all watching me. But for the first time, I do not feel their pity. I feel their anticipation.
I stop in front of Kael.
“You’re putting together a team for the Games,” I say. It is not a question.
He nods slowly, his green eyes searching mine. “I am.”
“You will need warriors,” I continue, my voice clear and steady, carrying in the sudden silence. “Strong ones. Fast ones.”
“The strongest and the fastest,” he agrees, his expression unreadable.
I take a deep breath. This is it. The choice. Run or fight.
“You also said you needed a different kind of strength,” I say, my gaze unwavering. “You said you needed a survivor. Is that spot on the team still open?”
I am not asking for a favor. I am not pleading for a chance. I am claiming my place.
A slow smile spreads across Kael’s face. It is a devastating sight. It is full of pride. It is full of respect. It is the smile of an Alpha who has just found his sharpest weapon.
“For you, Elara,” he says, his voice a low, powerful rumble that every wolf in the clearing can hear. “A spot was always being saved.”
A roar of approval goes up from the pack. It is deafening. It is a wave of acceptance so powerful it almost brings me to my knees. Rhys, the young warrior, lets out a sharp, joyous howl, and others join him, their voices rising to the moon in a chorus of solidarity.
They are not just cheering for a new team member. They are cheering for one of their own who has decided to fight.
And as I stand there, bathed in the firelight and the fierce loyalty of my new pack, a fire I thought was long dead ignites within me. It is not a gentle flame. It is a blazing inferno. A desire not just to compete, but to win. To stand on that stage and prove my worth, not to Damon, not to my old pack, but to myself. On my own terms.