A Werewolf Shifter Romance,  Written by Amelia Hart. Chapter One: Songs for the Lost The cabin stands at the edge of everything. Behind  it, the forest stretches dark and ancient, trees   so thick their branches weave together overhead,  blocking out the sky. Before it, the meadow slopes   gently down toward the village that wants nothing  to do with its inhabitants. Astrid has lived in   this liminal space for so long she sometimes  forgets what it felt like to belong anywhere else.

The morning mist clings to the ground as she  steps outside, basket tucked under her arm.   Her breath creates small clouds in the cold  air. Twenty-four winters have taught her body   to move quietly through the world, to take up as  little space as possible. Her hair, dark brown and   perpetually tangled, falls past her waist in waves  she rarely bothers to tame.

 The wool dress she   wears has been mended so many times the original  fabric is hard to distinguish from the patches. They appear before she reaches the tree line.  Three small shapes, translucent as morning fog,   padding toward her with silent steps that leave  no marks in the dew-covered grass. The spectral   pups circle her legs, their ghostly forms  passing through the fabric of her dress without   resistance. She feels them anyway, a coldness  that has nothing to do with the autumn air.

“Good morning,” she whispers,  crouching down to extend her hand.   The largest pup, the one with  a distinctive scar across its   ethereal muzzle, presses its nose to  her palm. The sensation is strange,   not quite touch but not quite nothing either.  Like pressing your hand against ice-cold glass. The pups have followed her for nearly a month  now.

 At first, she thought they would fade as   the others always did, drifting away once she  sang the old songs her grandmother taught her.   But these three remain, growing  more solid with each passing day,   more desperate. Their silent howls wake  her in the night, though Thyra never stirs. Astrid moves through the forest with practiced  steps, gathering the mushrooms and herbs that   grow in the shadowed places.

 The spectral  pups follow close, occasionally darting   ahead to investigate a scent only they can  perceive. She hums softly as she works,   an old melody in a language she doesn’t fully  understand. The words were passed down from   her grandmother, who learned them from her  grandmother before her. Songs for the dead,   for the lost, for the souls caught  between one world and the next. The gift came to her young.

 Five years old,  playing near the stream while her mother   washed clothes, and she’d seen an old grey wolf  sitting on the opposite bank. She’d laughed and   called to it, waving her small hand. The wolf  had tilted its head, ears pricking forward,   and her mother had grabbed her roughly,  demanding to know what she was doing. “The wolf,” Astrid had said,  pointing. “The pretty grey wolf.

” There had been no wolf. Not  one that anyone else could see. The pack elders had been summoned. Tests  were performed. Questions asked. Her father,   a respected hunter, had stood silent  while they debated what to do with her.   Some called her blessed. Others  called her cursed. In the end,   fear won over curiosity.

 A child who  saw dead things, who spoke to spirits,   was dangerous. Unnatural. They didn’t exile  her outright, not then, but the isolation   began. Other children were kept away. Mothers  crossed to the other side of paths when they   saw her coming. Her own mother grew distant, as  if afraid the strangeness might be contagious. Only Thyra, three years older  and fierce as winter storms,   refused to abandon her.

 When their  parents died of fever six years ago,   Thyra moved with her to this cabin without  hesitation, choosing sisterhood over acceptance. The basket grows heavy with her gathering.  Astrid straightens, wincing at the protest   in her lower back. She’s been bent over too long.  The spectral pups have wandered slightly ahead,   investigating something in the underbrush.

 She  watches them, these three who refuse to leave,   and wonders again what binds them  so tightly to the living world. Most spirits she encounters are confused, lost.  They drift until someone like her helps them   find their way forward. But these three are  different. They’re searching for something   specific. She can feel it in the way they  watch her, in the urgency of their movements.  

They want her to understand something, but  the message remains frustratingly unclear. “What do you need?” she asks them softly.  The largest pup looks back at her,   eyes glowing faintly amber even in  death. “I’m trying to hear you. I am.” The forest gives no answers, only the  whisper of wind through pine needles. By midday, she returns to find Thyra chopping  wood behind the cabin.

 Her sister is everything   Astrid is not—tall, strong, with hair like  burnished copper that catches the sunlight.   Thyra’s hands are calloused and capable, her  movements efficient and sure. Where Astrid   learned to make herself small, Thyra  learned to make herself formidable. “Good haul?” Thyra asks, not pausing in her work.

“Enough for a week if we’re careful.”  Astrid sets the basket down near the   door. “I thought I might take some  to the village. Trade for grain.” Thyra’s axe comes down hard, splitting  the log cleanly. “You sure that’s wise?” “We need the grain.” “I can go.” “You always go.” Astrid picks at a  loose thread on her sleeve.

 “People   should remember I exist. That I’m not just  some ghost story they tell their children.” Thyra finally stops, turning to face  her fully. Sweat glistens on her brow   despite the cool air. “They’ll never see you as  anything but strange, Astrid. You know this.” “I know.” The words taste bitter.  “But I won’t hide forever.” Her sister’s expression softens slightly.  

“You’re not hiding. You’re  surviving. There’s a difference.” The spectral pups have settled near the  cabin’s foundation, curled together in a   pile of translucent fur. Astrid watches them for a  moment, then looks back at Thyra. “They’re getting   stronger. The three who’ve been following me. I  can almost hear them now, not just feel them.

” “That’s happened before?” “Not like this.” Astrid wraps her arms around  herself. “Something’s different about them.   Something’s coming, Thyra. I can feel it.” “Then maybe you shouldn’t go to the village.” “Or maybe that’s exactly why I should.”  Astrid manages a small smile. “Whatever’s   coming will find us either way. At least if I  go to the village, we’ll have grain for it.” Thyra shakes her head but doesn’t  argue further.

 They both know that   once Astrid has made a decision, no  amount of sense will change her mind. The village market sits in the center  of a collection of timber buildings,   smoke rising from cooking fires and  forge alike. Astrid arrives in the   afternoon when the trading is busiest.

 She  keeps her head down, basket clutched tight,   and makes her way to Old Maren’s stall. The woman  has always been willing to trade, if not friendly. The spectral pups follow at her heels,   visible only to her. She’s learned  to ignore them in public, to pretend   she walks alone. But their presence is a  comfort, however strange that might be. “Astrid.” Maren’s greeting is neutral,  neither warm nor cold.

 “What do you have?” “Nightshade root, properly dried. Yarrow.  Some winter mushrooms.” Astrid begins   laying out her goods. “I  hoped to trade for grain.” Maren examines each item carefully,  her weathered fingers gentle despite   their roughness. She nods slowly.  “Fair enough. The usual amount?” “If you can spare it.” They complete the exchange in silence.

 Astrid  is tucking the small sack of grain into her   basket when she feels them—the spectral  pups pressing close against her legs,   their coldness seeping through her dress.  They’re agitated, more solid than she’s   ever felt them. One of them, the smallest,  begins to whimper. The sound is barely there,   more a sensation than actual noise, but it  cuts through her awareness like a blade.

Without thinking, she starts to hum.  The old song rises from her throat,   soft and low, the melody winding through  the market’s ambient noise. The pups   respond immediately, their forms flickering,  the whimpering fading to something calmer. “What are you doing?” A man’s  voice, sharp and accusatory. Astrid’s eyes snap open. She hadn’t realized  they’d closed.

 A crowd has formed around her,   faces twisted with suspicion and  disgust. The man who spoke is Rolf,   a hunter whose wife died in childbirth  last spring. He’s been bitter ever since,   looking for someone to blame  for all the world’s cruelties. “Nothing,” Astrid says quickly,  straightening. “I was just—” “Just singing to the air?” Another voice,   a woman this time.

 “Just talking  to things that aren’t there?” The spectral pups have moved defensively around  her, though none of these people can see them.   Astrid forces herself to remain still, to keep  her breathing steady. “I wasn’t bothering anyone.” “You’re always bothering everyone.” Rolf  steps closer, and the crowd shifts with him,   a single organism of shared resentment.  “Walking around with your eyes half-closed,   muttering your strange words. You  bring bad fortune wherever you go.

” “That’s not true.” “My wife died after you came to the market.”  Rolf’s hand moves to the knife at his belt,   not drawing it, but making its presence  known. “Three cows went dry the week after.   Jonas’s boy broke his leg. Every time  you come here, something bad follows.” “Coincidence,” Astrid manages, though her  voice wavers.

 The spectral pups are pressing   so close now their coldness makes her shiver  visibly. “I’ve done nothing to any of you.” “You exist.” The words come from somewhere in the  crowd, anonymous and cruel. “That’s harm enough.” Old Maren has disappeared into her  stall, unwilling to be associated with   the confrontation. Astrid clutches her basket,  mind racing.

 The market square has transformed   from a place of commerce into a trap, the crowd  tightening around her with each passing moment. “You should leave,” Rolf says,   his hand still on his knife. “The village  doesn’t want you here. It never has.” “I’m going.” Astrid takes a step backward,   and the crowd shifts to block her path. Her heart  hammers against her ribs. “Please, I’m leaving.

” “Not fast enough.” The first stone strikes her shoulder.  It’s small, barely larger than a pebble,   but the impact sends a clear message. Another  follows, then another. The crowd has found its   courage in numbers, in shared righteousness.  Astrid raises her arms to protect her face,   the basket falling from her grip.  The grain spills across the dirt. Then Thyra is there, moving through the crowd  like a wolf through sheep.

 She doesn’t speak,   doesn’t threaten, simply places herself  between Astrid and the nearest attacker.   Her presence alone is enough to make  several people step back. Thyra learned   young how to make herself intimidating,  how to use size and silence as weapons. “Touch her again,” Thyra says quietly, her voice  carrying across the suddenly silent square,   “and you’ll discover exactly how much  bad fortune one person can bring.” Rolf hasn’t moved, but his hand has tightened  on his knife. “You can’t protect her forever.”

“Watch me.” The standoff holds for several long heartbeats.  Then a new voice cuts through the tension,   one carrying the weight of authority. “What’s happening here?” Halvard, the pack’s leader, steps into  the square. He’s a man of fifty winters,   greying but still powerful, still  commanding. The crowd parts for   him instinctively.

 His gaze sweeps  across the scene—the spilled grain,   Astrid’s defensive posture, Thyra’s  protective stance—and his expression hardens. “She was singing,” Rolf says quickly.  “Singing to spirits. Bringing curses.” Halvard looks at Astrid, and she sees calculation   in his eyes. Not cruelty exactly,  but pragmatism. She’s a problem,   one that’s been simmering for years, and  problems have a way of needing solutions. “Is this true?” he asks.

“I was humming,” Astrid says.  “Just a song. Nothing more.” “To what?” Halvard presses.  “What do you see that we cannot?” The square is absolutely silent now. Even the wind   seems to hold its breath. Astrid knows  she should lie, should deny everything,   but exhaustion and defiance war within  her chest. She’s so tired of hiding.

“The dead,” she says clearly. “I see the  dead who haven’t found peace. I always have.” The reaction is immediate. Gasps, angry muttering,  hands moving in warding gestures. Halvard’s   expression doesn’t change, but something  shifts behind his eyes. Decision made. “Astrid of no pack,” he says formally, “you  are no longer welcome within the village   bounds. If you return, you will be treated  as a threat and dealt with accordingly.

” The words land like blows. Banishment. Not  from the pack, she was never truly part of it,   but from even the edges of society  they’d allowed her to occupy. “That’s not fair,” Thyra starts, but  Halvard cuts her off with a raised hand. “Fair doesn’t matter. Safety does. For the good of  the pack, she must stay away.

” He looks at Astrid   again, and there might be something like regret in  his face, but it’s buried deep beneath duty. “You   have until sunset to leave village lands. After  that, you’ll be hunted like any other threat.” Thyra grabs Astrid’s arm and pulls her away  before she can respond. They walk quickly   through the parting crowd, leaving the spilled  grain behind. No one stops them. No one speaks.  

They’re already ghosts in the eyes of the  village, barely there, easy to forget. The spectral pups follow, their  forms flickering with agitation. The walk back to the cabin passes in silence.  Astrid’s shoulder throbs where the stone struck,   but the physical pain is nothing compared to the  hollow ache in her chest.

 She knew the village   hated her, feared her, but having it spoken  aloud makes it real in a way it wasn’t before. “We’ll be fine,” Thyra says once they’re inside,   door barred behind them. “We’ve managed  on our own before. We’ll manage again.” Astrid nods but doesn’t trust herself to speak.

  She sinks onto the rough bench near the hearth,   watching the fire’s glow paint shadows  on the walls. The spectral pups have   arranged themselves around the room,  their presence more pronounced than   ever. They’re watching her with those amber  ghost-eyes, and she realizes they’re afraid. “What is it?” she whispers to them.  “What are you trying to tell me?” The largest pup moves closer, pressing its  cold nose to her hand.

 An image flashes   through her mind, brief and incomplete. Fire.  Screaming. Small bodies running through smoke.   Then nothing, just the cabin’s familiar  interior and her own thundering heart. “Astrid?” Thyra’s voice pulls  her back. “What just happened?” “I don’t know.” She looks down at the pup,   who gazes back with desperate intensity.  “But something’s coming.

