Chapter 3

The moonlight had long since disappeared behind thick clouds, leaving Midnight Valley steeped in darkness. The air was thick with mist, swirling through the trees like phantom whispers. Elara’s footsteps were muffled by the soft earth beneath her boots, but the silence was more unsettling than reassuring. The forest was never quiet—not with the howls of wolves echoing in the distance, not with the constant hum of life in the valley. Tonight, however, the world felt still. Too still.

She paused at the edge of the clearing, her fingers still tingling from the brief contact with Leon’s hand, the warmth of his touch lingering longer than it should. She hadn’t expected him to follow her into the woods, hadn’t expected him to say the words he had. “You’re not alone in this.”

The truth hung over her like an oppressive cloud, suffocating her thoughts, her emotions, and her ability to think clearly. Her father’s betrayal. The truth of her lineage, the revelation that she wasn’t just the daughter of Draven Blackthorn. No. She was something more—something far more dangerous.

And then there was Leon. The son of Alpha Darkwood. Her sworn enemy.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a crackling sound behind her, a faint rustle of movement. She turned sharply, but the mist concealed everything beyond a few feet. Her breath hitched as she felt the familiar tingle of being watched. Not the natural gaze of the wolves, not the distant shadows of the forest, but something far closer.

Before she could react, the figure stepped forward—tall, with broad shoulders and an unmistakable presence. The light, though faint and diffused by the mist, caught on his dark hair, making it shimmer in the night. Leon.

His ice-blue eyes met hers, sharp and penetrating, the calm that settled over him in contrast to the storm in her chest. His posture, though rigid, seemed oddly at ease as he stood there in the mist, his broad chest rising and falling with steady breaths. The white of his shirt was barely visible beneath his dark cloak, his fingers tucked into the folds of his coat. His eyes studied her, not with the cold detachment of before, but with a hint of understanding—or something deeper.

“Elara,” he said, his voice low and even, as though he was unsure of how to approach her. “You’ve been gone long enough.”

Her heart skipped, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral. "I needed time," she replied, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. She didn’t want to hear his concern, didn’t want to feel the weight of it pressing down on her already fragile mind.

A long, taut silence stretched between them as Leon took a step closer, his boots silent against the earth. The tension that had crackled when their hands brushed in the clearing earlier was now thick in the air, a palpable thing.

“What are you doing here?” Elara finally demanded, her voice wavering despite herself. She couldn’t let him in. Not now.

Leon’s lips tightened, his eyes never leaving hers. “You think you can run away from all of this?” He motioned vaguely to the dark expanse of the valley. “You think you can face what’s coming on your own?”

She flinched at his words, not because they were cruel—but because they hit too close to the truth. She had been trying to outrun this—her heritage, her destiny, and most of all, the prophecy that had been placed upon her shoulders. The one she was never meant to know.

But here was Leon, standing in front of her, his presence as commanding as it was unsettling. She hated how much she could feel the bond between them, how his every move seemed to pull her in even when she wanted to escape. She hated that he was right.

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped, taking a step back. The sharp retort came out before she could think, and she regretted it immediately, but her pride was too strong to let her back down.

Leon didn’t flinch. He stepped closer, and despite her desire to pull away, she found herself rooted to the spot. His eyes, always so cold and guarded, were now searching hers with an intensity that sent a strange shiver down her spine.

“I didn’t say you did,” he replied quietly. “But that doesn’t mean you should face this alone.”

The words were simple. Almost too simple. But their weight was enormous. Elara’s pulse quickened, her chest tightening as she fought to keep control. She hated feeling vulnerable, hated the way Leon’s presence made her feel exposed. Yet, something in his gaze softened her resolve, just for a moment.

Her heart raced, but she couldn’t afford to show it. She turned her head, staring into the distance as if the forest itself held some answer to her turmoil. “I don’t want this,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “I didn’t ask for any of it.”

There was a long pause before Leon spoke again, his voice quieter, almost as if he too struggled with the weight of the moment. “None of us do, Elara.”

She turned back to face him, startled by the rawness in his voice. His eyes were softer now, less guarded than before.

The silence stretched between them, fragile yet charged, like the calm before a storm. He moved, stepping closer, and for a brief, reckless moment, Elara thought he might say more. He might confess something—some truth about their connection that she had been too afraid to acknowledge.

But before the moment could shift into something else, the sound of distant howls broke through the stillness, calling from the heart of the valley. Wolves.

Elara’s breath hitched in her throat, her thoughts snapping back to the present. “What was that?” she asked, her voice betraying the fear she hadn’t realized she felt.

Leon’s expression hardened, and he straightened, his shoulders squared as his gaze turned toward the sound. “Rogues,” he said, his voice low, filled with a new intensity. “They’re getting closer.”

The mood shifted instantly. Elara could feel the change in the air—the weight of something darker approaching. The rogues were never a simple threat. If they were here, it meant something had changed in the valley. Something dangerous.

Without thinking, Elara grabbed the dagger at her side, the cold metal reassuring in her palm. Leon’s eyes flickered toward her, his expression a mix of surprise and concern.

“You should go back to your pack,” Elara said sharply, her jaw clenched. She hated the way she had to say it, hated the way she wanted him to stay. But it wasn’t just about her safety. This wasn’t his fight.

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I’m not leaving you alone out here.”

For a moment, Elara felt something stir between them, something she couldn’t define. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else, but she couldn’t shake the thought that Leon wasn’t just here out of duty.

“Don’t do this,” she said, more quietly now. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

But Leon didn’t move. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, the touch fleeting but tender. His gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, and for a brief instant, Elara wondered if he could feel the same pull she felt.

Then, the howl broke the silence again—closer this time, louder and more menacing. Leon’s expression hardened, and without another word, he turned, leading the way deeper into the mist, his movements swift and determined. Elara followed, her heart pounding with a mixture of dread and something else—something she refused to acknowledge.

As they moved through the trees, the tension between them crackled in the air. But Elara couldn’t focus on that now. She had no time for this connection—no time for anything other than the danger that lay ahead.

They emerged from the mist into a small clearing, and there, standing in the center, was a figure cloaked in black. The figure’s eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, and its voice—low, gravelly—cut through the air like a blade.

“Elara Blackthorn,” it said, its tone unmistakably familiar. “It’s time for you to choose.”