The Stranger in the Ash
The scent hit her first.
Not rogue. Not pack.
Something colder. Sharper. Like moonlight filtered through steel.
Seraphine stilled, crouching low behind a veil of undergrowth, her white fur catching the moonlight in soft flickers. Her nose twitched. Her ears turned.
He was standing just beyond the treeline—tall, cloaked, and entirely too calm for someone who had wandered into a clearing still thick with blood and flame.
He didn’t speak right away. Just watched her. One hand resting casually on the hilt of a blade at his hip. Like she was… interesting.
Not dangerous.
That pissed her off.
“You burn very loudly for someone who claims to be hiding,” he said, voice smooth and cold as stone.
She bared her fangs.
He didn’t flinch.
“Incredible,” he muttered, tilting his head. “Not even a twitch of curiosity. Just pure, glowing murder.”
Seraphine let out a deep, warning growl. Sparks crackled beneath her paws.
He smiled faintly. “Don’t bother with the threats, Ashborn. I’m not here to fight. Yet.”
Her eyes narrowed. That word—Ashborn. He said it like he knew what it meant. Like he knew her.
He’s not afraid, Nyra murmured. That makes him dangerous.
The stranger stepped forward. Slowly. Measured. He raised both hands—palms out, empty.
“Kael,” he said. “Draven. Former Alpha. Current… inconvenient asset.”
She held her ground, shoulders squared, fur bristling.
Kael sighed and rubbed the scar along his jaw. “Look, I’d introduce myself properly, but you don’t seem the handshake type.”
A rustle in the trees behind her broke the tension.
She snapped her head around—ears alert. More rogues. Their scent came sharp and fast, like blood in the wind.
Kael’s smirk faded. “Lovely,” he muttered. “You brought a party.”
Seraphine turned back to him.
He was already drawing his blade.
“Guess we’re skipping the small talk.”
The first rogue didn’t even try to be subtle.
He crashed through the brush like a battering ram, half-shifted, fangs out, eyes glowing with bloodlust. Behind him came three more—flanking wide, boxing her in.
Kael didn’t flinch. He turned slightly, blade loose in his hand, gaze flicking between the shadows.
“Rogues,” he said calmly. “Sloppy ones, too. Honestly, I’m a little insulted they sent the junior squad.”
Seraphine growled low, her body coiled and ready.
Let me, Nyra whispered.
But Seraphine was already moving.
She lunged at the closest one—a short, stocky wolf with jagged scars and a scent like rot. Her jaws locked around his throat mid-snarl, and she yanked him to the ground with a brutal twist. His scream barely made it out before she crushed it.
Kael was a blur beside her—graceful, fast, far too calm for a man surrounded by feral predators. His blade sang through the air, catching a rogue across the chest. Another came at his side, claws raised, and Seraphine slammed into it from behind with fire trailing in her wake.
They fought without speaking, without planning.
But they moved like they’d done it a hundred times.
Kael ducked under her as she leapt over him to take down a third rogue. She scorched the ground on impact, pinning the enemy and tearing into him with glowing claws. Kael kicked the last one into a tree and finished him with a smooth arc of his blade.
Silence returned, but it was uneasy.
Seraphine stood, chest heaving, blood dripping from her maw. Kael wiped his blade on a tattered cloak and gave her a sidelong glance.
“Not bad,” he said, breathing hard but not winded. “You’re not just fire and attitude after all.”
She didn’t respond—couldn’t.
Just growled low in her throat.
Kael raised a brow. “Still not talking? Fine. I’ll do the conversational heavy lifting.”
He turned toward the tree line, scanning the dark.
“You’ve got more problems coming,” he said. “That ambush was sloppy, but it wasn’t random. Someone’s hunting you.”
Seraphine flicked her tail.
He turned back to her.
“I know who. And I know why. And if you don’t want to end up dead—again—you might want to consider hearing me out.”
She narrowed her eyes.
Not trusting him.
But not walking away, either.