 Something that   scared them when they were alive. And I  think whatever it is, it’s almost here.” That night, sleep refuses to come. Astrid lies  on her narrow bed, listening to Thyra’s breathing   from the other room, and watches the spectral  pups pace restlessly near the door. They never   settle, never calm, their ghost-forms  flickering in and out of visibility.

Outside, the forest is alive with night sounds.  Owl calls and small creature movements, the   whisper of wind through branches. Normal sounds,  familiar sounds, but tonight they feel different.   Charged with anticipation. The air itself seems to  hold its breath, waiting for something to begin. The largest pup stops its pacing and looks  directly at her.

 Their eyes meet across the   dim room, and Astrid feels it again—that  desperate need to communicate, to warn,   to prepare her for what’s coming. The  pup’s mouth opens in a silent howl,   and the sound that doesn’t exist still  somehow tears through her awareness. Tomorrow, it seems to say.  Tomorrow everything changes. Astrid pulls her thin blanket  tighter and watches the pups   continue their restless vigil.

  Whatever storm is approaching,   whatever destiny these three spirits have  been trying to lead her toward, she’ll face   it. She has no choice. The dead have claimed  her attention, and the dead are never wrong. Chapter Two: The King’s Shadow Three days pass before the Alpha King arrives.  Word reaches the cabin through a traveling peddler   who stops at their door, willing to trade news for  dried herbs.

 Halvard has summoned him, the peddler   explains, due to unrest in the pack’s leadership.  Challenges to authority. Whispers of weakness. Astrid listens from the doorway while Thyra  completes the transaction. The spectral pups   have grown increasingly restless, pacing  the cabin’s perimeter day and night. They   sense something approaching,  and now she understands what.

 “An Alpha King,” Thyra mutters after the peddler   leaves. “As if Halvard wasn’t  trouble aplenty on his own.” “Maybe it’s good.” Astrid watches  the three pups circle each other near   the hearth. “Maybe someone with  real authority will see reason.” “Or maybe he’ll be worse.” Thyra begins  sharpening her hunting knife, the scrape of   metal against stone filling the silence. “Kings  don’t get their positions by being reasonable.

” The next morning, Astrid ventures into the  forest despite Thyra’s protests. They need food,   need herbs, and hiding in the cabin won’t  change what’s coming. The spectral pups follow   closer than usual, their translucent forms  weaving between the trees like morning fog. She’s deep in the woods, basket  half-full of wild roots, when she   feels it. A presence.

 Not the gentle,  cold awareness of the spectral pups,   but something warm and alive and powerful. Her  wolf instincts, dormant for so long beneath her   otherness, suddenly surge to awareness.  There’s an Alpha nearby. A strong one. The spectral pups freeze, then rush  toward her, pressing close against   her legs.

 Their coldness seeps through  her dress, but there’s something else   in their energy now. Not fear exactly,  but recognition. Desperate recognition. Astrid drops to her knees,   hands extended toward them. “What is  it?” she whispers. “What do you sense?” The largest pup, the one with the scar,  pushes its nose against her palm. The   sensation is stronger than it’s ever been,  almost solid.

 Images flash through her mind,   fragmented and unclear. A man’s face. Blonde hair.  Blue eyes like winter ice. And overwhelming grief. “Show me,” she breathes, closing  her eyes. “Help me understand.” The old song rises from her throat unbidden,  the melody her grandmother taught her weaving   through the forest’s ambient sounds.  The spectral pups respond immediately,   their forms growing more solid, more present.

  She can almost feel fur beneath her fingers now,   almost hear their whimpers as  actual sound rather than sensation. That’s when he steps into the clearing. Astrid’s eyes snap open. The man standing  twenty paces away is tall, powerfully built,   with blonde hair that falls to his shoulders  and a well-kept beard framing a face carved   from stone and severity.

 His eyes  are the blue she saw in the vision,   cold and assessing. He wears leather and  furs in the style of northern warriors,   a silver chain bearing three  wolf teeth visible at his throat. The Alpha King. It has to be. The sheer weight of   his presence makes her wolf want  to bare its throat in submission. “What are you doing?” His voice  carries absolute authority,   the kind that expects obedience without question.

Astrid scrambles to her feet, basket forgotten.  The spectral pups remain pressed against her legs,   invisible to him but solid to her. “I was just  gathering herbs. I didn’t mean to intrude on—” “You were singing.” He takes a step closer,   and she feels the movement like  a physical thing.

 “To what?” “Nothing. No one.” The lie  tastes bitter. “Just a song.” His eyes narrow, and she realizes  he doesn’t believe her. Worse,   he’s looking at her with an intensity that makes  her skin prickle with awareness. Not attraction,   she tells herself. Just the natural  response to an apex predator’s focus. “You’re the one from the village,” he  says. “The Omega who sees spirits.

” “I’m no one.” Astrid takes a step backward,   and the pups move with her. “I  was leaving. I won’t bother you.” “Stay where you are.” The command in his voice roots her in place before  conscious thought can intervene. He moves closer,   circling slightly, studying her like  she’s a puzzle he needs to solve.   The three spectral pups watch him with  desperate intensity, whining soundlessly.

“What’s your name?” he asks. “Astrid.” “And you see the dead, Astrid?” There’s no point in lying now. “Yes.” He stops directly in front of her, close enough  that she can smell pine and leather and something   wild beneath. His height forces her to tilt  her head back to meet his eyes. “Show me.” “I can’t just—” “Show me.

” His hand reaches out,  and before she can pull away,   his fingers close around her wrist. The  contact sends a shock through her entire body,   and for one impossible moment,  the world tilts sideways. The spectral pups become visible.  Not fully solid, but there,   translucent forms outlined in silver light.  The Alpha King sees them.

 She knows he sees   them because his entire body goes rigid, his  grip on her wrist tightening almost painfully. Then the connection breaks. He releases her  and steps back, hand falling to the knife   at his belt. The pups have vanished from his  sight again, but the shock on his face remains. “What did you do?” His voice has gone dangerous,  the kind of quiet that precedes violence.

“Nothing. I didn’t—” Astrid stumbles over  her words, heart hammering. “You touched me.   Sometimes that lets others see what I see, but it  never lasts. I swear I didn’t do anything to you.” He stares at her for a long moment,   then looks at the space where the pups  were visible.

 His expression is unreadable,   but she sees something flicker behind  his eyes. Pain, maybe. Or recognition. “Come with me,” he says finally. “What? No, I have to—” “That wasn’t a request.” He moves  toward her with predatory speed,   and before she can react, he’s swept  her up into his arms. The basket falls,   herbs scattering across the forest floor.  “You’re coming to the village for questioning.” “Put me down!” Astrid struggles, but his grip  is iron.

 The spectral pups surge around them,   passing through his body in agitation.  He doesn’t react to their presence,   can’t feel them now that  physical contact is broken. “Stop fighting.” He adjusts his hold,   and she realizes with humiliation that he’s  barely straining. She’s always been thin,   but in his arms she feels impossibly light, almost  insubstantial. “You’re not going to win this.

” “You have no right—” “I’m the Alpha King. I have every right.” They’re halfway back toward the village when  Thyra appears. She erupts from the underbrush   like a fury, blade already drawn, her face  twisted with protective rage. “Let her go!” The Alpha King stops, still holding Astrid,  and his free hand moves to his own weapon.  

But he doesn’t draw it. Just watches as Thyra  positions herself between them and escape,   her stance that of someone who’s fought  before and isn’t afraid to fight again. “You must be the sister,” he says calmly. “Put her down.” Thyra’s knuckles are  white around her blade’s handle. “Now.” “Or what? You’ll attack an Alpha  King?” There’s no mockery in his voice,   just curiosity. “That’s a death  sentence in every territory.

” “I don’t care.” Something shifts in his expression. Respect,   perhaps. Or recognition of something  he understands. “Your loyalty is noted.   But your sister isn’t being harmed. I’m  taking her for questioning, nothing more.” “I don’t believe you.” “Your belief is irrelevant.”  He starts walking again,   carrying Astrid past Thyra. “Follow if  you wish. But don’t threaten me again.

” Thyra hesitates only a moment before moving  to follow, blade still drawn. The spectral   pups trail behind them all, their agitation  growing with each step toward the village. Halvard is waiting in the village square with  several pack members when they arrive. His   expression shifts from surprise to calculation  when he sees the Alpha King carrying Astrid.

“My lord,” Halvard says, bowing slightly. “I  see you’ve encountered our local problem.” “Problem?” The Alpha King sets Astrid  down but keeps a hand on her shoulder,   preventing escape. “Explain.” “This one claims to see spirits, speaks  to the dead.” Halvard’s voice carries   clearly across the gathering crowd.

  “She’s been disturbing the peace,   causing fear among the pack members. We’ve  only just banished her from village lands.” “For what crime?” “Witchcraft. Madness.” Halvard waves  dismissively. “Take your pick.” The Alpha King’s hand tightens slightly on  Astrid’s shoulder. She feels the pressure   through her dress, grounding and confining  all at once.

 “And has she harmed anyone?” “The harm is in her existence.  The fear she creates—” “Has she harmed anyone?” The question comes  harder this time, edged with impatience. Halvard’s jaw tightens. “Not directly, but—” “Then she’s committed no crime.” The  Alpha King’s pronouncement falls into   the square like a stone into still  water. “Your banishment is rejected.” The crowd murmurs, confused and angry.  Halvard’s face darkens.

 “My lord,   with respect, you don’t understand the  situation. This Omega is dangerous in ways   that aren’t immediately visible.  The pack’s stability requires—” “I’ll determine what’s required.”  The Alpha King cuts him off cleanly.   “This Omega is coming with me to my  fortress for further investigation.   If she truly has abilities beyond the  normal, I’ll assess them personally.

” “That’s not necessary,” Astrid  finds her voice finally.   “I’ll just leave the territory  entirely. You don’t need to—” “Silence.” His hand moves from  her shoulder to her upper arm,   fingers closing around it easily.  “You’ll come with me. You’ll answer   my questions. And if you’re truly  what you claim, you’ll prove it.” Thyra pushes through the crowd, still  armed. “She goes nowhere without me.

” The Alpha King looks at her for a long moment,   then nods once. “Fine. Both of you, then.”  He turns to Halvard. “I’ll send word when   I’ve completed my investigation.  Until then, this matter is closed.” Halvard opens his mouth to protest,  but something in the Alpha King’s   gaze stops him. The authority there  isn’t just positional.

 It’s primal,   the kind of dominance that makes even  strong wolves back down instinctively. “As you command, my lord,” Halvard finally  says, though the words sound like they cost him. The Alpha King begins walking, pulling  Astrid with him. Thyra falls into step   on her other side, protective and  tense. The spectral pups follow,   their translucent forms flickering with  agitation that only Astrid can perceive.

As they leave the village behind, heading  toward the dark line of forest that   conceals the Alpha King’s fortress, Astrid  feels the largest pup press close against   her free side. The sensation that flows  through her is clearer than ever before. This man, the pup seems to communicate.  This man is why we’ve been waiting.

 This   man is who we’ve been trying to reach all along. Astrid looks up at the Alpha King’s  profile, severe and unreadable,   and wonders what connection he could possibly  have to three spectral pups who died long before   she ever saw them. What tragedy links him  to these desperate spirits who won’t rest.

She doesn’t know yet. But as they disappear into  the trees, surrounded by guards who materialized   from the shadows, she knows with absolute  certainty that she’s about to find out. Chapter Three: Ghosts in Stone The fortress rises from the mountainside like  a sleeping giant carved from grey stone.

 Astrid   catches her first glimpse of it through the trees  as they climb the winding path, and her breath   catches. She’d imagined something crude, perhaps,  a warrior’s stronghold built for function over   beauty. But this structure commands respect with  its sheer presence. Towers reach toward the sky,   walls thick as three men standing side by  side, and everywhere the marks of ancient   craftsmanship. This isn’t just a fortress. It’s a  statement of power that has endured generations.

The spectral pups press close to her legs  as they pass through the massive iron gates.   Their agitation has grown with each step up the  mountain, their translucent forms flickering more   rapidly. They sense something here, something that  calls to whatever remains of their consciousness. “Impressive, isn’t it?” The Alpha King’s voice  cuts through her thoughts.

 He still walks ahead,   leading them through the courtyard where guards  bow as he passes. “My grandfather built the   foundations. My father expanded the walls. I’ve  done my part to maintain what they left behind.” Astrid doesn’t respond.  Speaking to him feels dangerous,   like stepping too close to a cliff’s  edge.

 Thyra walks on her other side,   eyes constantly scanning for threats, hand  never far from her blade despite the futility   of such a gesture in a fortress  full of the Alpha King’s warriors. They enter through heavy oak  doors into a great hall that   takes Astrid’s breath away. The  ceiling arches high overhead,   supported by carved pillars that depict  wolves in various stages of transformation.  

Tapestries cover the stone walls, rich colors  somehow both warlike and beautiful. A fire   roars in the hearth large enough to stand inside,  its warmth a sharp contrast to the mountain cold. “This way.” The Alpha King gestures toward a  staircase carved into the wall itself. They climb,   passing several levels, until they reach the  towers.

