Chapter 7 When Fate Screamed
Back in Northwood pack, the discussion had continued calmly enough.
Ronan stood near the long oak table in Northwood’s great hall, arms crossed as Draven paced before him, frustration evident in every sharp step.
“The rogue attacks are getting worse,” Draven said, raking a hand through his hair. “They’re no longer just testing borders. They’re striking patrols. Weirdly, their attacks keep getting organized and coordinated.”
Matthew, positioned near one of the stone pillars, nodded. “Which means someone is leading them. Or funding them.”
Ronan’s golden eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s why I agreed to this meeting. I’ll send a unit of my warriors. They’ll help retrain yours, restructure patrol routes, reinforce weak points along your borders.”
Draven slowed, surprise flickering across his face before relief set in. “You’d do that?”
“If the rogues are bold enough to challenge pack territories,” Ronan replied evenly, “then they’re a threat to all of us.”
Draven inclined his head. “Northwood would welcome the support, your majesty.”
That was when the air changed.
At first, it was subtle—a sudden pressure in Ronan’s chest, like the weight of a storm building too quickly. His breath stuttered. His fingers curled slowly at his side.
Then pain tore through him.
It was sharp and immediate, crushing his lungs, ripping a groan from his throat before he could stop it. His chest heaved violently. Veins bulged along his arms and neck, his muscles locking as if seized by invisible hands.
Inside him, Fenrir exploded.
“Mate!”
The roar tore through Ronan’s mind, raw with panic.
“Mate is in danger.”
Ronan staggered forward, one hand slamming into the table hard enough to split the wood. The sharp crack echoed through the hall.
The conversation died instantly. Matthew straightened, every instinct screaming. He felt the violent instability in Ronan’s aura, power rolling off him in erratic waves.
Without hesitation, Matthew pushed into the mind-link.
“Ronan,” he said sharply. “Is it her?”
Ronan didn’t look up. His jaw trembled as he forced the word out.
“Yes.”
The confirmation hit Matthew like a blow.
“She’s in danger.”
Matthew’s expression hardened. For a heartbeat, a single thought crossed his mind, “How much pain must our future Luna endure before fate is satisfied?”
He reached out immediately, searching for Kael—the wolf Ronan had secretly assigned to watch Elara from afar.
Nothing.
He frowned and tried again, pushing harder through the link.
Still nothing.
Something was blocking him.
Across the hall, Draven felt it fully now.
The pressure thickened, pressing against his lungs, raising the hairs on his skin. His gaze snapped to Ronan, dread coiling in his gut as the Lycan King’s eyes flickered to molten gold flashing briefly before darkening to a dangerous red.
Draven’s jaw clenched. This wasn’t normal anger.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, scanning the hall. “Is this about the rogues?”
Neither Ronan nor Matthew answered.
The silence unsettled him more than the power itself.
“Did I misstep?” Draven wondered. “Did I offend him? Push too far?”
Before he could speak again, Ronan’s aura surged.
The world seemed to buckle.
A violent shockwave tore through the mansion. The chandelier overhead shattered, glass raining down across the hall. Windows imploded outward with thunderous force. The floor cracked beneath their feet as a crushing presence slammed into the space.
Cierce screamed as she was thrown backward, slamming hard into the wall before collapsing to the ground, gasping for air.
“What the hell is happening?!” she shrieked.
Draven staggered, barely managing to keep his footing. Matthew braced himself, teeth clenched as Ronan’s power surged completely out of control.
“Damn it,” Matthew muttered. “He’s losing control.”
Fenrir seized the mind-link with feral force.
“We are finding our mate,” Fenrir snarled. “And we are taking her home.”
The doors blasted open as Ronan sprinted from the hall, leaving cracked stone and stunned silence in his wake.
Draven stared after him, heart pounding, fear sinking deep into his bones.
“So this…” Rylan who had been quiet the entire time whispered hoarsely, “is the power of the one blessed by the Goddess.”
