Chapter 8 Shadows of the Past

Chapter 8: Shadows of the Past

AMARA

The night air was thick with tension, a cloying, suffocating thing that pressed against my skin like an omen. The echoes of Derek's departure still clung to the grand hall, a spectral presence lingering in the heavy silence. But his rage wasn't the only thing that remained.

Something else stirred in the air-something old, something tainted.

My wolf sensed it first, a ripple of unease beneath my skin. It was a scent beyond anger or resentment, beyond grudges and pack politics. It was wrong. A decay that didn't belong, the scent of rot buried beneath fresh earth.

And it wasn't just in the air.

It was in the walls, in the candlelit corridors of the Crescent Moon Pack's estate, in the hush that fell as Xander led me through the winding halls. It was in the paintings of past Alphas that lined the passageway-silent watchers, their golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. A trick of the flickering flames, or something more?

The hair at the nape of my neck rose.

I was the outcast. The rogue who had dared to return.

And something in these walls remembered me.

The whispers slithered around us like unseen serpents, hushed voices threading through the silence.

"She should have stayed gone."

"She's a threat."

"He'll come for her."

I knew who he was.

Xander didn't acknowledge them. He didn't have to. His grip on my wrist remained firm, his thumb idly tracing patterns against my pulse. Not an act of affection, no. It was something else.

A claim.

To them.

To me.

To whatever forces lurked beyond sight, watching from the shadows.

Ahead of us, the hallway darkened. A set of heavy oak doors loomed, their surface scarred with claw marks-deep, jagged reminders of battles fought long before my time. Marks that hadn't faded. Marks that had meaning.

Xander said nothing as he pushed the doors open, leading me into his private chambers. The moment the doors shut behind us, sealing us in, I wrenched my wrist free and turned on him.

"What the hell was that?" I hissed, my voice edged with fury.

Xander arched a brow, his lips curving into that insufferable smirk. "That, sweetheart, was me keeping you alive."

I scoffed, my blood still boiling from the way he had paraded me through the estate like some kind of trophy. "You call that protection? You threw me to the wolves."

His smirk deepened, something dark flickering in his gaze. "Oh, Amara." He took a slow step toward me, and instinct made me step back. "That wasn't a parade."

His power brushed against my skin, unseen but undeniable-like the charge in the air before a storm.

"That was a warning."

A growl built in my throat, my wolf shifting uneasily beneath my skin. A warning? To the others? Or to me?

I clenched my fists. "I don't need you to fight my battles, Xander."

He tilted his head, watching me with an unreadable expression. "Maybe not." His gaze flicked downward, to my clenched hands, then back up to my face. "But you're in my world now. And in my world, you don't fight alone."

His words struck something deep, something I didn't want to acknowledge.

Because part of me wanted to believe him.

And I hated that.

I turned away, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I'm not afraid of Derek."

Xander exhaled, a soft, humorless chuckle escaping him. "No," he said. "But you should be afraid of what comes next."

A cold chill snaked down my spine.

I turned back to him. "What do you mean?"

Xander didn't answer right away. Instead, he moved toward a cabinet near the fireplace, retrieving a crystal decanter. The amber liquid inside caught the moonlight as he poured himself a drink. He swirled the glass, watching the liquid as if it held the answers he sought.

Then, he spoke.

"Derek isn't just angry, Amara."

I frowned. "Then what is he?"

Xander took a slow sip, his gaze meeting mine over the rim of his glass. For the first time tonight, there was no teasing, no arrogance. Only cold, unrelenting certainty.

"Desperate."

The word landed between us like a blade.

My fingers curled. "Desperate for what?"

Xander's jaw tensed, his gaze flicking toward the window. Beyond the glass, the moon hung low, shrouded in the mist rolling in from the forest.

"To finish what he started."

The air thickened, pressing against me.

"You think he'll come after me?"

Xander's expression darkened. "I don't think, Amara. I know."

Something in his voice made my wolf stir, uneasy.

I swallowed hard. "If he tries, I'll be ready."

Xander let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. "You don't understand, do you?" He took another sip of his drink, then set the glass down with a decisive clink.

His gaze found mine again, and when he spoke, his words were ice.

"Derek won't try to kill you, Amara."

My breath caught.

"Then what does he want?"

Xander stepped closer, his presence a force that sent my wolf pacing inside me. "You think this is about revenge? About the past?" His voice dropped, a whisper of something dangerous. "You were gone for years. If he wanted you dead, he would've hunted you down long before now."

My pulse quickened.

"Then why-?"

His fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my chin up, forcing me to hold his gaze. "Because it's not just about you anymore."

The words sent a tremor through my body.

Something was wrong.

Something had always been wrong.

I had returned to Crescent Moon thinking I understood the war I was stepping into.

But I hadn't known the half of it.

And now, standing in the shadow of something far bigger than myself, I could feel the truth creeping in.

Derek's rage wasn't just about old grudges.

It was about something far more sinister.

Something that had been waiting in the dark, biding its time.

Something that wanted me alive.

For now.

And that terrified me more than death ever could.