 Here the corridors narrow, the stone   darker, more intimate. He stops at a door and  pushes it open. “You’ll stay here. Both of you.” The room beyond is sparse but clean. Two narrow  beds, a washstand, a single window that looks out   over the forest they just left behind. Not  a prison cell, but not far from it either. “You’re locking us in?” Thyra’s  hand moves to her blade. “The door has no lock.” The Alpha King’s gaze  shifts to her, patient but firm.

 “You’re not   prisoners. But you’re not free to leave either.  Not until I understand what’s happening here.” “And if we try?” Thyra challenges. “Then you’ll discover how many guards  I have stationed in this tower alone.”   He looks at Astrid then, and something in his  expression softens almost imperceptibly. “Rest.  

Clean yourselves. At sunset, you’ll  join me for dinner. Alone,” he adds,   looking at Thyra. “Your sister  and I need to speak privately.” Before either of them can protest, he’s gone,  the sound of his boots fading down the corridor. Astrid sinks onto one of the beds, exhaustion  finally catching up with her.

 The spectral   pups immediately begin pacing the  room, moving through furniture and   walls with equal ease. They’re searching  for something, their ghost-forms passing   through the door and returning moments  later, only to begin the circuit again. “What are they doing?” Thyra asks,   watching the space where Astrid’s  eyes track movement she cannot see. “Looking for something. Someone.

” Astrid rubs her   temples where a headache is building.  “They’re more agitated here than I’ve   ever felt them. Whatever connection  they have to this place, it’s strong.” “Connection to the Alpha King, you mean.” “Maybe.” Astrid stands,  moving to the window. Below,   she can see the courtyard where  warriors drill in formation,   their movements precise and deadly. “Or maybe  to someone who was here once. I don’t know yet.

” Thyra sits on the other bed, beginning  to sharpen her blade despite having done   so that morning. The familiar rasp of  metal on stone fills the silence between   them. “We could leave,” she says finally.  “Tonight. Slip out while they’re sleeping.” “And go where? We’re banned from the village.  We have no pack, no territory.

” Astrid shakes   her head. “Besides, the pups led me here  for a reason. I need to understand why.” “The pups aren’t your responsibility.” “They are, though.” Astrid turns from the  window. “That’s what being a Soul Guide   means. The dead who can’t rest are always my  responsibility, whether I want them or not.” Thyra’s expression softens slightly.  “Sometimes I forget you didn’t choose this.” “Neither did you. But you stayed anyway.

” “You’re my sister. Where else would I go?” The words settle between them, warm and solid.   Whatever else happens in this fortress,  at least Astrid knows she’s not alone. Sunset comes quickly in the mountains.  Shadows grow long across the stone floors,   and torches are lit throughout the corridors.

  A servant, a young woman with nervous eyes,   comes to collect Astrid and lead her down  to dinner. Thyra watches her go with clear   reluctance, but even she knows better than  to defy a direct order from the Alpha King. The dining hall is smaller than the great  hall, more intimate. A table set for two,   firelight casting dancing shadows on the walls.

   The Alpha King stands near the hearth,  still wearing his leather and furs,   but he’s removed his weapons. A gesture of peace,  perhaps, or simply practicality for a meal. “Sit.” He gestures to a  chair. “You must be hungry.” Astrid is, though she’s been trying not to think  about it. The last proper meal she had was two   days ago. She sits carefully, aware of how out of  place she looks in this room.

 Her patched dress,   her tangled hair, her thin frame. She’s never  felt her poverty more acutely than in this moment. Food is brought by silent servants. Roasted meat,   fresh bread, vegetables she hasn’t seen  in months. Her stomach clenches with want,   but she forces herself to eat slowly,  maintaining what dignity she can manage. The Alpha King watches her for a long moment  before speaking. “Tell me about your gift.

” Astrid swallows her mouthful  carefully. “What do you want to know?” “Everything. How it works. When it started. What  you see.” He leans forward slightly. “The truth,   Astrid. I’ve seen enough in my  life to know the difference.” So she tells him.

 The story pours out  more easily than she expected—how the   gift appeared when she was five, how her  pack rejected her, how she learned from her   grandmother before the old woman died. She  explains what it means to be a Soul Guide,   how rare they are, how they’re born  maybe once every few generations. “We see the dead who are trapped,”  she says quietly.

 “Wolves who died   with unfinished business, with trauma so  severe their spirits can’t move forward.   My role is to help them find peace,  to guide them to whatever comes next.” “And the three you see now?” His voice has gone  careful, controlled. “What makes them different?” “They’re more solid. More aware. And  they’ve been following me for weeks,   growing more desperate.” Astrid meets  his eyes across the table.

 “They led me   to you. I don’t fully understand why yet,  but I think they’ve been waiting for you.” Something flickers across his face. Pain,  quickly suppressed. “That’s impossible.” “Is it?” She watches him carefully. “When I  touched you in the forest, you saw them. Only   for a moment, but you saw. That’s never happened  before with anyone who doesn’t share my gift.

” “I saw shadows. Light playing tricks.” “You saw three wolf pups with amber eyes.  The largest had a scar across its muzzle.”   She watches his reaction, sees him go  completely still. “You recognized them.” The Alpha King stands abruptly, moving to the  hearth. His back is to her, shoulders tense   beneath the leather. “You’re guessing. Making  assumptions based on stories you’ve heard.

” “I’ve heard no stories about you.” Astrid pushes  her plate away, appetite gone. “All I know is   what they show me. Three young wolves,  brothers I think, who died afraid and in   pain. They’re looking for something, and every  instinct I have says they’re looking for you.” “Stop.” “They won’t rest until—” “I said stop!” The command in his voice makes  her flinch.

 He turns then, and the raw pain   on his face steals her breath. “You know nothing  about what happened. Nothing about what I lost.” Astrid stands slowly, hands raised in a gesture   of peace. “Then tell me. Help me  understand so I can help them.” “They’re gone.” His voice cracks on the  words. “Ten years gone. Burned alive in   an attack I couldn’t prevent because  I wasn’t strong enough, fast enough,   good enough to save them. Three brothers  I raised myself after our parents died.  

Children who trusted me to  protect them. And I failed.” The words hang in the air between  them, heavy with decade-old grief.   Astrid feels tears prick her own eyes,  understanding now the weight he carries,   the guilt that has shaped him into  the hard man standing before her. “They’re not gone,” she whispers.  “Not completely.

 They’re trapped,   Kael. Stuck between worlds because  they died too young, too afraid,   too traumatized to find peace. But they haven’t  abandoned you. They’ve been searching for you.” He stares at her, and she sees him  warring between hope and disbelief.

   “How could you possibly know details  about them? No one outside my closest   circle knew them. Most of the kingdom  never even saw them before they died.” “Because they show me. In visions, in  feelings.” Astrid takes a tentative   step closer. “The largest, with the  scar—he got it falling from a tree,   didn’t he? He was trying to catch  a bird and misjudged the branch.” Kael’s breath catches audibly. “That’s—how—” “The middle one had a marking on his left  front paw.

 White in the shape of a crescent   moon. And the smallest loved water, would spend  hours playing in streams when you let him.” “Stop.” But this time the word  has no force behind it. “Please.” “I’m not trying to hurt you.” Astrid is close  enough now to see the tears threatening in those   ice-blue eyes. “I’m trying to help you understand  they’re still here, still reaching for you.

 They   need something from you, something only you  can give them, before they can finally rest.” “What?” The word breaks from him like a  sob. “What could I possibly give them now?” “I don’t know yet. But if you let me try, if  you trust me enough to make contact again,   maybe we can find out together.”  She extends her hand, palm up,   an offering. “Let me show you your  brothers one more time.

 Let them see you,   really see you, and maybe they’ll  be able to show us what they need.” Kael stares at her hand for a long moment.  The fire crackles in the hearth. Somewhere   in the fortress, she hears footsteps passing  in the corridor outside. The spectral pups,   who have been pacing throughout the dinner,  suddenly go still. Waiting. Watching.

“If you’re lying,” Kael says finally,  his voice rough, “if this is some trick—” “It’s not. I swear on whatever remains of  my own soul, I’m telling you the truth.” He reaches out slowly, his larger  hand enveloping hers. The contact   sends that same shock through her system  as before, and the world tilts sideways.  

But this time, she’s ready for it. This time,  she holds onto the connection and pulls. The spectral pups appear between one breath  and the next. Not just visible to Kael now,   but solid, more real than Astrid has ever  seen them. They stand in a line before him,   three young wolves frozen in the moment of  recognition.

 Then the smallest breaks first,   launching itself toward him with a  joy that transcends death itself. Kael drops to his knees as all three pups swarm  him, passing through his body in their eagerness,   their cold presence making him gasp.  But he’s laughing through his tears,   reaching out to touch them even though  his hands mostly pass through their forms.

“Eirik,” he chokes out, looking at the  largest. “Torvald. Rune.” Each name is   a prayer, a remembrance. “Gods, I’ve  missed you. I’ve missed you so much.” The pups circle him, whining in that soundless way  of ghosts, rubbing against him, trying desperately   to make contact they can no longer truly achieve.

  Astrid maintains the connection, feeling the drain   of it in her bones, but she doesn’t let go. Not  yet. This moment, this reunion, is too important. But she can’t hold it forever. Already her  vision is starting to darken at the edges,   her breathing growing labored. The effort  of keeping the veil thin enough for both   Kael and the pups to interact is  more than she’s ever attempted.

“I have to let go,” she manages.  “It’s too much. I’m sorry.” Kael looks up at her, and understanding crosses  his face. He releases her hand immediately,   and the connection breaks.  The pups fade from his vision,   though Astrid can still see them.  They cluster around where Kael kneels,   their ghost-forms pressing close to him  even though he can no longer see them.

 She sways on her feet, and suddenly Kael is there,   catching her before she  falls. “Easy. I’ve got you.” “I’m fine.” But she’s not, and they both know it.   That level of communion took more  from her than she wants to admit. He helps her back to her chair, then  brings her water. His hands are shaking,   she notices. The unshakeable Alpha  King is trembling like a leaf in wind. “They’re really here,” he says, more to himself  than to her. “All this time, they’ve been here.

” “They’ve been looking for you.” Astrid  sips the water, grateful for it. “They   need something from you before they can  move on. I just don’t know what yet.” Kael sits heavily in his own chair, scrubbing  his hands over his face. When he looks at her   again, something has changed in his  expression.

 The skepticism is gone,   replaced by something raw and desperate.  “Can you do it again? Let me see them?” “Not tonight. Maybe not for several  days.” She sees his disappointment   and hurries to explain. “That  kind of connection, maintaining   it long enough for real interaction,  it drains me. I need time to recover.” “But you can do it again? Eventually?” “Yes. And maybe, with time and practice, I can  figure out what they need.

 What they’re trying   to tell us.” She meets his gaze steadily. “If  you’re willing to work with me. To trust me.” Kael is quiet for a long moment, studying  her face as if seeing her for the first   time. “You’re telling the truth about all  of it. The gift, the souls, everything.” “I am.” “Then I’ll protect you.” The declaration  is firm, final.

 “Whatever you need,   whatever it takes to help them find  peace, I’ll provide it. My fortress,   my resources, my own life if necessary.  Just help me set my brothers free.” Astrid nods, feeling the weight of that promise  settle over her. She’s been rejected, feared,   and cast out her entire life.

 But here, in  this moment, the most powerful Alpha in the   kingdom has just sworn to protect her. Not  because he wants to use her gift for himself,   but because she’s offering to  help those he loved and lost. “Thank you,” she whispers. They sit in the firelight, the remains of  dinner cooling between them, and speak late   into the night.

 Kael tells her about his  brothers—who they were, what they loved,   how they died. She listens and learns, storing  away every detail that might help her understand   what the spectral pups need. And in the  corner of the room, visible only to her,   three young spirits finally rest quietly, as  if sensing that hope has been kindled at last. Chapter Four: Blood and Communion Three days pass before Astrid feels strong enough  to attempt another connection.

 She spends the time   resting, eating the rich food Kael’s servants  bring, and slowly regaining color in her cheeks.   Thyra hovers protectively, suspicious of  every kindness shown, but even she can’t   deny that Astrid is being treated better here  than she ever was in their own pack’s territory. The spectral pups never leave Astrid’s side.  They’ve grown calmer since that first night with   Kael, as if his acknowledgment of their existence  brought them some measure of peace.

 But there’s   still urgency in their movements, still something  unfinished that keeps them tethered to this world. On the fourth morning, Kael comes to her door  himself rather than sending a servant. He looks   tired, shadows beneath those ice-blue eyes that  suggest he hasn’t been sleeping well. “Can we   try again?” he asks without preamble. “I need to  see them. I need to understand what they want.

” Astrid nods, rising from where she’d been sitting  by the window. Thyra makes a sound of protest,   but Astrid silences her with a look. “This is  why we’re here. This is what needs to happen.” They go to Kael’s private chambers, a  large room dominated by a massive bed   carved from dark wood.

 The walls  are hung with weapons and pelts,   masculine and severe. A fire burns in the hearth,  warming the stone space against the mountain cold. “What do I need to do?” Kael asks, and there’s  a vulnerability in his voice she hasn’t heard   before. The Alpha King stripped down to just a  man desperate to speak with his lost brothers. “Sit on the floor near the hearth,” Astrid  instructs, moving to join him.

