Chapter 4 4

Elara POV

The fierce determination that ignited in my chest at the market carried me straight through the night and into the next afternoon.

Albin Todd's herbalist shop sat on the dusty fringes of the Bloodmoon Pack's central market. The air inside was thick with a familiar, comforting scent-a heavy blend of dried moonpetal, sharp sage, and the bitter undertone of wolfsbane hanging from the rough wooden rafters. Sunlight filtered through the grimy windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing above the heavy oak counter.

I stood behind that counter, wiping down a heavy stone mortar. Beside the brass scale sat a small, unassuming glass jar filled with a pale, shimmering cream. My very first batch of the Glow Salve. The knowledge of how to extract the exact essence of the herbs had bloomed in my mind effortlessly, a quiet gift from my newly awakened White Wolf bloodline.

The little bell above the door chimed frantically.

Rosalie Vance swept into the shop, bringing with her the sour, nervous scent of pure anxiety. She was a pretty female, but today her skin looked sallow, and dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes. The upcoming Pairing Ceremony had half the Pack's unmarried females in a frenzy, and Rosalie was no exception. She was desperate to secure a strong Warrior mate.

"Albin!" Rosalie called out, her fingers anxiously tapping the oak counter. "Tell me you have something, anything, for my skin. I look like a corpse, and the Ceremony is in three days!"

Albin was in the back room, sorting a fresh delivery of roots. This was my chance. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my hands to remain steady as I pushed the small glass jar across the counter.

"Mr. Todd is busy, Rosalie," I said, keeping my voice even. "But I just finished brewing this. It's a Glow Salve. It hydrates the skin and restores natural vitality almost instantly."

Rosalie stopped tapping. Her eyes darted from the jar to my face, her expression twisting into a harsh sneer. She took in my frayed clothes, my sickly complexion from my recent fever, and the undeniable, pathetic scent of a wolfless Omega.

"You're selling a balm for vitality and glow?" she scoffed, her voice dripping with condescension. "By the Goddess, Elara, look at yourself. You're pale as a ghost. If this stuff is so miraculous, why haven't you used it?"

The words hit exactly where she intended. A phantom ache throbbed in my chest, a bitter reminder of the stigma I had carried my whole life. But beneath that old pain, my White Wolf stirred-calm, ancient, and entirely unbothered by the opinions of a lesser wolf. I swallowed the sting, guarding the secret of my awakening.

"I was severely ill, Rosalie," I replied softly, offering her a practiced, self-deprecating smile. "I only just managed to recreate this old family recipe today. It's gentle, but it takes time to reverse weeks of fever on a body like mine. However, the immediate soothing effects are undeniable."

Before she could argue, I unscrewed the lid. I scooped a tiny amount of the shimmering salve onto my fingertip and gently rubbed it into the back of her hand.

Rosalie flinched at first, but then her breath hitched. The salve melted into her skin upon contact. The dull, dry patch on her hand instantly plumped, leaving behind a soft, radiant sheen and the faint, luxurious scent of crushed moonpetal.

She stared at her hand, her skepticism warring with her vanity. The vanity won.

"How much?" she muttered, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Five dollars."

She dug into her leather purse and slapped a crumpled five-dollar bill onto the oak counter. She snatched the glass jar, her grip tight, but as she turned toward the door, she paused and looked back at me, her eyes narrowing.

"Alright, I'll take it," Rosalie warned, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "But if you're selling snake oil, Elara Snow, I'll make sure every wolf in this Pack knows you're a fraud."

The bell chimed again as she marched out, leaving the shop in heavy silence.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My hands were trembling, not from fear, but from the sheer, intoxicating rush of victory. I reached out and smoothed the crumpled five-dollar bill flat against the wood. It was the first real money I had ever earned with my own two hands.

Footsteps shuffled from the back room. I looked up to see Albin Todd approaching the counter, his wise, aged eyes dropping to the money under my palm. The real test of my new life was about to begin.