Why the King Walks Alone
The forest was quiet now.
Too quiet.
Brennan moved along the ridge, his claws barely making a sound on the mossy ground.
He remembered a time when the forest had been filled with laughter.
When the pack had been whole.
When he had loved freely.
He had loved once.
And it had been taken from him.
The memory burned like fire under his skin.
He had trusted. He had opened his heart.
The curse had answered.
He had lost everything that mattered.
The moon had demanded it.
The forest had demanded it.
The law of the pack had demanded it.
Since that night, he had walked alone.
Not because he chose to.
But because the world had left him no choice.
Every human who entered the forest reminded him of what he had lost.
Every wolf who dared speak of mates reminded him of what could never be.
He had become a shadow.
A king without joy.
The scent came again.
Fresh, faint, but unmistakable.
A human.
Brennan froze.
His wolf growled, restless and sharp.
The pack stirred behind him, uneasy.
Even the elders shifted, sensing the change.
"No one enters without reason," Brennan whispered.
He stepped forward, every sense stretched, every muscle tense.
Something — someone — was coming.
And he knew.
This time, he could not run from what the forest had chosen.