 The spectral   pups immediately position themselves around  them, their translucent forms flickering with   anticipation. “This will work better if we’re both  grounded, both open to what’s between worlds.” Kael lowers himself to the fur rug spread before  the fire, his movements careful. He’s wearing   simpler clothes today, leather breeches and a  loose linen shirt, his weapons set aside.

 When   Astrid settles across from him, their knees almost  touching, she sees his hands tremble slightly. “Give me your hands,” she says softly.  “Both of them. And close your eyes.” His hands are large and calloused, marked  with old scars from battles fought and   won. They engulf hers completely, warm  and solid.

 Astrid takes a deep breath,   centering herself, reaching for that  place deep inside where her gift lives. “Clear your mind,” she whispers. “Think  of nothing but your brothers. Remember   them as they were. Their voices,  their scents, the sound of their   laughter. Hold those memories close  and let everything else fall away.” Kael’s breathing deepens, slows.

 She  feels the tension leave his shoulders,   feels him opening himself to  the possibility of connection.   The spectral pups move closer, their cold presence  making the air around them drop several degrees. Astrid begins to sing. The words are old,  passed down through generations of Soul Guides,   a language that predates the kingdoms and  speaks directly to the barrier between   life and death.

 Her grandmother used to say  the song was older than wolves themselves,   given by the first spirits to  help their living kin find peace. The melody rises and falls, weaving  through the chamber like visible thread.   Power builds between her and Kael,  flowing through their joined hands,   creating a bridge between worlds. She  feels the familiar drain beginning,   her energy flowing outward to maintain  the connection, but she pushes through it.

The spectral pups solidify. Not just  translucent anymore, but real, present,   as close to alive as death will allow. Their  amber eyes glow brighter, their forms taking on   texture and weight. Astrid sees Kael’s eyes snap  open, sees the moment he perceives them fully. “Gods,” he breathes, his voice breaking.  “You’re here. You’re really here.

” The largest pup, Eirik, approaches first.  His ghost-form is more solid than the others,   the scar across his muzzle clearly  visible now. He sniffs at Kael’s face,   his muzzle passing partially through flesh  and bone. The sensation must be strange,   uncomfortable, but Kael doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry,” Kael chokes out.

 “I should have   protected you. I should have  been there. I’m so sorry.” Torvald, the middle brother with the crescent  moon marking on his paw, pushes forward next.   His tail wags frantically, a motion that would  be joyful if not for the translucence of his   form. He tries to lick Kael’s face, his tongue  creating cold spots where it makes contact.

Then Rune, the smallest, the one who loved  water. He’s more hesitant than his brothers,   hanging back slightly. Kael notices  and extends a hand toward him, palm up,   inviting. “It’s alright, little  one. I’m here. I’m finally here.” Rune launches himself forward, all hesitation  forgotten.

 He climbs onto Kael’s lap, or tries to,   his form partially sinking through solid flesh.  The cold makes Kael gasp, but he doesn’t move,   just wraps his arms around the space  where his youngest brother exists. All three pups swarm him then,  trying desperately to make contact,   to communicate years of waiting and  longing and unfinished business.

   They pass through his body over and over, their  cold presence making him shiver violently,   but still he doesn’t pull away. Tears  stream down his face openly, and he’s   speaking to them in a stream of consciousness,  apologies and memories and love flowing freely. Astrid maintains the connection, holding  the veil thin, but the effort is immense.   She can feel warmth trickling from  her nose, knows without looking that   she’s bleeding. Her vision is starting to  blur at the edges, darkness creeping in.

“Kael,” she manages, her voice  weak. “I can’t hold it much longer.” He looks at her then, really sees her,   and his expression shifts to alarm.  “Your nose. You’re bleeding.” “I know. It’s the price.” Black spots dance  across her vision. “I have to let go soon or—” Her words cut off as her strength  fails. The connection wavers,   and she feels herself tilting  sideways.

 Kael releases his brothers,   reaches across the space between them, and  catches her before she hits the floor. The   moment he breaks contact with her hands,  the spectral pups fade from his sight. “Astrid!” His voice sounds distant,  echoing. “Astrid, stay with me.” She tries to respond, but  consciousness is slipping   away like water through her fingers.

 The  last thing she’s aware of is being lifted,   Kael’s arms solid and warm around  her, his voice calling for help. When awareness returns, it comes  slowly. Soft bedding beneath her,   the crackle of a fire nearby, hushed voices  speaking in low tones. Astrid’s entire body   aches, hollowed out and weak. Opening  her eyes feels like lifting stones.

“Finally.” Thyra’s face appears above her, relief  and anger warring in her expression. “You’ve been   unconscious for eight hours. I told you  that connecting was too much, too soon.” “Worth it,” Astrid croaks,  her throat dry. “Did it work?” “If by work you mean nearly killing  yourself, yes, it worked beautifully.

”   Thyra helps her sit up, pressing a cup  of water to her lips. “Drink. Slowly.” The water is cold and perfect. Astrid drains the  cup, then looks around. She’s in Kael’s chamber,   she realizes, lying in his massive bed. The  Alpha King himself sits near the hearth,   elbows on knees, head in hands.

 The spectral pups  are arranged around him in a protective circle,   their translucent forms calm for  the first time since she met them. “How long can you keep doing this?” Kael asks   without looking up. “How many  times before it kills you?” “I don’t know,” Astrid admits. “I’ve  never tried to maintain a connection   that strong before. Most spirits  need far less to communicate.” “But my brothers need more.

” “They were young when they died. Traumatized.   The bond between you was powerful.” She  shifts on the bed, wincing at the protest   of her muscles. “It takes more energy  to bridge that kind of connection.” Kael finally looks at her, and the  raw emotion on his face makes her   breath catch. “I saw them. Really saw  them.

 They’re waiting for something,   something I’m supposed to give them or do  for them. But I don’t know what it is.” “We’ll figure it out.” Astrid meets his gaze  steadily. “But I need to prepare properly.   This kind of communion, it requires ritual,   materials, time. I can’t just keep forcing  connections and hoping my body survives.

” “What do you need?” The question is immediate,  decisive. “Whatever it is, you’ll have it.” So she tells him. Ancient herbs that grow only  in specific locations. Candles made from beeswax   mixed with ash from sacred fires. Stones  carved with symbols her grandmother taught   her. The list is long and specific, but Kael  listens to every word, committing it to memory.

“How long will it take to  gather everything?” he asks. “Weeks, maybe. Some of these items  are rare.” Astrid glances at Thyra,   who’s watching the exchange with  cautious interest. “And I’ll need   time to recover between attempts. My  body can only handle so much strain.” “Then take the time you need.” Kael stands,  moving to the bed.

 He sits on its edge,   close enough that she can see the  individual strands of blonde in his beard,   the exact shade of blue in his eyes. “I’ve  waited ten years to see my brothers again.   I can wait a few more weeks if it means doing  this properly. If it means keeping you alive.” The last words carry weight beyond their  surface meaning.

 Astrid feels her cheeks   warm under his gaze, feels something shift in  the air between them. This isn’t just about   his brothers anymore, though she’s  not sure when the change happened. “I’ll send word to every territory I control,”  Kael continues. “Any trader, any healer,   any wise woman who might have access to what you  need. And I’m assigning you permanent protection.

”   He looks at Thyra. “You and your sister both. No  one will threaten you while you’re under my roof.” “That’s not necessary,” Astrid starts,  but he cuts her off with a raised hand. “It is. You’re helping me do something  impossible. The least I can do is ensure   you’re safe while doing it.” He stands,  moves toward the door. “Rest today.

 Tomorrow,   we’ll begin the preparations.  And Astrid?” He pauses in the   doorway. “Thank you. For giving me those  moments with them. I’ll never forget it.” Then he’s gone, leaving her with Thyra  and the spectral pups. Her sister sits   on the bed, studying her face with knowing eyes. “He looks at you differently  now,” Thyra observes quietly.

“He’s grateful. Nothing more.” “If you believe that, you’re more naive than  I thought.” Thyra smooths the blanket across   Astrid’s legs. “Be careful. Gratitude  can shift into other feelings quickly,   and Alpha Kings don’t do anything by halves.

” Astrid doesn’t respond, but she thinks  about Kael’s hands holding hers,   the way he caught her before she  fell, the tone of his voice when   he thanked her. Thyra might be right.  Something is growing between them,   fragile and undefined, built on shared grief  and impossible communion with the dead. The spectral pups settle near the bed, their  presence a cold comfort.

 Days pass, and true   to his word, Kael mobilizes his entire network to  gather what Astrid needs. Traders arrive with rare   herbs. A wise woman from the eastern territories  sends stones carved with ancient symbols. A   beekeeper delivers candles made according to  specifications Astrid barely remembers giving. And through it all, Kael is there.

 He sits  with her while she prepares materials, asking   questions, learning about her gift. He watches  as she sings to the spectral pups, his expression   soft in ways that have nothing to do with  authority or power. He brings her meals himself   sometimes, making sure she’s eating, recovering,  building her strength for what’s to come. Two weeks after their first proper connection,  Astrid wakes to find him sitting in the chair   by her window, simply watching her sleep.

  The spectral pups are curled at his feet,   as content in his presence as they are in hers. “You’re staring,” she says, her  voice still rough with sleep. “I’m grateful,” he corrects. “For you. For  this chance. For everything you’re risking.” She sits up, pulling the  blanket around her shoulders.   “Why does it matter so much? You’re the Alpha  King. You have everything anyone could want.

” “Except my brothers.” His voice goes quiet.  “Except the chance to tell them I’m sorry,   that I love them, that their deaths nearly   destroyed me. Power means nothing  when the people you love are gone.” Astrid understands then, truly understands.  This man who commands wolves across multiple   territories, who makes grown Alphas bow  with a single look, would trade it all   for one more moment with his lost family. The  realization breaks something open in her chest.

“We’ll free them,” she promises. “I don’t know  how yet, but we will. They’ll find peace.” Kael meets her eyes across the  chamber, and what passes between   them is more than gratitude, more  than respect. It’s understanding,   the kind that comes from sharing  profound pain and impossible hope.

 The spectral pups watch them both, their amber  eyes glowing softly in the dim morning light,   waiting for the moment when  communion will become liberation. Chapter Five: Whispers of Betrayal The first signs of trouble arrive on a cold  morning three weeks into Astrid’s stay at   the fortress. She’s in the courtyard helping  Thyra practice her blade work when a commotion   at the gates draws their attention.

 Halvard  rides through with a contingent of warriors,   his face set in grim lines  that speak of unwelcome news. Kael meets him in the great hall, and  though Astrid isn’t invited to the meeting,   word spreads quickly through the fortress. The  servants talk. The guards whisper. By midday,   everyone knows that Halvard has come bearing  complaints from the surrounding packs.

 “They’re saying you’ve been  bewitched,” Thyra reports,   having extracted the information from  a talkative kitchen maid. “That the   Alpha King is neglecting his duties, obsessed  with a mad Omega who traffics with spirits.” Astrid’s stomach clenches. She’d  known this peace couldn’t last,   but she’d hoped for more time. “What else?” “Some are calling for your execution.  Others want exile.

” Thyra’s hand moves   to her blade instinctively. “Halvard is  urging Kael to distance himself from you,   to restore confidence in his leadership.” Through the window, Astrid can see the spectral  pups pacing restlessly in the courtyard below.   They sense the tension, the threat.

 Their  forms flicker more rapidly than usual,   agitation making them almost solid in places. That evening, Kael summons her to his private  study. He stands by the window when she enters,   back rigid with tension. “Halvard thinks  I’m making a mistake keeping you here.” “Perhaps he’s right.” Astrid keeps  her voice steady despite the fear   clawing at her throat. “I don’t  want to cause problems for you.” “You’re not causing problems. Others are  creating them.

” He turns to face her, and the   anger in his expression takes her breath away.  “Three regional Alphas are arriving tomorrow.   They’re demanding an audience, questioning  my judgment. This has never happened before.” “Because you’ve never protected  someone like me before.

” “Because they’ve never seen  me care about anything beyond   duty and territory.” Kael moves closer,  and she sees exhaustion in the shadows   beneath his eyes. “They think you’ve  weakened me somehow. Made me soft.” “Have I?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’ve  made me feel things I thought died with my   brothers. I don’t know if that’s weakness or the  first honest thing I’ve experienced in a decade.

” The words hang between them, weighted with  meaning neither is quite ready to examine.   Astrid looks away first, unable to hold  his gaze. “What will you tell the Alphas?” “The truth. That you’re helping me  with a matter of profound personal   importance. That you’re under my  protection.” His jaw tightens.  

“And that anyone who challenges that  protection challenges me directly.” The three Alphas arrive with the sunset, their  entourages filling the fortress courtyard with   unfamiliar faces and hostile energy. Astrid  watches from her tower window as they dismount,   their movements aggressive and territorial.  These are not men accustomed to being told no.

Kael receives them in the great hall with  full ceremony. Astrid isn’t present for the   initial meeting, but she feels its echoes  through the fortress. Raised voices carry   through stone corridors. Doors slam. By the time  servants begin preparing for the formal dinner,   the air itself feels charged with coming storm. “You’re not going,” Thyra says flatly when  Astrid begins dressing in her cleanest gown.

