The sun had barely crested the horizon when the whispers began. News of the duel had spread like wildfire — Kael had won the Trial of Claws. But barely.
Selene paced in front of the Alpha's quarters, her hands still trembling from the memory of Kael's blood pooling beneath his ribs, the way he'd clung to consciousness as Varek fell. She hadn't slept. Not with Talia's sudden reappearance still burning a hole in her chest. She hadn't seen the woman again since the duel, but the scent of her still lingered faintly in the air like spoiled lavender — cloying, bitter, and far too familiar.
She was still here. Somewhere.
Selene didn't trust her. Not even a little. There was something behind Talia's smile, behind the way she moved, too calculated, too precise — as if she was waiting. As if she was still playing a game no one else had been invited to join.
The door creaked open behind her.
Marcus stepped out, his eyes rimmed with fatigue, the lines of sleeplessness etched into the corners of his mouth. "He's resting," he said. "But the elders… they're already stirring. Some are claiming Kael only won because Varek held back. Others say it's proof the curse isn't as debilitating as we feared."
Selene's brows drew together. "They were there. They saw how hard he fought. How wounded he still is."
Marcus gave a weary shrug. "When wolves smell weakness, they don't care how honorable the battle was. They only care who bled more. And who's bleeding now."
The scent of ash lingered in the wind, remnants of the ceremonial ring still smoking faintly. The arena had been scoured clean, but it still reeked of spilled blood, broken pride, and something more ancient — a warning in the soil. Selene turned her gaze toward the eastern rise where council meetings were held.
"I want to speak," she said suddenly.
Marcus looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "To the elders? Selene, you're not even pack yet—"
"He fought while wounded. While cursed. He deserves better than their gossip," she snapped.
Marcus hesitated. "You can't protect him, Selene. Not from this."
"I'm not trying to protect him," she said, lifting her chin. "I'm telling the truth. If they won't do it, I will."
She didn't wait for his reply.
The council chamber stood atop a ridge crowned by black-stone pillars carved generations ago — each marked with the sigil of a founding Alpha. The air was thinner here, colder. The kind of place meant for judgment and challenge. It smelled of tradition and old power, of trials passed and blood spilled.
By the time Selene reached the clearing, voices had already begun to rise — a chorus of doubt, disdain, and veiled threats disguised as concern.
"He let a rogue challenge him on Mooncrest soil—"
"Trial or not, the Alpha can barely stand—"
"We need strength, not sentiment—"
Selene didn't knock. She stormed through the double doors, startling half the room.
The conversation stopped abruptly. Heads turned. One by one, their gazes locked on her.
Including Talia's.
The woman was seated near the far end, one leg crossed over the other, her poise impeccable, her white cloak unblemished. Her eyes gleamed with something cold, glittering like a knife edge. Selene held her stare for only a heartbeat before turning away.
"I was at the Trial," she said clearly, her voice louder than she'd expected. "I saw Kael fight. I saw him win. And I saw the blood he gave for it."
Alpha Emeritus Jareth arched a brow. "You speak boldly for someone who holds no place at this table."
"I speak because I watched a cursed Alpha fight with more honor than any of you have shown him today," Selene snapped.
A stunned silence followed.
Her heart thundered, but she didn't back down.
"Rovan was stronger. Larger. Unwounded. And still, Kael rose. Again and again. Not just for pride — for this pack. For Mooncrest. He could have died, and none of you lifted a claw to help. You think that makes him weak?" Her voice trembled, then hardened. "It makes you cowards."
Marcus had followed her in. Now he stepped forward, eyes wide but unreadable. He didn't stop her. Didn't interrupt.
Talia smiled faintly, as though amused.
Jareth rose slowly. "This is not your place, girl."
"No," Selene agreed. "But Kael's not here to speak. So someone has to."
There was no applause. No nod of respect.
Only silence — sharp and condemning.
With that, she turned and walked out, lungs burning, throat tight.
The moment she stepped into the cold morning air, she knew she'd gone too far.
But it had felt right.
Until a hand grabbed her arm and spun her around.
Kael.
His face was still pale, the wound beneath his bandage red with strain, but his grip was iron.
"You spoke for me?" he growled.
She swallowed hard. "They were tearing you apart—"
"I don't need you to fight my battles, Selene."
"You were hurt—"
"You disrespected the elders. You undermined my authority. You think they'll follow me now that I need a girl to stand in my place?"
The words were like ice. Selene stared at him, stunned.
"I was trying to help."
"I didn't ask for help."
He let her go like she burned him.
"From now on," he said coldly, "you will stay out of things that do not concern you. Speak to no one. Keep your head down."
Talia's voice floated from the doorway behind them.
"Poor girl. You thought your voice would make a difference?"
Selene's eyes stung. Her throat tightened.
She turned and walked away without a word.
Behind her, Kael didn't call out.
Didn't stop her.
Didn't even watch her go.
She made it halfway across the courtyard before the tears slipped down her cheeks. Not because of the scolding, not even because of the humiliation, but because she'd thought… for a moment… maybe she'd mattered. Maybe her voice had meant something.
She'd been wrong.
Inside, Kael stood unmoving. Marcus entered behind him, quiet but not surprised.
"That wasn't weakness," Marcus said after a long moment. "That was loyalty."
Kael said nothing.
"You can shut her out all you like," Marcus continued. "But you and I both know she's the only reason you're still standing."
Still, Kael didn't reply. He stared at the door she'd disappeared through, the scent of her anger and sorrow lingering in the air.
And in his chest, something he'd locked away for years stirred.
Not his wolf.
Not his pride.
Something older.
Something he feared more than death.
A flicker of guilt.
A thread of longing.
And the sound of her voice — trembling with truth — echoing through his bones.