I could feel the fever burning under my skin, each heartbeat like a drum in my skull. The room was hazy, the edges of everything melting into shadows, and yet I could feel the world pressing in on me.
The warmth of the bed beneath me wasn’t enough to ground me. Something else stirred beneath the haze, something older, deeper.
Then the voices came, jagged and sharp against the fog. At first, I couldn’t understand them. They weren’t
in this room.
They were farther away, echoing across a distance that felt like centuries. And then I heard it–his voice.”
You… you’re not fit. You’re not meant to lead.”
It wasn’t strange hearing it spoken aloud, hearing myself being condemned in a way I’d buried so far away.
Yet the words hit me harder than the heat inside my chest.
I tried to push them back, tried to convince myself it was a fragment of a dream, just a memory that didn’t belong to me, but I couldn’t. It belonged. Every syllable sank into my bones.
Then the scene shifted. I was running again. I didn’t know where, didn’t know why, but my legs moved
anyway, instinct taking over. Around me, the world blurred into motion. Trees, rocks, shapes I couldn’t
name. The sound of growls–low and urgent–surrounded me. Wolves–or something like them–were behind me, moving with terrifying precision, always just a heartbeat away. My pulse raced, my chest
heaving, and for a moment, I forgot where I was. It was all so vivid I could almost taste the dirt and blood
in the air.
I stumbled. Just like in the dream from the other night. My foot caught on something unseen, and I went down hard, hands scraping against the earth, the pain sharp but fleeting under the burning heat in my
veins.
The wolves were closer now, their growls rising, their eyes shining with hunger and intent. My breath came in ragged gasps. I couldn’t move fast enough. I wanted to run, to escape, but the ground itself seemed to betray me, pulling me back, slowing me down, trapping me in the memory I’d tried to forget.
Then I saw it–the wolf. The same one from the other night’s dream, the same one I hadn’t dared think about too long for fear of losing myself in it. It stepped from the shadows, massive, silent, with eyes that burned like molten gold. It pierced right through me. I wanted to look away, to deny its presence, but I couldn’t. My body froze. My mind hung in the balance between terror and recognition.
Then I heard it. Not a growl, not a sound from my throat, but words–clear, certain, gentle… again.
“Roman… wake up. Wake up.”
The voice reverberated through me, tugging at something long locked away. It wasn’t loud, not in the way someone might shout in a room, but it carried weight, authority, compassion, and recognition. It reached
< Chapter 312
into me and shook the last remnants of the fevered haze from my mind.
+25 Points
I struggled against the fog in my consciousness, every muscle aching, every nerve alight with the memory of being chased, the words that condemned me, the heat and weight of the earth. And then the world
snapped.
I was no longer running. No longer falling. No longer hiding from those glowing eyes or that accusatory voice. I was lying on the bed, my skin burning, my chest heaving, my head spinning.
The memory was gone–or maybe it had shifted into something more tangible, something I could hold onto. The remnants lingered like smoke in my lungs, thick and bitter, but no longer suffocating.
STONEVALE PACK
The elders of the Stonevale Pack had gathered in a semi–circle, murmuring quietly among themselves, each shifting uneasily in their seats. The absence of an alpha… an unspoken truth…hovered in the room
like a shadow no one dared name aloud.
Darren Weston lounged at the head of the chamber with a casual confidence that belied the tension in the
room. His eyes glinted with that sharp calculation he wore like armor. He hadn’t been crowned alpha yet, but everyone present knew he was working steadily toward it.
The way he carried himself left no doubt that he believed the crown was already his by right, that the only obstacle was hesitation in the pack’s memory.
He laughed then, a slow, deliberate sound that carried easily to every corner of the room. “Honestly,” he said, leaning back, “Roman is history. Can we all move on now? The boy was nothing but a dent in the image of this pack. I can’t imagine an alpha without a wolf, cursed by his own nature. And believe it or not, ” he added, his lips curling slightly, “he killed my brother and his wife. He can’t kill the alpha and become the next alpha.”
