THE GHOST BETWEEN US

Isolde didn’t know how long she stood there, staring at him, searching his face for some kind of lie, some hint of deception. But there was none. His words still echoed in her mind.

"I see you, Isolde, I see all of you. And I love every single part." Her chest ached, her emotions twisting into knots she didn’t know how to untangle. She wanted to believe him, but how could she, when his love had once belonged to someone else and probably still is?

Lyrabi’s shadow still lingered between them, invisible but suffocating. Lutheran must have sensed her hesitation because his hands slowly slid from her arms, his touch lingering before he finally let go. She felt the loss of his warmth immediately.

“You don’t believe me,” he said quietly. She swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can.”

Lutheran exhaled, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then let me show you.” Isolde clenched her jaw, torn between wanting to run away and wanting to stay.

She had spent years building walls, guarding her heart against betrayal and pain. And now, standing in front of this man, she felt them all cracking, piece by piece. She turned away, running a hand through her hair. “Lutheran, I—”

A knock at the door interrupted her, there was a sharp, urgent sound. Lutheran’s expression darkened as he strode to open it. One of his warriors stood outside, his face grim. “My lord, there’s been an attack.”

The words sent a shockwave through the room. Isolde felt the shift in the air, the way Lutheran’s entire presence hardened, his warmth was now replaced by the cold steel of a leader ready for war.

“Where?” he demanded. “Near the eastern border,” the warrior said. “It’s the warriors from the southern pack, they're making their move.”

The tension in the war room was suffocating, and Lutheran’s jaw tightened. His golden eyes became dark, burning with the promise of war.

“They dare to step into my territory?” His voice was dangerously low, and the air in the room thickened under the weight of his authority. The scout swallowed hard. “Yes, my king. They came with numbers and they are prepared for battle.”

A slow, ominous silence followed. Isolde, standing near the table, felt her pulse quicken. Crimson Fang is a ruthless pack, one that has long tested its limits against others. They must be either desperate or foolish to challenge Lutheran.

“We should leave now.” Lutheran’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Soren, standing beside him, nodded. “I will rally the warriors.”

As the room erupted into movement, Isolde turned to Lutheran. “I’m coming with you.” His gaze snapped to hers. “No.” She folded her arms. “I am coming with you, I want to fight them.”

His brow furrowed, but she saw the hint of concern behind his cold expression. “Isolde, this is not just a raid, this is war.”

“Good,” she shot back. “Then I’ll fight.” He took a slow step closer. “Isolde—”

“I have fought in wars with you before, why do you act like it's my first?” she reminded him, her voice steady. “You don’t have to protect me.”Lutheran stared at her, and for a moment, she thought he would refuse again. But then, something in his gaze shifted.

He let out a slow exhale followed by a reluctant nod. “Stay close to me,” he finally said. “No reckless moves.”

She smirked. “No promises.”

The night was alive with fire and blood. The Crimson Fang Pack had dared to come against them. That much was clear the moment Lutheran and his warriors stormed the field. The howls of the enemy pierced the air as claws met steel, fur met fire, and warriors clashed in a violent movement for survival.

Lutheran was a force of nature; his sword was carving through flesh, his claws slashing with deadly precision. His presence alone sent terror rippling through the enemy ranks. On the other hand, Isolde was a storm.

Lutheran hesitated a bit to look out and ensure she was safe when he spotted her moving like a creature born for war. She was swift, merciless, and unstoppable.

One enemy lunged at her, but she ducked, slicing her sword across his stomach before twisting and driving her claws into another’s throat. A third came from behind, but immediately she felt it, sensed it and spun, blocking his blade before shoving him back with a powerful kick.

Blood stained the snow beneath them. Her golden eyes glowed, wild and fierce, as she tore through warrior after warrior. Lutheran watched with a surge of pride. Even in the thick of battle, his gaze found her and he realized she didn’t need his protection anymore.

She was truly born for this. The battle didn’t last long. The Crimson Fang Pack had come prepared, but they weren’t prepared for her. By the time dawn threatened the horizon, the ground was littered with bodies, and the air smelled of victory.

The survivors of the enemy fled, their will to fight was crushed beneath the sheer power of Lutheran’s warriors and the fury of his queen.

Isolde had barely recovered from the battle from earlier that day, yet rest felt impossible. The weight of exhaustion clung to her muscles, but her mind was restless, refusing to grant her peace. The echoes of clashing swords, the scent of blood-soaked earth, and the raw, untamed rage she had unleashed on the battlefield still burned within her.

She had fought with everything she had. Every swing of her blade, every swipe of her claws had been fueled by a fire she hadn’t known she possessed. And now, in the quiet of the night, she wasn’t sure what unsettled her more, the thrill of that power or the terrifying realization that she had enjoyed it.

The halls of the fortress were quiet. She had gone to her cabin, intending to rest, but sleep never came. The energy of battle still burned in her veins. So she decided to take a walk.

The night air was cool and refreshing, as she stepped onto the stone balcony that overlooked the courtyard. She had needed this, to breathe. But then she heard familiar voices speaking in hushed tones.

She turned her head sharply, ears twitching at the low conversation drifting from around the corner. It was Lutheran and his beta Soren. She stepped closer, careful not to make a sound.

“She was magnificent,” Soren was saying, his voice filled with something close to admiration. “I never imagined she would be this powerful.”

“She has always been powerful.” Lutheran’s voice was quieter, softer. “She only needed someone to sharpen her strength.” Isolde felt a wave of pride.

“She is more than just a fighter,” Soren continued. “She’s a queen.”

Lutheran chuckled, a sound Isolde rarely heard. “Of course, she is my queen.”

“Does this mean that we're no longer pushing through with our plan?” Soren asked.

The air shifted. Isolde’s breath caught. What plan are they talking about?

She took another step forward, pressing closer to the wall, her heart pounding as she listened. But before she could hear more—

The voices stopped. Isolde held her breath. Did they sense her?