Chapter 2 Meeting Lyorine

As they disappeared into the forest, the shadows seemed to close in around them, the air thick with tension.

And somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled-a lonely, mournful sound that echoed through the night.

Zach's jaw tightened as he walked. The sound was familiar, though not comforting. It reminded him of everything he had lost-his wolf, the connection to the deeper, primal part of himself. The howl wasn't just a call; it was a reminder. He wasn't whole.

"Are you always this tense?" Lyorine's voice broke the silence, her tone sharp and laced with sarcasm.

Zach shot her a sidelong glance, his dark eyes narrowing. "Are you always this annoying?"

She shrugged, unfazed. "Only when I'm forced to follow strangers into the woods without knowing if I'll make it out alive."

"You're alive because I let you be."

The words came out harsher than he intended, but he didn't apologize. Lyorine stopped walking, turning to glare at him.

"Let me be alive? Let me?" she snapped. Her voice was low, but there was venom in it. "You don't even know who I am, Killian. For all you know, I could destroy you with a flick of my wrist."

Zach stepped closer, towering over her. He was used to people cowering under his glare, but Lyorine didn't flinch. "Then why haven't you?" he challenged, his voice calm but cold.

They stared at each other, the air between them humming with tension. For a moment, it seemed like something was about to snap. Then, without warning, Lyorine broke eye contact and started walking again.

"Because I'm not in the mood," she said over her shoulder, her voice dripping with indifference.

Zach let out a frustrated breath and followed her.

The forest grew darker as they moved deeper into it. The moonlight barely filtered through the thick canopy above, casting everything in shades of gray.

Zach was about to say something-maybe another biting comment-when he caught a scent.

Blood.

He froze mid-step, his senses sharpening. His hand shot out, grabbing Lyorine's arm to stop her.

"What-" she started, but he silenced her with a look.

"Blood," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lyorine frowned, glancing around. "I don't smell anything."

"Of course you don't. You're not a wolf," he replied, his tone clipped.

He moved ahead without waiting for her, following the faint metallic scent. It wasn't long before he found the source.

A figure lay crumpled on the ground, cloaked in shadow. At first glance, Zach thought it was a wolf, but as he stepped closer, he realized it was something else entirely.

A woman.

Her dark hair was matted with blood, and her clothes were torn, revealing scratches and bruises across her pale skin. She looked fragile, like a porcelain doll that had been shattered and hastily pieced back together.

Zach's instincts screamed at him to be cautious, but something about her pulled at him-something he couldn't explain.

"Is she... dead?" Lyorine asked from behind him, her voice softer now.

"No," Zach said, crouching beside the woman. He placed two fingers against her neck, feeling the faint but steady pulse. "She's alive. Barely."

"Do you recognize her?"

Zach shook his head. "No. But she's not one of us."

"Then she's probably one of mine," Lyorine said, her tone unreadable.

Zach glanced up at her, his brow furrowing. "Yours?"

"A witch," Lyorine clarified, crossing her arms. "You can tell by the energy around her. It's... faint, but it's there."

Zach looked back at the woman. There was something strange about her, something that set his nerves on edge.

"We can't just leave her here," he said finally.

"Why not?" Lyorine replied, her tone blunt. "She's not our problem."

Zach stood, his expression hard. "I'm not leaving her to die."

Lyorine rolled her eyes. "And here I thought werewolves were supposed to be ruthless."

Ignoring her sarcasm, Zach bent down and carefully lifted the unconscious woman into his arms. She was lighter than he expected, her body limp as a ragdoll.

"Let's go," he said, his voice firm.

Lyorine sighed but followed him without argument.

The pack's territory was quiet when they returned, the cabins scattered across the clearing bathed in moonlight.

Zach carried the woman inside his cabin, laying her down on the bed. Lyorine lingered near the doorway, her arms crossed as she watched him work.

"You're really going through all this trouble for a stranger?" she asked, her tone skeptical.

Zach didn't look at her as he spoke. "She's injured. I'm not going to let her die if I can help it."

"You're awfully noble for someone so... grumpy," Lyorine muttered.

Zach ignored the comment, focusing instead on cleaning the woman's wounds. He worked quickly but carefully, his hands steady despite the tension coiled in his chest.

When he was done, he stepped back, exhaling slowly. "She'll live," he said, more to himself than to Lyorine.

"Good for her," Lyorine said, though her tone lacked enthusiasm.

Zach turned to face her, his expression serious. "Why are you so cold about this?"

Lyorine raised an eyebrow. "Cold? I'm being practical. You don't even know who she is, Zach. For all you know, she could be working with someone who wants to destroy you."

"Maybe," Zach admitted. "But if she's a threat, I'll deal with it when the time comes."

Lyorine scoffed, shaking her head. "You're either very brave or very stupid."

"Maybe both," Zach said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

The next morning, word of the mysterious woman spread quickly. By the time Zach stepped outside, the pack had already gathered, murmurs of unease rippling through the crowd.

Marcus was the first to approach him, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

"Zach," he said, his voice low but firm. "What the hell is going on? Who's the woman in your cabin?"

"I found her in the woods," Zach replied simply.

"And you just brought her here? Without knowing who she is or what she wants?"

"She was injured, Marcus," Zach said, his tone sharp. "I wasn't going to leave her to die."

Marcus frowned, his jaw tightening. "I get that, but you're putting the pack at risk. People are already on edge because of the curse, and now you're bringing in a stranger? A witch, no less?"

Zach's eyes narrowed. "I'll handle it."

"Will you?" Marcus challenged. "Because right now, it feels like you're making decisions that affect all of us without thinking them through."

The tension between the brothers was palpable, drawing the attention of the pack. Zach could feel their eyes on him, their doubt weighing heavily on his shoulders.

"I said I'll handle it," Zach repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

Marcus hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But don't expect me to clean up the mess if this goes sideways."

Later that night, Zach sat by the fire in his cabin, his thoughts restless. Lyorine had left hours ago, muttering something about "needing space."

The woman on the bed stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips.

Zach was on his feet in an instant, moving to her side. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and hazy.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're safe. You're in my pack's territory."

Her gaze slowly sharpened, locking onto him. For a moment, she said nothing, her expression unreadable. Then, she whispered, "Killian."

Zach froze.

"How do you know my name?" he demanded, his voice low but urgent.

The woman didn't answer. Instead, she reached up, her fingers brushing against his arm. "The curse..." she murmured, her voice trembling. "It's stronger than you think."

Zach's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"

Before she could respond, her eyes rolled back, and she fell unconscious again.

Zach stared at her, his mind racing. Who was she? How did she know about the curse?

And, more importantly, what did she mean by "stronger than you think"?

The door creaked open, and Lyorine stepped inside, her expression guarded.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, her tone light but curious.