A ripple of unease spread through the chamber.
“Darren,” Elder Harkin said, voice calm, “they were not just your brother and his wife. They were also Roman’s parents. How could you accuse a boy of murdering his own parents so comfortably? Your own nephew.”
The room went still. Harkin’s words hung heavy in the sunlight like a weight no one could ignore. Darren’s eyes narrowed, the faintest twitch of irritation crossing his otherwise composed face.
“Are you questioning the council’s decision, Elder Harkin?” Darren asked smoothly, leaning forward. “Or is it that you question your loyalty to Stonevale itself?”
Harkin’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground. “I question nothing of my loyalty. I question the righteousness of banishing a child without proof. The pack has no alpha. We have no direction, and yet you claim to be its captain. This boy–this Roman–has been cast aside without evidence. I tried to speak, but no one listened. And you speak of loyalty? Of justice?”
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+25 Points
Darren chuckled, low and dangerous. “Direction, you say? The pack is fine. Stronger than it’s been in years. My brother, the late alpha, was good but weak. And the boy was unfit to rule anyway. His wolf has not manifested. That is the truth, and the council agreed. We cannot allow weakness to linger at the helm. He would have been a cursed alpha.”
Another elder shifted, whispering under his breath, but Darren caught the movement. “Careful, Elder Selwyn,” he said, voice low. “Don’t let your hesitation be mistaken for dissent. Loyalty to the pack comes first. Always. Do not forget that.”
Harkin’s eyes met Darren’s, unflinching. “And loyalty to justice, Darren? Does that not matter as much as loyalty to the pack? Or is this about consolidating power while the boy is gone, unable to speak for
himself?”
Darren’s lips pressed together, the briefest shadow crossing his face before the familiar mask of amusement returned. “I am not consolidating power. I am safeguarding it. The boy is gone, banished, and the council agreed. You would do well to remember the council’s decision before attempting to
undermine it. Or worse,” he added, leaning back and letting the weight of his gaze settle on Harkin, “before
questioning my authority.”
A hush fell over the room. Some elders fidgeted in their seats, careful not to meet Darren’s stare too long. Others, quieter and older still, looked away, unwilling to be drawn into the clash. Harkin’s face remained
steady, but even he could feel the tension.
“The pack needs an alpha,” Harkin said finally, quieter now. “Not someone who bends the truth to make weakness appear monstrous. Leadership is more than fear and calculation. You know that.”
Darren laughed again, soft but sharp. “Fear? Calculation? No, Elder, you misunderstand. I am ensuring stability. The boy could have become alpha, untested, and the pack would have been exposed to risk–risk we cannot allow. This is what leadership demands. Reality, not sentimentality, Elder Harkin. Reality.”
Another elder cleared his throat, murmuring, “But Roman–he was a child of the former alpha. Even
cursed, even weak–he is still the heir, our blood, still our responsibility…”
“Responsibility?” Darren interrupted, voice rising slightly, sharp enough to draw every eye.
The room fell silent, save for the faint crackle of sunlight across the wooden floors. Darren’s grin returned,
cold.
“The boy is gone. His absence is final. His wolf–or lack thereof–was a curse, and he was a danger to Stonevale… a murderer. Let us not forget that.”
Elder Harkin’s hands rested lightly on the armrests of his chair, knuckles pale, but he did not shrink. “We may have cast him out, Darren. But that does not erase who he is. The boy’s blood runs through him still.
And one day, the pack will remember what it lost. And what was stolen from it.”
Darren laughed again, louder this time, a deliberate echo meant to fill the chamber with his authority. “Let the pack remember, Elder. Or let it follow. The boy will remain a shadow–a cursed shadow. And Stonevale will move forward without him. Mark my words.”
3/4
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The elders shifted uneasily, some nodding reluctantly, some staring at the floor. The
was taut, like a bowstring stretched to the limit.
“Roman is long gone. I don’t know why we’re having this discussion again,” Elder Wy
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
