Chapter 18

Chapter 18
The Wolf’s Mercy

Claire's POV

They all stared at me like I was already dead.

The last light of sunset stretched across the Rocky Ridge training grounds, making the cliffs look like they were on fire.

Shadows grew long behind the elders’ chairs. The air felt too still, like the whole pack held its breath, waiting for the night to begin—and swallow me whole.

“Claire Larry,” Elder Marrow said, voice grave, final. “You are to survive one full night in the Northern Wilds. No food. No weapons. No shift. No protection.”

My mouth was dry. I didn’t answer.

He didn’t need me to.

Beside me, Mirabel gave a soft hum, stepping forward with that sweet-voiced venom she always wore when she wanted to gut me without leaving a mark.

“Wolves,” she said gently, brushing a strand of her golden hair behind her ear, “don’t usually spare traitors in the dark.”

She smiled.

I didn’t blink.

I wouldn’t give her that.

But my hands were cold.

They gave me an hour.

Just one.

To prepare. To die. To pretend I was fine.

I slipped out of the circle without looking back, my legs moving on instinct, my heart thudding with a rhythm I couldn’t quiet. At the edge of the training grounds, a patch of herb brush grew half-wild near the stone ruins—useless to most in this situation, but not to me.

I knelt, fingers quick, whispering low to the earth as I worked. “Moon goddess, if you’re listening…” I plucked feverroot, sliding it into the side of my boot. “…I’m not asking to be saved.”

I tucked wolfthorn behind my wrist wraps. “Just… help me survive.”

A wind stirred. Dry. Empty.

Of course.

Even the goddess had turned her back.

“Claire.”

I jerked at the voice, standing so fast the ground tilted.

Blake stood a few feet away, arms crossed, shoulders tense under the setting sun. His face—stone. As always. But his jaw ticked once.

He held something in his hand.

A black jacket.

Thick. Warm. His.

I stared at it. “You…?”

He didn’t speak, just stepped forward and held it out.

I reached for it slowly, my fingers brushing his. The contact singed. Not fire, no—but something worse. Longing. Hope.

His scent clung to the collar, this time it was woodsmoke and storm, and for one brief, shameful second, I wanted to press my face into it.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whispered.

He said nothing.

I swallowed. “You know I didn’t—”

He looked away, toward the line of trees. “This is your trial, Claire.”

That hurt more than I wanted to admit.

I folded the jacket over my arm and turned to go. But then—

“I’ll be watching.”

My chest squeezed. I wanted to turn around. I wanted him to mean it.

I didn’t.

I walked away.

The Northern Wilds were nothing but traitorous.

Trees stretched like twisted arms overhead, branches cracking under invisible weight. The wind howled through the canyons like mourning wolves, and every rustle sounded like claws dragging over stone.

I moved quickly at first, sticking close to the rocky cliffside, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. Every instinct screamed at me to shift, to let the wolf take over and protect me.

But that was the point. No wolf. Just girl.

Just me.

The forest floor crunched under my boots. The jacket was too big, the sleeves swallowing my hands, but the warmth calmed me. Slightly. Only slightly.

The scent of him lingered. Like a memory.

Like comfort I wasn’t supposed to want.

A low growl echoed somewhere behind me.

I froze.

Nothing.

I kept walking.

My fingers brushed the feverroot in my boot again. I chewed a bit—bitter, sharp—enough to keep my senses alert. Enough to keep me alive. Maybe.

A branch snapped to my left.

I spun.

“Hello?” My voice cracked. “I’m not—”

Nothing answered.

I pulled the jacket tighter around me and backed against a tree.

Every sound suddenly felt personal. Every leaf, every crack, every shift of the wind seemed aimed at me.

I exhaled and kept moving, heart hammering in my throat. Keep walking, Claire. Don’t stop. Don’t let them smell fear.

But the air shifted again—and I knew I wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

Hours passed. Maybe. Or maybe just minutes.

Time was strange out here.

I found a rock ledge near a stream and crouched low beneath it. Just enough space to sit, knees to my chest, wrapped in Blake’s jacket like a shield.

I thought of home.

Of Crystal Falls.

Of my mother’s voice when she used to braid my hair. When she was still alive.

Of my father’s silence when he said goodbye.

Of Blake’s eyes the first time he touched my skin and didn’t flinch.

I didn’t cry.

I hadn’t earned that.

Instead, I whispered. Not to the moon this time—but to him.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

My voice was rough, barely air.

“You just watched them sentence me. Like I’m nothing.”

The silence answered.

And then—

Another sound.

A different one.

Not wind. Not a wolf.

A whisper of breath. A weight shifting leaves.

I held mine, my heart thrashing so loudly I was sure whatever it was could hear it.

The trees in front of me rustled again.

Then—

Yellow.

Eyes.

Flickering between branches. Watching me.

Too high off the ground to be an animal. Too silent to be human.

My hand moved toward the herbs in my wrap.

The eyes didn’t blink.

Another pair appeared beside it.

And another.

They surrounded me.

Three. No—four.

My pulse roared.

Wolves.

Not of this pack.

Not from Mirage-Ember.

These were wild wolves.

Rogues.

They moved closer.

Slow. Methodical. Predatory.

One step forward and I could hear the low growl vibrating through the trees like a warning drum.

I stood. My legs trembled, but I forced them to hold.

I wouldn't run. I knew better.

If I ran, I’d die.

I reached for the jacket’s collar, breathing through my nose, trying to keep Blake’s scent in my lungs like a shield. It didn’t help. My stomach flipped.

And then—

A voice. Low. Unfamiliar. Laced with something rough and sharp.

“Claire.”

My head whipped around.

He stood behind them.

His shirt was torn, chest rising and falling like he’d run the whole forest.

His eyes locked on mine—before flicking to the wolves circling me.

He growled.

Not just any growl.

Alpha.

They froze.

The moment shattered.

I breathed again—but only for a second.

Because then he said—

“They weren’t supposed to find you this early.”

And my blood ran cold. On instinct, o turned and ran.