“I have to. This is about me.”  Astrid smooths the worn fabric,   wishing she had something finer to wear.  “Hiding will only make things worse.” “Hiding might keep you alive.” “I’m not afraid of them.” “Well, you should be.” Thyra grabs her arm,  forcing eye contact. “These Alphas didn’t come   here to talk. They came to force Kael’s hand. To  make him choose between you and his authority.

” “Then he should choose his authority.”  The words taste like ash. “I won’t be   responsible for him losing everything he’s built.” Thyra studies her face for a long moment,   then sighs. “You care about him.  More than you’re admitting.” Astrid doesn’t deny it. She can’t.

 Not when her  heart pounds at the thought of Kael in danger,   when every protective instinct  she possesses roars at the idea   of him being forced into a corner because of her. The great hall has been transformed  for the dinner. Torches line the walls,   casting dancing shadows across the  gathered faces. The three visiting   Alphas sit at the high table with Kael, their  expressions ranging from suspicious to openly   hostile. Halvard occupies a place of  honor, his face carefully neutral.

Astrid enters with Thyra at her side, and  conversation dies. Every eye turns to assess   her, to measure the woman who has supposedly  bewitched their king. She keeps her chin up,   spine straight, refusing to show  fear even as her hands tremble.

 “Ah,” one of the Alphas says, his  voice carrying clearly across the   hall. “The witch herself. How generous  of her to grace us with her presence.” “Careful, Fenrir.” Kael’s voice cuts like a blade.   “You’re speaking about someone  under my personal protection.” “Protection she shouldn’t require  if she’s truly innocent.” The Alpha   called Fenrir leans back in his chair,  studying Astrid with cold calculation.  

“Unless there’s something between  you two beyond the official story.” Astrid takes her seat at a lower table, acutely  aware of the scrutiny. The spectral pups have   followed her into the hall, their translucent  forms weaving between tables that only she   can see.

 Their agitation has grown worse,  and she realizes with a start that they’re   trying to position themselves between her and the  visiting Alphas. Protecting her, even in death. The meal begins in tense silence. Food is brought,   wine poured, but appetites seem  scarce. Astrid forces herself to eat,   to appear calm and unaffected, though  every instinct screams at her to run.

 “Tell me, Omega,” another Alpha speaks up,   his tone deceptively pleasant. “What exactly  is your gift? We’ve heard such varied stories.” “I see spirits,” Astrid replies  quietly. “Wolves who died without   finding peace. I help guide them onward.” “Convenient. An ability no one can  verify or disprove.” The third Alpha,   younger than the others but no less  hostile, sneers openly.

 “How do we   know you’re not simply mad? Or worse,  using dark magic to manipulate our king?” “She’s done nothing—” Kael  starts, but Fenrir cuts him off. “With respect, my lord, your judgment is precisely  what we’re questioning. You’ve isolated yourself   with this girl, neglected correspondence,  ignored territorial disputes that require   your attention. The king we knew would never  allow personal matters to interfere with duty.

” “My brothers aren’t a personal matter. They’re—” “Dead.” Fenrir’s voice goes hard.  “Your brothers have been dead for   ten years. And while we all grieved with you,   there comes a time to move forward. To focus  on the living rather than chasing ghosts.” The words land like physical blows.

 Kael’s  hands clench on the table, knuckles going   white. Astrid sees the fury building in him,  sees the moment his control begins to fracture. “You know nothing about what I’ve lost,”  Kael says, voice dangerous and low. “We know you’re behaving like a  lovesick pup rather than an Alpha   King.” The younger Alpha stands, emboldened  by wine and perceived righteousness.

 “This   Omega has you so twisted around her finger  that you can’t see reason. It’s pathetic.” Kael explodes from his seat  with supernatural speed.   In less than a heartbeat his hand is  fisted in the young Alpha’s collar,   dragging him half across the table.

 Power rolls  off him in suffocating waves, eyes flashing molten   gold as his wolf surges to the surface. For a  terrifying moment it looks as if he might snap   the boy’s neck in front of half the court—but  then years of discipline slam back into place,   his grip tightening without crushing, rage forced  into a lethal, controlled line. “I dare you.” The hall erupts. Warriors  move toward their leaders,   weapons half-drawn. Halvard is shouting  something about peace, about diplomacy.  

Thyra has positioned herself in front of  Astrid, blade fully drawn now despite the odds. “Kael.” Astrid’s voice cuts through the chaos,   quiet but clear. She stands, moving toward  him despite Thyra’s protest. “Kael, please.” She reaches him, places one small hand on  his arm.

 The contact sends that familiar   shock through her system, and she feels his  wolf immediately responding to her touch. The   golden glow fades from his eyes. His grip on the  young Alpha loosens, then releases completely. The young Alpha drops to his feet,  gasping.

 Everyone in the hall has   witnessed what just happened, seen how  easily Astrid calmed their king with a   single touch. The implications hang  heavy in the suddenly silent space. “This,” Fenrir says quietly, his  gaze moving between Kael and Astrid,   “is exactly what we feared. She has some hold over  you, whether magic or manipulation. Either way,   it’s compromising your ability to lead.

” “If  word spreads that the Alpha King is steering   policy by the whispers of unseen  spirits and the bond of one Omega,   our enemies will call this  kingdom fractured and weak.” “Get out.” Kael’s voice is deadly calm now,  controlled, but beneath it runs currents of   barely restrained violence. “All of you. Leave  my fortress by dawn or I’ll have you removed.” “Is that a threat?” The young Alpha has found his   courage again.

 “You would attack  fellow Alphas over this Omega?” “I would destroy anyone who  threatens what’s mine.” Kael   looks at each of them in turn. “And  make no mistake, she is mine to protect.   Challenge that again and discover  exactly how uncompromising I can be.” The three Alphas exchange glances, some silent  communication passing between them.

 Fenrir nods   slowly, rising from his seat. “Then you leave  us no choice. If you won’t restore proper order,   we’ll be forced to consider whether you’re  fit to maintain your position as Alpha King.” The words are treason, barely veiled. A challenge  to Kael’s authority that could split the kingdom.   Halvard looks stricken, torn between loyalty  and political reality.

 The visiting Alphas   file out with their entourages, leaving  behind a hall full of shocked witnesses. Kael stands rigid, staring at the doors through  which they departed. When he finally speaks,   his voice sounds hollow. “They’ll try  to depose me. Call for a challenge.” “Then I’ll leave.” Astrid steps around  to face him. “Tonight. Before dawn.  

I’ll disappear and they’ll have no reason to—” “No.” His hands come up to grip her shoulders,  firm but not painful. “You’re not leaving.” “Kael, they’re questioning your right to rule.  Your entire position is at risk because of me.” “I don’t care.” The words come fierce and raw. “Do   you understand? I don’t care about any  of it if it means sending you away.

” They’re standing too close now, close enough that  she can feel the heat radiating from his body,   can smell pine and leather and  something uniquely him. His hands   slide from her shoulders to cup her  face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. “This isn’t just about my brothers anymore,”  he admits, his voice rough.

 “Maybe it never   was. Maybe from the moment I saw you in that  forest, something in me recognized something   in you. I don’t know how to explain it except to  say that you’ve woken parts of me I thought dead.” “Kael, we can’t—” But her protest dies  as his thumb brushes across her cheek,   as his face lowers toward hers.

He stops with his lips a breath away from  hers, giving her choice. For a heartbeat,   neither moves. Then Astrid rises  on her toes, closing the distance,   and their mouths meet in a kiss that  sends shockwaves through her entire being. It’s gentle at first, almost reverent, as if he’s  afraid she might break.

 But when she opens to him,   when her hands slide up to tangle in his  hair, something shifts. The kiss deepens,   becomes hungry, desperate, years of  loneliness and grief pouring out between them. When they finally break  apart, both breathing hard,   reality crashes back. Astrid steps  back, hand flying to her lips. “This   is a mistake. I’m nobody. You’re the  Alpha King.

 There’s no future in—” “I don’t care,” he repeats. “Let them  challenge me. Let them question. I’ve   spent ten years being exactly what everyone  expected. Strong. Hard. Unfeeling. And   it’s made me miserable. You’ve shown me  there’s more to life than duty and grief.” Before she can respond, a wave of cold washes  over her.

 The spectral pups have converged,   their translucent forms pressing against her legs  with urgent intensity. Images flood her mind,   clearer than they’ve ever been. She gasps,  staggering under the weight of the vision. Kael catches her. “What is it? What’s happening?” “They’re showing me,” she breathes,   eyes unfocused. “The night they  died. Oh gods, I can see it.

” She’s pulled into the memory, experiencing  it through the pups’ perspective. Three young   wolves running through forest, laughing, playing.  Then smoke. Fire. Panic. But beneath the chaos,   a face. A wolf she recognizes.  Halvard, younger but unmistakable,   leading enemy wolves directly  to where the pups were hidden. “It wasn’t just an attack,” Astrid  whispers, returning to herself.

 “They   were betrayed. Someone from your  pack led the enemy right to them.” Kael goes absolutely still. “Who?” She meets his eyes, sees her own  horror reflected there. “Halvard.” Chapter Six: Poisoned Vows The revelation lands between them like  a thunderclap. Halvard. Of all wolves,   the man Kael has trusted as his  closest adviser, his voice in council,   his steady presence since boyhood, is the one  who delivered his brothers to their deaths.

Kael stares at Astrid as if she’s  just torn open an old wound with   bare hands. “Are you certain?” His voice  comes out raw. “You saw him clearly?” “In the vision, yes.” Astrid  still feels the echoes of smoke   and terror clawing at her awareness.  “He led the enemy through the forest,   straight to where your brothers were hidden.  They trusted him. They followed when he called.

” Kael turns away, moving to the window where  moonlight spills across stone floors. His   shoulders are rigid, hands clenched  into fists at his sides. “Halvard was   with me that night. On the northern  ridge. Or so I believed. He said he’d   gone to check the western perimeter,  then returned to fight beside me.” “He lied,” Astrid says quietly. “He created  an alibi while orchestrating their deaths.

” “Why?” The word comes out broken.  “I gave him everything. Authority,   respect, a place at my side. What could  possibly drive him to murder children?” “Power, maybe. Fear.” Astrid approaches slowly,  careful not to crowd him. “Or perhaps he never   believed in your family’s right to rule. Some  wolves carry grudges that outlast reason.

” Kael laughs, but the sound holds no  humor. “I need proof. Not just visions,   no matter how much I trust you. If I  move against Halvard on your word alone,   the other Alphas will claim  you’ve bewitched me completely.” “Then we find proof.” Astrid stands  beside him at the window, looking out   over the courtyard where torches flicker in the  darkness. “The pups gave us a starting point.  

Now we confirm it through other means.” “How? Ten years have passed. Evidence fades.” “Records don’t.” She turns to face him.  “Patrol logs, duty rosters, witness   accounts. If Halvard lied about his location  that night, there will be inconsistencies.” Something shifts in Kael’s expression.  The grief gives way to cold calculation,   the king reasserting control. “You’re  right.

 I’ll start reviewing the old   documents tomorrow. Cross-reference  every statement made about that night.” “And I’ll work with the pups,” Astrid adds.  “See if they can show me more details. Names   of the wolves who attacked. Anything  that might connect back to Halvard.” They stand together in the moonlight, united  in purpose.

 But beneath the determination,   Astrid feels something else building  between them. An awareness that has   nothing to do with spirits or revenge. When  Kael’s hand finds hers, fingers intertwining,   the gesture feels natural. Inevitable. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For giving me this  chance. For believing me when I needed it most.

” “I believe the pups,” she corrects  gently. “They led me to you for a reason.” His thumb brushes across her  knuckles. “Still. Thank you.” The moment stretches, charged with  unspoken things. Then Thyra’s voice   cuts through from the doorway. “Sorry  to interrupt, but we have a problem.

” They turn to find her standing with blade drawn,   face grim. “One of the servants just tried  to deliver wine to Astrid’s chamber. Said it   was a gift from Halvard, thanking  her for her service to the king.” Kael’s entire body goes taut.  “Where is this servant now?” “Locked in the guardroom. She’s  terrified, claims she was just   following orders.” Thyra’s eyes narrow. “The  wine smells wrong. Bitter beneath the fruit.

” Astrid’s stomach clenches. “Poison.” “Most likely.” Thyra sheathes her  blade. “Someone wants you dead before   you can complete whatever ritual you’re planning.” Kael moves with frightening speed, striding past  Thyra into the corridor. “Take me to her. Now.” The servant is young, barely twenty winters,   and she’s weeping when they  arrive.

 Two guards flank her,   expressions hard. A clay jug sits on the table  between them, its contents dark as old blood. “Who gave you the wine?” Kael  demands without preamble. “Master Halvard, my lord.” The girl’s voice  shakes. “He said it was a peace offering.   That the Omega had been working  hard and deserved something fine.

” “Did you see him pour it?” “No, my lord. It was already  sealed when he gave it to me.” Kael picks up the jug, uncorks it, and  sniffs. His face darkens immediately.   “Aconite. Wolf’s bane. Enough to kill  three full-grown Alphas.” He looks at   the servant. “Did Halvard tell you anything else?” “Only to make sure the Omega drank it before bed.  That it would help her sleep.

