Chapter 2

Kala stopped walking. She took a slow breath, pushing down the spike of irritation in her chest. When she turned around, her face was a mask of perfect, gentle compliance. A soft smile curved her lips.

She walked back toward the rocking chair, her steps measured and slow. When she reached the elder, she lowered her head slightly, showing the proper respect for a pack elder.

Morwenna's hand shot out. Her fingers were like dry twigs, cold and rough. They clamped around Kala's wrist with surprising strength.

A sharp sting shot up Kala's arm. The old woman's grip was iron, her nails digging into Kala's skin. Kala kept her smile in place, but her jaw tightened. She did not pull away.

Zev and the other cubs went dead silent. They held their breath, their eyes darting between the elder and the Mender.

"Go," Morwenna barked at the cubs. "To your cabins. Now."

The cubs scattered like leaves in a windstorm. Within seconds, the square was empty. The only sound was the pop and hiss of the bonfire.

Morwenna's thumb pressed against the pulse point on Kala's wrist. The old woman slid her finger back and forth, feeling the rhythm of Kala's life force.

"You have passed your maturity ritual," Morwenna said, her voice dropping to a severe whisper. "Yet you have marked no one. You take no partners."

Kala kept her voice soft. "I am focusing on my new hemostatic herbs, Elder. I have no time for other things."

Morwenna scoffed. Her cane struck the dirt again, hard. "Herbs do not breed the next generation. Herbs do not keep the pack strong."

The elder leaned forward. The firelight carved deep shadows into her wrinkled face. "A lone female without a strong family to protect her is the weakest prey when the deep winter comes," Morwenna warned, her voice low and threatening. "You are wasting your heat."

Kala frowned. A muscle twitched in her cheek. She hated this. She hated the way they talked about females like they were breeding stock or resources to be claimed.

"My father and my family protect me," Kala said, keeping her tone even.

Morwenna laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "Armond is the strongest Alpha in this pack, yes. But he cannot stand guard at your bed forever. He cannot scent away every male who circles you."

The old woman's grip tightened on Kala's wrist. The nails bit deeper, close to drawing blood. "The young unmated males are already restless. Your scent drives them mad. They pace outside your door like starving wolves."

A wave of nausea rolled through Kala's stomach. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gag. The thought of those eyes watching her, sniffing the air for her scent, made her skin crawl.

"If you do not choose by the next Full Moon," Morwenna said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "the Council of Elders will choose for you. We will assign your mates."

Kala's pupils contracted. Her heart dropped into her stomach like a stone. Forced matching. It was the one thing she swore she would never allow. It was slavery dressed up as tradition.

She forced herself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She was a Mender. She had control. She would not panic.

Her mind raced, finding the only leverage she had. She looked at Morwenna's chest, noting the slight wheeze in the elder's breathing.

"Elder," Kala said, her voice shifting from submissive to professional in an instant. "Your breathing is labored. There is a rattle in your lungs. The chill of the night is aggravating your old illness."

Morwenna blinked. She hesitated, caught off guard. A tickle hit the back of her throat, and she coughed twice, a wet, hacking sound. Her grip on Kala's wrist loosened just a fraction.

That was enough.

Kala slid her wrist free and took a smooth step backward, putting distance between them. "Come to my clinic tomorrow morning," Kala instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I will have a fresh lung-relief potion ready for you. Do not skip it, or the coughing will worsen by the week's end."

Morwenna opened her mouth, but the authority in Kala's medical advice silenced her. The elder was old, and her body was failing. She could not afford to anger the only Mender who could ease her pain.

Kala bowed slightly. "Goodnight, Elder. I must prepare the herbs."

She turned and walked away from the bonfire. Her steps were quicker now, her long skirts swishing against her legs. The cold night air hit her back, and she realized a layer of sweat had soaked through her shirt.

She reached the main path of the settlement. She needed to get home, into the safety of her family's walls.

A sound stopped her in her tracks.

From the direction of the main gate, a heavy, mournful wolf howl ripped through the night. It was followed by the thunderous thud of heavy footsteps and the clatter of armor.

The hunting party was back.