When the pressure finally lifted, the hall fell eerily quiet.
Matthew straightened slowly, adjusting his coat. “Apologies,” he said coolly. “The Lycan King has urgent matters to attend to. We’ll be taking our leave.”
Draven swallowed, forcing composure. “And the servant?” he asked carefully. “The one you sent?”
Matthew frowned. “Servant?”
Draven blinked.
Matthew said nothing more. He turned and walked away, leaving Draven standing there with a growing sense of unease. Only then did Elara fully cross Draven’s mind.
He turned toward Cierce, his voice lower now, cautious. “If she returns,” he said, “keep her under watch. Secure. No unnecessary contact.”
Cierce frowned. “You think this is about her?”
Draven hesitated, eyes dark.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But until I do, she doesn’t leave this pack ever again.”
——
Ronan tore through the forest at full speed.
Branches lashed against his skin as tree trunks blurred past, splintering beneath his force. The earth shook under his feet. His lungs burned with every breath, but he didn’t slow down.
“Find mate.”
Fenrir howled inside him, his voice strained now, edged with fear.
“She is fading,” Fenrir warned.
“Run faster.”
The sharp scent of blood mixed with Elara’s scent struck Ronan without warning.
“Elara…” Ronan whispered hoarsely.
He skidded to a halt, claws ripping through soil and stone as he gasped for breath, eyes cutting through the darkness. He reached for Kael again, forcing the mind-link open.
Nothing. It was as though something was blocking it. Fenrir snarled, unease bleeding through the bond.
“Something is wrong.”
Then the scream came.
Desperate. Tired. Broken.
It ripped through the forest and shattered him from the inside out.
With a violent crack of bones and tearing flesh, Ronan shifted. The Lycan burst free. Massive and unstoppable, storming through the trees like living destruction. Branches snapped. Trunks fell. The ground trembled beneath his charge.
“Please,” Ronan prayed silently. “Let her be alive.”
The clearing opened before him.
His heart stopped.
Elara lay broken in the dirt, blood soaking into the ground beneath her. Two dark puncture marks marred her neck. Her hands were drenched in blood that did not belong to her.
Fenrir let out a howl so full of pain it sent birds shrieking from the trees.
“No—”
Ronan shifted back mid-stride and collapsed to his knees, gathering her into his arms as if she might shatter. Her body was limp, unnaturally still.
“No… no…” he whispered, tears slipping free. “You can’t leave me. You mustn’t.”
The bond flickered as Fenrir’s voice cracked.
“She is slipping.”
“Elara!” Ronan roared, the sound tearing from his chest.
Matthew’s voice pierced the chaos of his mind. “The palace doctor has been summoned. Bring her now!”
Ronan didn’t answer.
He simply rose, cradling Elara against him, and ran.
⸻
The Lycan Palace loomed ahead, guards stiffening as Ronan’s unstable aura swept across the eastern territory. Servants scattered in fear, dropping whatever they held as the ground seemed to vibrate beneath his approach.
Ronan stormed into the inner sanctum, Elara held tightly against his chest.
Queen Arwen stepped forward, her expression tightening as the violent chaos in his power washed over her. “Ronan—”
“No one enters my chambers unless I summon them,” he said, his voice low and fractured.
The palace doctor and a witch rushed forward, bowing hastily. “Your Majesty, her wounds…”
“Fix her,” Ronan growled. “Now.”
The witch swallowed, visibly shaken. Though she was not a wolf, the weight of his affinity with the Moon pressed heavily against her. “Not here,” she said quickly. “We need the Luna Rock beneath the castle. Its pure moon energy is the only thing that might save her.”
Ronan’s jaw clenched.
“Then take us there.”
They descended into the depths beneath the palace, ancient runes lining the stone walls beginning to glow with faint blue light as they passed.
Fenrir’s presence pressed heavily against Ronan’s mind, dark and unyielding.
“Do not let her die.”