” The girl dissolves   into fresh sobs. “I didn’t know it was poison,  my lord. I swear on the moon, I didn’t know.” Kael studies her for a long moment, then nods to  the guards. “She’s telling the truth. Release her,   but keep her under watch. No one speaks  to her until this matter is resolved.” As they leave the guardroom, Astrid  sees fury building in Kael’s movements,   controlled but barely. “He’s  getting desperate,” she observes.

“Good.” Kael’s voice carries the edge of  a blade. “Desperate wolves make mistakes.” They spend the night reviewing records in Kael’s  study. Dusty ledgers are pulled from storage,   patrol logs spread across every available surface.

   Thyra stands guard at the door while  Astrid and Kael work by candlelight,   cross-referencing statements, looking for the  cracks in Halvard’s carefully constructed alibi. It’s Astrid who finds the first  inconsistency. “Here,” she says,   pointing to a patrol log dated the night of  the attack. “Halvard logged his return to   the main camp at the eighth bell. But this  statement from a warrior named Torben says   Halvard didn’t arrive until the ninth  bell. A full hour unaccounted for.

” Kael leans over her shoulder,  reading quickly. “Torben was one   of my father’s most trusted fighters. He  wouldn’t lie about something like this.” “Is he still alive?” “Yes. Retired to a cottage near the eastern  border.” Kael’s jaw tightens. “I’ll send for   him at first light. If he confirms what’s  written here, that’s one piece of proof.” They find more as the night wears on.

  Small inconsistencies that individually   might mean nothing, but together paint a  damning picture. Times that don’t align.   Locations that contradict. A pattern of  deception woven through years of loyalty. Dawn is breaking when Thyra finally insists they  rest. “You’re no good to anyone exhausted,” she   says firmly. “Sleep for a few hours. The  records will still be here when you wake.

” Astrid wants to argue, but her body betrays  her with a jaw-cracking yawn. Kael notices   and manages a tired smile. “She’s right.  We need to be sharp when we confront him.” “When?” Astrid asks. “Not if?” “When,” Kael confirms.

 “Once I have Torben’s  testimony and whatever else the pups can show us,   I’ll bring charges formally. Before witnesses.  Halvard won’t escape justice this time.” They separate reluctantly, each to their own  chambers. But Astrid finds sleep elusive. The   spectral pups pace her room restlessly,  their forms flickering with agitation.   They sense something coming, some  shift in the currents of fate. She’s finally drowsing when  the door opens.

 Astrid sits up,   hand reaching instinctively for the  small knife Thyra insists she keep   under her pillow. But it’s Kael who enters,  his face haggard in the early morning light. “I can’t sleep,” he admits. “Every time  I close my eyes, I see them. My brothers,   trusting Halvard, following him into the trap.” Astrid shifts, making room on the  narrow bed. “Sit. Tell me about them.

” He does, settling beside her with his back  against the wall. And as the sun climbs higher,   Kael speaks of three young wolves  who loved to play in streams,   who argued over who got the biggest portion  of meat, who climbed into his bed during   thunderstorms because they were too proud to  admit fear to anyone but their older brother. “Eirik wanted to be a great warrior,”  Kael says, voice thick with memory.  

“He practiced with a wooden sword every day,  insisted I teach him proper forms even though   he was barely old enough to hold the weight.  Torvald loved stories. He’d beg anyone who’d   listen to tell him tales of the old times, of the  first wolves who walked these lands. And Rune…”   He pauses, swallowing hard. “Rune just wanted to  make everyone laugh.

 He was always playing tricks,   hiding things, jumping out from behind  corners. He drove our tutors mad.” “They sound wonderful,” Astrid says softly. “They were everything.” Kael’s hand finds  hers again, gripping tight. “When they died,   something in me died too. I became this… thing.   All duty and anger and grief. I  forgot how to be anything else.

” “You’re remembering now,”  she points out. “Bit by bit.” He looks at her then, really looks,  and something shifts in his expression.   Without conscious decision, he leans  closer. Astrid’s breath catches as   his intent becomes clear. She could pull  away. Should pull away. But she doesn’t. The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant,  as if he’s afraid she might shatter.

 But when   she opens to him, when her hand slides up  to tangle in his hair, something shifts.   The kiss deepens, becomes hungry, years  of loneliness pouring out between them. When they finally break apart,   both breathing hard, reality crashes back.  “I shouldn’t have done that,” Kael says,   though he makes no move to pull away. “You’re  under my protection.

 I’m taking advantage—” “You’re not.” Astrid silences him with  a finger to his lips. “I wanted it too.” “I’m the Alpha King. You’re an Omega with  nowhere else to go. The power imbalance alone—” “I chose to kiss you back,” she  interrupts firmly. “I chose to   let you in. Don’t take that choice away  by deciding I’m too weak to make it.

” He studies her face, searching  for something. Whatever he finds   must satisfy him because he exhales  slowly, tension leaving his shoulders.   “Then I’m glad I kissed you. And  I’d very much like to do it again.” “Later,” she promises, smiling despite  everything. “After we deal with Halvard.   After we free your brothers. Then we  can figure out what this is between us.” “Deal.

” He kisses her forehead,   then stands reluctantly. “I should go before  Thyra finds me here and decides I’m a threat.” “Too late,” Thyra’s voice calls from beyond  the door. “I already think you’re a threat.   But I’m choosing to trust my sister’s  judgment. Don’t make me regret it.” Kael grins, the expression transforming his  usually severe features. “I’ll do my best.

” Three days pass in careful preparation.  Torben arrives from the eastern border,   his testimony corroborating  what the records showed.   Two other warriors come forward after hearing  Torben’s account, admitting they’d noticed   inconsistencies that night but were too afraid  to question a man of Halvard’s authority.

Meanwhile, Astrid works with the spectral pups,  coaxing more details from their fragmented   memories. They show her faces of the attacking  wolves. She sketches them as best she can, and   Kael identifies three as members of a rival pack  that was destroyed years ago for repeated raids. “Halvard brokered the peace treaty that  ended that conflict,” Kael says grimly,   studying the sketches. “He negotiated  their surrender. Or so everyone believed.

” “Maybe he negotiated something else entirely,”   Astrid suggests. “A deal. Their service  in exchange for something he wanted.” “My brothers’ deaths would have thrown  the succession into chaos. I was young,   untested. Some on the council wanted to replace  our entire bloodline.

” Understanding dawns in   Kael’s eyes. “Halvard was positioning himself  as the wise elder who could guide a new,   weaker king. Or possibly remove me  entirely and take power himself.” “But you didn’t break. You got stronger.” “I became what I thought I needed to  be. Hard. Unyielding.” His hand cups   her cheek. “Until you showed  me there was another way.” On the fourth morning, Kael summons Halvard  to the great hall.

 He does it publicly,   with witnesses from multiple packs present.  The three visiting Alphas have remained in the   territory despite being ordered out, watching  and waiting to see what the king will do. Halvard arrives with his usual confidence,  though Astrid sees wariness in his eyes when   he notes the gathered crowd. “My lord,”  he says, bowing.

 “You summoned me?” “I did.” Kael stands before his  throne, every inch the Alpha King.   “I have questions about the night my brothers  died. Questions that require immediate answers.” The hall goes silent. Every wolf present  understands the significance of this moment.   Halvard’s expression remains calm, but Astrid  sees his hands clench briefly at his sides.

“Of course, my lord. Though I’m not sure  what I can add after all these years.” “You logged your return to camp  at the eighth bell,” Kael says.   “Yet multiple witnesses place you arriving  at the ninth bell. Explain the discrepancy.” Halvard doesn’t miss a beat.  “Memory fades over time,   my lord. Perhaps the witnesses are mistaken  about the hour. It was a chaotic night.

” “Three separate witnesses. All with the same  recollection.” Kael’s voice remains level,   but power thrums beneath each word. “Were they all  mistaken? Or were you lying about your location?” “My lord, I would never—” “You were seen speaking to members of the  Greyfang pack days before the attack.”   Kael continues relentlessly. “The same pack  that killed my brothers. The same pack you   claimed to broker peace with afterward.

  What were you discussing with them?” Halvard’s composure finally  cracks. “This is absurd. Are   you truly accusing me based on decade-old  gossip and the ravings of a mad Omega?” The insult to Astrid hangs in the air.  Kael descends from the dais slowly,   each step deliberate. When he reaches  Halvard, he towers over the older wolf. “Astrid isn’t mad. She’s a Soul Guide. And  my brothers’ spirits have shown her the   truth of that night. They watched you  lead their killers straight to them.

” “Spirits.” Halvard spits the word. “You’re  condemning me based on ghost stories?” “I’m condemning you based on evidence,” Kael  corrects coldly. “Testimonies. Inconsistencies   in your own accounts. A pattern of deception that  spans years.” He looks at the gathered Alphas.   “Witness statements will be provided to any who  wish to review them. The facts speak clearly.

” Halvard’s face transforms, rage  replacing calculation. “You would   believe her over me? A nobody Omega over  your father’s most trusted adviser?” “I believe the truth,” Kael says. “Something  you haven’t spoken in a very long time.” For a moment, it seems Halvard  might continue denying. Then   something in him breaks.

 His shoulders  straighten, and when he speaks again,   his voice carries bitter pride. “Your brothers  were weak. Your father was weak. The entire   bloodline had grown soft, unsuited to  rule in a world that demands strength.” The confession strikes like  lightning. Gasps echo through   the hall. Even the visiting Alphas look stunned.

 “So you killed them,” Kael’s voice has gone   dangerously quiet. “Three  children who trusted you.” “I did what was necessary.” Halvard’s face  twists. “I thought removing the weakest   links would force you to become strong.  And it worked, didn’t it? You became the   Alpha King we needed. Ruthless. Unyielding.  Until she arrived and ruined everything.

” He lunges toward Astrid with supernatural  speed, blade appearing in his hand from   nowhere. Thyra moves to intercept, but  Halvard is faster, driven by desperation. He doesn’t reach her. Kael transforms  mid-stride, his massive white wolf form   slamming into Halvard’s human body with crushing  force.

 They go down in a tangle of fur and fury,   Halvard struggling to shift while  Kael’s teeth close around his throat. “Don’t kill him!” Astrid shouts. “Not until the   ritual. Your brothers deserve  to see justice done properly.” Kael’s wolf pauses, jaws still locked  on Halvard’s throat. For a moment,   base instinct wars with reason. Then slowly,   he releases his grip and steps back, allowing  Halvard to collapse gasping to the stone floor.

Guards move immediately, binding Halvard with  chains. He doesn’t resist, just stares at Kael   with hate burning in his eyes. “You’ll never be  rid of me,” he rasps. “I’m in everything you’ve   built. Every decision you’ve made. I shaped  you as much as your precious dead brothers.” “You shaped nothing,” Kael says,  human again, naked and uncaring.  

“You were just another obstacle to  overcome. And now you’re finished.” Halvard is dragged away to the dungeons.  The hall erupts in conversation,   Alphas and witnesses alike processing what just  occurred. But Astrid only has eyes for Kael,   who stands alone at the center of  the chaos, victorious but hollow. She goes to him, offering a blanket  one of the servants has brought.  

He wraps it around himself mechanically,  still staring at where Halvard disappeared. “It’s not done yet,” she reminds him softly. “One   more step. The ritual. Give your  brothers the closure they need.” Kael nods slowly. When his eyes  finally focus on her, she sees grief   and rage and love all tangled together.  “Tomorrow night. Full moon. We end this.

” Around them, the spectral pups circle restlessly,   waiting for the moment when truth  will finally set them all free. Chapter Seven: Moonlit Reckoning The fortress stands beneath the full moon  when Astrid wakes. She’s barely slept,   mind circling endlessly around what tonight will  demand.

 The ritual materials are already prepared,   laid out in the tower room with careful  precision. Dried herbs bundled with twine.   Candles formed from beeswax mixed  with ash from sacred fires. Stones   carved with symbols that predate written  language. Everything she needs to tear   open the veil between worlds and walk  her charges through to the other side.

 Thyra finds her at dawn, still organizing  supplies with hands that won’t stop   trembling. “You don’t have to do this,”  her sister says quietly. “We’ve proven   Halvard’s guilt. The pups showed everyone  what happened. Their purpose is fulfilled.” “Their purpose is to find peace,” Astrid  corrects. She ties off another herb bundle,   the familiar motions grounding her.  “Showing the truth was only part of   it. They need to be released properly,  guided through the passage.

 Otherwise   they’ll just keep wandering, trapped by  trauma even though justice has been served.” “And if the ritual goes wrong?  If you can’t handle the drain?” Astrid meets her sister’s eyes.   “Then you make sure Kael understands it  wasn’t his fault. That I chose this.” Thyra’s jaw tightens, but she nods once. They’ve   always understood each other in  ways that don’t require words.

Kael arrives as the sun climbs higher, his face  drawn with exhaustion. He hasn’t slept either,   Astrid realizes. Dark circles  shadow those ice-blue eyes,   and his movements carry a tension that  speaks of barely controlled emotion. “The circle of stones is prepared,” he says  without preamble.

 “Guards are posted on every   approach. Halvard is secure in the dungeons,  but I’m not taking chances. If anyone tries   to disrupt this ritual, they’ll have  to go through an entire pack first.” “Good.” Astrid finishes packing her supplies  into a leather satchel. “We’ll need to begin   at moonrise. The veil is thinnest then,  and the pups’ connection to this world   is already weakening. If we wait too long,  they might slip beyond my reach entirely.

” Kael moves closer, his hand coming up  to cup her face. The gesture is tender,   almost reverent. “After tonight, this  is done. My brothers will be free,   and you’ll never have to drain  yourself like this again.” “After tonight, everything changes,”  she agrees softly. “For all of us.” The day passes in tense preparation.

  Warriors sharpen blades and check armor,   though the enemy they’re guarding against isn’t  one that steel can stop. The spectral pups pace   the fortress restlessly, their translucent forms  flickering with increasing urgency. They know,   Astrid realizes. They understand  that tonight is their last chance. As sunset approaches, Astrid bathes and dresses  in simple wool, dark blue and unadorned.  

She braids her hair back from her face,  wanting nothing to obscure her vision   when the ritual begins. The mark on her  wrist, the crescent moon birthmark she’s   carried since birth, seems to glow faintly  in the dimming light. A Soul Guide’s brand,   her grandmother called it.  Tonight, that mark will burn. The procession to the stone circle begins as  full darkness falls.

 Kael walks at Astrid’s side,   with Thyra just behind and a contingent of  guards fanning out around them. The forest is   silent as they pass, as if every living thing  holds its breath. Even the wind has stilled. The circle of standing stones rises from the  forest floor like ancient teeth, each monolith   twice the height of a tall man.

 Frost glimmers  on the rock faces despite the season, and the   air inside the circle feels different. Thinner  somehow. More brittle. This is a place where the   boundary between worlds has always been weak, worn  down by centuries of blood and oath and execution. “Perfect,” Astrid murmurs, setting  down her satchel. “The land here   remembers death. It’ll make the passage easier.” She begins arranging the ritual space with  methodical care.

 Seven candles at seven   points around the circle’s interior. Herbs  scattered in specific patterns that map the   journey from death to whatever lies beyond. The  carved stones placed at cardinal directions,   their symbols facing inward. Finally,  she takes the small vial of her own   blood and traces a circle within  the circle, binding the space.

Kael watches in silence, but she feels his  presence like a physical weight. The spectral   pups have taken positions just outside the blood  circle, waiting. Their forms are brighter than   she’s ever seen them, almost solid, as if the  moon’s power is giving them temporary strength. She remembers the healer’s blunt warning  hours earlier in the infirmary—the way the   older woman had folded her arms and said this  ritual would scrape Astrid down to the bone,   that there would be no gentle collapse this  time if she pushed too far. Kael had listened   to every word, jaw tight and eyes dark,  and in the end he had not forbidden her;  

he had only said he would rather face her honest  fury than cage the one thing she was born to do. “It’s time,” she says, lighting the first candle.  “The guards need to stay outside the stone circle.   No one crosses the boundary once I begin, no  matter what happens. If the ritual is interrupted,   the pups could be torn apart by the disruption.  Scattered so completely they’d never reform.

” “Understood.” Kael turns to address the assembled  guards, his voice carrying the absolute authority   of kingship. “Form a perimeter around the stones.  Nothing and no one passes. That’s an order.” The guards move into position, creating a living  wall between the ritual space and the dark forest   beyond. Thyra takes her place among them, hand  on her sword hilt, eyes scanning for threats.

Astrid lights the remaining candles one by  one, speaking words in the old language as   each flame catches. The air begins to  shimmer, reality bending around the   ritual space. She feels the veil thinning,  feels the boundary becoming permeable. “Kael,” she says quietly. “I need you inside  the circle with me.

 The pups need to see you,   need to feel your presence one  last time before they can let go.” He steps across the blood line without hesitation,  moving to stand behind her. When his hands settle   on her shoulders, she feels the familiar jolt of  connection. Their energies begin to flow together,   the bond they’ve been building over these  weeks suddenly blazing into full focus. Astrid begins to sing.

 The melody her  grandmother taught her rises into the still air,   each note perfectly pitched to resonate  with the space between heartbeats,   between breaths, between life and death.  The spectral pups respond immediately,   their forms brightening until  they’re almost blinding. She reaches deeper into her  gift than she’s ever dared,   pulling the veil so thin it becomes  transparent. The boundary between   worlds dissolves, and suddenly the stone  circle exists in two places at once.

 Here,   in the mortal realm beneath the full moon. And  there, in the grey space where spirits wait. The three pups step into the circle, and  for the first time since their deaths,   they’re completely solid.  Real. Kael gasps behind her,   his grip on her shoulders tightening. “Gods,”  he breathes. “I can see them. Truly see them.

” Eirik, the largest with the scar across his  muzzle, approaches first. His golden eyes meet   Kael’s, and an entire conversation passes in that  look. Forgiveness. Love. Release. He presses his   head against Kael’s hand, and this time there’s  actual contact. Warm fur under living fingers. Torvald and Rune follow, swarming  Kael with desperate affection.

   They’re puppies again in this moment,  freed from the trauma of their deaths,   just three young wolves saying goodbye  to the brother who raised them.   Kael sinks to his knees, arms wrapping around  them, tears streaming openly down his face. “I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so  sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry it   took so long to understand.  I’m sorry for everything.” Eirik licks his face once, a gesture of pure  forgiveness.

 The message is clear even without   words. They never blamed him. They were never  angry. They just wanted him to know the truth,   to see justice done, to be freed from  the chains of their traumatic deaths. Astrid maintains the connection, holding the  veil open through sheer force of will. The   drain is immense, worse than anything she’s  experienced before.

 Her nose begins to bleed,   warm trails running down her lips and chin. Her  vision darkens at the edges. But she holds on,   giving Kael and his brothers these final moments. A sound from beyond the circle breaks  the peace. Shouts. The clash of steel on   steel. Astrid’s concentration wavers,  the ritual flickering dangerously.

“Don’t stop!” Kael orders, his voice commanding  even through grief. “Whatever’s happening,   the guards will handle it. Finish the ritual!” But the disturbance grows louder. Through her  fading vision, Astrid sees guards engaging with   attackers emerging from the forest. Mercenaries,  she realizes with sinking dread.

 Halvard must   have arranged this before his capture, a  final act of spite in case his plans failed. One mercenary breaks through the line, sprinting  toward the stone circle with a blade drawn. He’s   aiming for Astrid, clearly understanding that  killing her will shatter the ritual completely. Thyra intercepts him with brutal  efficiency, her blade finding his   throat before he gets within five paces of  the boundary. But the disruption is enough.  

Astrid’s concentration splinters,  and the ritual begins to collapse. “No!” She forces more power into the working,   drawing on reserves she doesn’t  have. The blood mark on her wrist   ignites with actual fire, pain searing up  her arm. “Not yet. They’re not through yet!” The spectral pups flicker, their solid  forms becoming translucent again.

 Panic   floods their eyes. They’re being pulled  back, dragged toward the grey space before   they’ve completed the passage. If that  happens, they’ll be trapped forever,   scattered by the interrupted ritual  into fragments that can never reform. Astrid makes a decision. She reaches for the  one source of power she hasn’t yet tapped.

 The   mate bond. The connection between her soul and  Kael’s, forged in blood and desperation and love. “Kael,” she gasps. “I need your strength.  All of it. Open the bond completely.” He understands immediately. She feels him  drop every barrier, every shield, flooding the   connection with raw energy. His power rushes into  her like a tidal wave, overwhelming and perfect.  

Astrid channels it into the ritual, using his  strength to shore up her failing grip on the veil. The pups solidify again, their forms  stabilizing. But the cost is staggering.   Astrid feels her body beginning to shut down,   pushed far beyond its limits. She’s burning  out, consuming herself to fuel the working.

“Almost there,” she whispers, blood dripping  from her nose and ears now. “Just a little more.” She completes the final verse of the  song, the words that open the true   passage. Light floods the circle, golden  and pure, descending from the sky itself.   The pathway between worlds manifests  as a shimmering bridge of radiance. The three pups look at Kael one  last time.

 Eirik’s tail wags slowly,   a gesture of pure joy. Then together, they  turn and walk onto the bridge. Their forms   dissolve into light, ascending along the  pathway until they vanish into brilliance. The ritual completes. The  veil snaps back into place.   Astrid collapses, consciousness fleeing  as her body finally gives out completely.

She doesn’t feel Kael catch her. Doesn’t  hear his anguished shout for a healer.   Doesn’t sense Thyra running to their side,  or the guards finishing off the last of the   mercenaries. All she knows is darkness and  peace and the knowledge that she succeeded. The pups are free. After ten years of  waiting, they’ve finally found their way home. When awareness returns, it comes slowly.  Soft bedding beneath her.

 The crackle of   a fire nearby. The scent of herbs  and healing. She forces her eyes   open to find herself in Kael’s chambers,  dawn light spilling through the windows. Kael sits beside the bed, head bowed, her  hand clasped in both of his. He looks haggard,   as if he hasn’t moved or slept since the  ritual ended. When he senses her stirring,   his head snaps up, hope and  fear warring in his expression.

“Astrid.” Her name comes out as a prayer. “Thank  the gods. The healer said you might not wake.” “How long?” Her voice is barely a rasp. “Two days.” He brings her hand to his lips,  pressing a kiss to her palm. “You’ve been   unconscious for two days. Your body was so  depleted, they weren’t sure you’d recover.

” Memory floods back. The ritual. The  completion. The light. “The pups?”   she asks urgently. “Did they make it through?” “They’re gone,” Kael confirms, and  his smile is radiant through his   exhaustion. “Truly gone. I can feel it.  The grief is still there, but the guilt,   the unfinished business, it’s lifted. You  freed them, Astrid. You gave them peace.

” Relief washes through her so powerfully that  tears spring to her eyes. “Good. That’s good.” “What you did,” Kael continues, voice rough  with emotion. “Drawing on the bond like that,   risking everything to complete the ritual, I’ve  never seen anything so brave. Or so reckless.” “They deserved their peace,” she  says simply. “Whatever it cost.” “It nearly cost your life.” His thumb  strokes across her knuckles.

 “Don’t do   that to me again. I’ve lost enough people I love.” The word hangs in the air between  them. Love. Neither has said it before,   though it’s been building for  weeks. Astrid meets his eyes,   sees everything reflected there. Grief  and gratitude and fierce devotion. “I love you too,” she whispers.  “For what it’s worth.

” His kiss is gentle, mindful of her weakened state,   but no less powerful for its restraint. When  they part, both are smiling through tears. “Halvard?” she asks after a moment. “Executed at dawn this morning. Witnessed by  all three regional Alphas and representatives   from every major pack in my territory.”  Kael’s expression hardens. “His betrayal   is now a matter of public record. No  one will question the justice of it.

” “And the mercenaries?” “Dead or captured. Your sister cut through them  like they were wheat.” Pride enters his voice.   “She defended that circle with everything she  had. I’m making her my head of personal guard.” Astrid laughs weakly. “She’ll love that.   More opportunities to threaten  people who look at me wrong.

” They sit in comfortable silence for a while,   hands intertwined, listening to the  fortress wake around them. Finally,   Kael speaks again. “When you’re healed, I want to  perform a proper mate ceremony. Before witnesses,   with all the traditional rites. I want  everyone to know you’re mine and I’m yours.

” “And here I thought we already  had a bond,” she teases gently. “We do. But you deserve the ceremony too. The   recognition. The celebration.”  He brings her hand to his chest,   pressing it over his heart. “You saved my  brothers. You saved me. Let me give you this.” How can she refuse? “Yes,” Astrid says simply.  “When I’m healed, we’ll have your ceremony.

” His smile is brighter than the dawn. Chapter Eight: New Beginnings Three weeks pass before Astrid is strong enough  to walk without assistance. The ritual drained   her so completely that her body needed time  to remember basic functions—eating, sleeping,   moving through space without the world tilting  dangerously.

 The fortress healer visits daily,   bringing bitter teas and poultices  that smell of mountain herbs,   but it’s Kael’s presence that heals her  most. He sits beside her bed for hours,   reading to her or simply holding her hand  while she drifts in and out of consciousness. The mate bond between them has strengthened  during her recovery.

 She feels him constantly now,   a warm presence at the edge of her awareness.  His emotions bleed into hers and vice versa.   When he’s in council meetings dealing  with tedious territorial disputes,   she feels his impatience. When she wakes  from nightmares of the ritual gone wrong,   he appears within minutes, drawn by her distress  even if he was on the other side of the fortress.

“This is going to take some getting  used to,” Astrid admits one morning   as Kael helps her walk the length of his  chambers. Her legs shake with effort,   but she’s determined to regain her strength. “The bond?” He steadies her when she stumbles,   his arm solid around her waist.  “Or having someone care about you?” “Both.” She leans into his support, grateful and  frustrated in equal measure.

 “I’ve spent so long   being alone. Being rejected. Sometimes  I forget that’s not my reality anymore.” “Then I’ll remind you.” He guides  her to sit on the edge of the bed,   kneeling to examine her face with concern.  “Every day if I have to. You’re not alone,   Astrid. You’re not rejected. You’re mine,  and I’m yours, and nothing will change that.

” The certainty in his voice makes her chest tighten  with emotion. “What did I do to deserve you?” “You freed my brothers. You saved my soul.”  His thumb brushes across her cheek. “You let   me learn how to feel again. If anything, I  should be asking what I did to deserve you.” She kisses him then, slow and sweet,   pouring everything she can’t yet say into the  contact. When they part, both are smiling.

Thyra enters without knocking, as has become her  habit. She’s wearing the uniform of the king’s   personal guard now, leather armor fitted precisely  to her frame, a sword of exceptional quality at   her hip. The position suits her, Astrid thinks.  Her sister has always been a protector at heart. “The council wants to know when you’ll  be well enough for the mate ceremony,”   Thyra announces without preamble.

  “Apparently three regional Alphas,   five pack leaders, and approximately two dozen  dignitaries are waiting for invitations.” Astrid groans. “Can’t we just do something  quiet? You, me, Kael, and a few witnesses?” “You’re mating the Alpha King,” Thyra  points out with barely concealed   amusement. “Quiet isn’t an option.

  This ceremony is as much political as   personal. Every pack in the kingdom  needs to see you accepted as Luna.” “She’s right,” Kael admits reluctantly.  “I wish we could skip the spectacle,   but my position demands certain traditions. The  ceremony legitimizes our bond in the eyes of the   kingdom. It shows everyone that you’re not just  my mate, but their Luna. My equal in authority.

” The weight of that settles over Astrid  like a physical thing. Luna. She’s gone   from being a rejected Omega, feared and  isolated, to being the highest-ranking   female in the kingdom. The change is  so dramatic it still doesn’t feel real. “When?” she asks, because she knows  delay will only make the anxiety worse.

“Two weeks,” Kael suggests. “That gives  you time to regain your full strength,   and gives the council time to organize  appropriately.” He grins suddenly,   the expression transforming his usually serious  face. “Also gives time for a seamstress to make   you a proper dress. You’re not standing  before the kingdom in patched wool.” Despite her nerves, Astrid laughs.

  “What’s wrong with my dress?” “Absolutely nothing. I’d mate you if you were  wearing rags.” His expression softens. “But you   deserve beauty. Luxury. Everything you’ve been  denied your entire life. Let me give you this.” How can she argue with that? “Fine.  Two weeks. But if anyone makes this   more complicated than it needs to  be, I’m holding you responsible.” The two weeks pass in a blur of preparation.

  Seamstresses descend on Astrid with fabric   samples and measuring tapes, creating a  gown of deep blue wool so finely woven it   feels like water against her skin. Silver  embroidery traces patterns of wolves and   moons across the bodice and hem. It’s the  most beautiful thing she’s ever owned. The fortress itself transforms.

 Servants hang  garlands of pine and winter flowers throughout   the great hall. The stone circle where the  ritual took place is cleaned and prepared,   as tradition demands the mate ceremony  occur in the same sacred space where the   bond was formed. Guests begin arriving days  in advance, filling every available chamber. Astrid meets them all, standing at Kael’s  side during formal dinners and receptions.  

The three regional Alphas who once questioned  his judgment now bow respectfully to her.   Word has spread about the ritual,  about how she freed the trapped   spirits of Kael’s brothers and exposed Halvard’s  decade-old betrayal. Some still fear her gift,   but that fear has transformed into  something closer to reverence.

 “They’re calling you the Soul Guide Luna,” Thyra  reports one evening while helping Astrid prepare   for yet another formal dinner. “Some are saying  you’re blessed by the moon goddess herself.” “That’s ridiculous.” Astrid fidgets  with the simple silver circlet Kael   insisted she wear to these events. “I’m  just a woman with an unusual gift.” “You’re more than that now.” Thyra’s hands  are gentle as she arranges Astrid’s hair.  

“Whether you wanted it or not, you’ve  become a symbol. The Omega who rose   from nothing. The outcast who became Luna.  People will tell your story for generations.” The thought is both humbling and terrifying.  Astrid has never wanted fame or legend.   She just wanted to use her gift  to help the dead find peace,   and maybe—if she was very lucky—find  some measure of peace for herself.

The night before the ceremony, Kael takes her  to the stone circle under darkness. Torches line   the perimeter, casting dancing shadows across the  ancient monoliths. The space feels different now,   lighter somehow, as if the successful ritual  cleansed something old and dark from the land. “I wanted to show you something,” Kael says,   guiding her to the center where the blood  circle once bound the ritual space. “Look up.

” She tilts her head back and gasps. The stars  are brilliant tonight, the full moon bright   enough to cast clear shadows. But more than  that, there’s a quality to the light that   seems almost alive, shimmering with colors  that shouldn’t exist in natural moonlight. “The pups,” she breathes, understanding  instinctively. “They’re saying goodbye.

” “Or thank you.” Kael’s arm  slides around her waist,   pulling her against his  side. “I feel them sometimes,   at the edges of my awareness. Not trapped  anymore, but still watching. Still caring.” They stand together in silence, watching the  impossible light dance across the sky. Astrid   feels a deep peace settle over her soul.  This is why she was born with her gift.   This is what all the years of rejection  and fear were leading toward.

 She freed   three spirits who desperately needed release,  and in doing so, freed the man who loved them. “I’m terrified for tomorrow,”  she admits quietly. “What if I   mess up the ceremony? What if I say the  wrong words or trip over my dress or—” “Then everyone will see that you’re  human.” Kael turns her to face him,   his hands gentle on her shoulders.

  “They don’t need you to be perfect,   Astrid. They need you to be real. To show them  that strength doesn’t mean being flawless or   untouchable. It means being brave enough  to keep going even when you’re scared.” “You’re really good at this encouragement thing,”  she manages through the lump in her throat. “I’ve had practice. You’ve needed  a lot of encouraging lately.” His   smile is teasing but warm. “Now come on.

 You need   rest before tomorrow. Can’t have my Luna  falling asleep during her own ceremony.” The ceremony day dawns clear and cold, the  sky so blue it hurts to look at. Astrid wakes   alone in her chambers—tradition demands the  mates spend the night before separated—but   she feels Kael through the bond, steady and calm,  radiating confidence that helps settle her nerves.

Thyra arrives with the seamstresses, and together  they dress Astrid in the blue gown. Her hair is   arranged in elaborate braids woven with silver  thread, and the circlet is replaced with a   crown of winter flowers and pine. She barely  recognizes herself in the polished bronze mirror. “You look like a Luna,” Thyra says,   her voice thick with emotion. “Our  grandmother would have been so proud.

” Astrid grips her sister’s hand, grateful beyond  words for the one person who never abandoned her,   never doubted her, never treated  her as anything less than family. The procession to the stone circle begins at  midday. Astrid walks alone, as tradition requires,   with Thyra and the king’s guard flanking her  at a respectful distance.

 The path through the   forest has been cleared and decorated,  creating a processional way lined with   witnesses. Wolves from every territory in the  kingdom have gathered to observe this moment. As she approaches the circle, she sees  Kael waiting at its center. He’s dressed   in ceremonial armor, polished leather and silver  that catches the sunlight. His hair is pulled back   from his face, the blonde beard neat and trim.

  He looks every inch the Alpha King, powerful   and commanding, but when his eyes find hers  across the distance, they soften with pure love. The ceremony itself is ancient, words passed  down through generations of wolves. An elder   from one of the oldest packs conducts  it, speaking the binding phrases in   the old language while Kael and Astrid  stand together at the circle’s heart.  

They exchange vows—not the bond itself,  which already exists between them,   but public promises to honor, protect, and cherish  each other for all the days of their lives. When the elder calls for the marking, Kael  bares his throat in a gesture of absolute trust.   Astrid’s canines lengthen instinctively,  and she places her mark on his neck with   careful precision. The mate bond, already  strong, blazes into something transcendent.  

She feels him completely, every emotion, every  thought, every part of his soul laid bare to hers. Then he marks her in return, his  teeth gentle despite their strength,   placing his claim over the same spot where he  bit her weeks ago to save her from poison. The   bond solidifies into something permanent  and unbreakable. They are truly one now,   mated in body and spirit, recognized by law  and tradition and every witness present.

The crowd erupts in howls of celebration  as the elder raises their joined hands.   “Behold your Alpha King and his Luna!” he  proclaims. “Mated and bound, now and forever!” The feast that follows lasts well into  the night. Food and drink flow freely,   and for the first time in living memory, the  fortress rings with genuine laughter and joy.  

Astrid sits at the high table beside  Kael, accepting congratulations from   pack leaders and dignitaries who  once would have spat at her feet. Near midnight, as the celebration shows  no signs of slowing, Kael leans close   to murmur in her ear. “Want to escape? I’d  very much like to have my mate to myself.

” Astrid grins, warmth flooding  through the bond. “Yes, please.” They slip away quietly, leaving Thyra to manage  the revelry, and retreat to Kael’s chambers.   Their chambers now, Astrid  realizes. She’s moved all   her few possessions here over the past  weeks, making this space truly theirs. Kael locks the door behind them  and pulls her into his arms,   kissing her deeply.

 When they finally break apart,   both breathless, he rests his forehead  against hers. “My Luna. My mate. My love.” “Yours,” she agrees simply. “Always yours.” They make love slowly, savoring every touch  and kiss, the bond between them amplifying   every sensation until Astrid feels like she  might shatter from the intensity.

 Afterwards,   they lie tangled together, skin  warm and bodies perfectly fitted. “I have something to tell you,” Astrid says  after a while, nerves fluttering in her stomach. Kael props himself up on one elbow, concern  flickering across his face. “What is it?” “I’m pregnant.” The words come out  in a rush. “The healer confirmed it   this morning.

 Two months along, she  thinks, which means it happened right   around when you gave me the mate  bond to save me from the poison.” For a moment, Kael simply stares at her,  processing. Then his face transforms,   joy and wonder and a touch of fear all  mingling together. “A pup? We’re having a pup?” “We are.” She searches his expression  anxiously. “I know it’s fast.   I know we’ve barely had time  to adjust to being mated.

 But—” He silences her with another kiss,  this one fierce and claiming. “But   nothing,” he says against her lips.  “A pup is a blessing. Our pup will be   loved and protected and cherished  every single day of their life.” Tears spill down Astrid’s cheeks,  relief and happiness overwhelming her.   “They’ll have everything we didn’t.  Safety. Family. A place to belong.

” “They’ll have you as a mother,” Kael  says, hand moving to rest gently over   her still-flat stomach. “That alone makes  them the luckiest pup in the kingdom.” They fall asleep like that, Kael’s hand  protective over their growing child,   the mate bond humming contentedly between them.

 Winter bleeds slowly into the first shy  promises of spring and then into the lazy   heat of early summer. Days stack quietly  on top of one another—training sessions   in the courtyards, council meetings  that stretch late into the evening,   nights spent tracing constellations of old  scars and new hopes across each other’s   skin—until the memory of living on the knife’s  edge of exile feels distant, but never erased.

Months pass in contentment. Astrid’s  pregnancy progresses normally,   her body recovering fully from the ritual’s drain  and taking to the new life growing within her.   She establishes a sanctuary in one of the fortress  towers for rejected Omegas, providing shelter   and training for those who have nowhere else  to go.

 Kael supports the project completely,   even passing new laws that make it illegal to  exile pack members simply for being different. The kingdom flourishes under their  joint rule. Kael’s strength tempered   by Astrid’s compassion creates a balance that  benefits all wolves. Trade routes expand,   disputes are settled more peacefully,  and for the first time in generations,   the various packs begin to trust their  Alpha King not just to rule, but to care.

On a clear autumn evening, Astrid stands on  the fortress ramparts, watching the sun set   over the mountains. Her belly is round now, the  pup within active and strong. Kael joins her,   wrapping his arms around her from behind,  hands settling over where their child grows. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks quietly.

 “Your  old life? The quiet cabin in the woods?” Astrid considers the question seriously.   “Sometimes,” she admits. “Life was  simpler then. Lonelier, but simpler.” “Do you regret this? Us?” “Never.” She turns in his arms to face him. “You  gave me everything I never knew I wanted. A home.   A family. A purpose beyond just surviving.

”  She touches his face, tracing the line of   his beard. “I love you, Kael. I love our  life. And I can’t wait to meet our pup.” “Neither can I.” He kisses her forehead,   the gesture tender. “They’ll be strong. Brave.  Compassionate. Everything their mother is.” “And arrogant, stubborn, and protective,”  Astrid teases. “Everything their father is.

” They stand together as darkness falls,  watching stars emerge across the vast sky.   Somewhere in that endless expanse,  three young spirits rest in peace,   their unfinished business finally resolved. And  here, in the fortress that was once a place of   grief and duty, new life grows, proof  that even the deepest wounds can heal.

Astrid feels a flutter in her belly—the  pup moving, restless and eager. She smiles,   placing her hand over Kael’s  where it rests on her stomach.   Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new  responsibilities. But tonight, this moment   is perfect. She is loved. She belongs. And the  future stretches ahead full of possibility.

The rejected Omega has become Luna. The  isolated Soul Guide has become beloved.   And the broken Alpha King has learned to  hope again. Their story is far from over,   but this chapter ends in peace and promise. The end.