Chapter 2 The Girl in The Mirror

The next few days were blurs of strange routines and strangers' faces.

Naomi - no, Miler, spelled with an "i", was most often found in the healing hut pretending to be weaker than she was. Alex's pack walked like wolves even when they were nimble, on guard, ready to claim or defend territory. She wasn't prepared to confront them yet. Not until she knew where she stood.

She was learning fast: Golden Ash was no Crystal Blue. There were no elaborate ceremonies, no gilded courtyards or silk robes. This pack was raw and rough. Fighters and survivors. No one bowed. Here, respect was earned, not given.

And they didn't trust easily.

"Rogue or not," Alex had told her, "everybody's gotta show they belong." We don't do charity."

So she helped. Cleaning herbs. Fixing meals. Silent things that wouldn't draw attention.

But at night she sat alone by the river, when the others slept. Staring at the moon. And to the woman she once was, speaking softly.

It was on the fifth night that Naomi saw her wolf.

It wasn't even gradual. She was rinsing her hands in the stream, scrubbing blood from crushed leaves when her reflection flickered. For one moment, the water room didn't show Miler.

It showed her.

Naomi. Gray-brown fur, wary yet watchful. Eyes full of pain. Full of fire.

She blinked, and the vision vanished. But her heart was pounding in her chest.

"She's still in here," Naomi whispered, placing a hand on her chest. "I'm still me."

The wolf inside her stirred softly, as if it were finally content to share her soul.

And then a scent.

Foreign. Bitter. Faintly floral.

She rose slowly, nostrils twitching. Her instincts sharpened. That scent-she knew it.

Wolfsbane. The same poison that had killed her.

But it did not come from the stream. It was coming from her clothing.

She pulled off the old jacket Alex had given her and searched for the seams. Her fingers touched a secret pouch. "Had it been stitched into the lining?" Inside it, crumpled, was a note, soaked but legible.

She opened it with trembling hands.

"She's gone. Naomi is dead. The Luna Moon ceremony was exactly what he needed. Tell Alex the deal stands."

No name. No signature. Just a cruel, final message.

The breath on Naomi's throat caught. Someone here... knew. Knew she was gone. Knew someone had masterminded her death. And they were tied to Alex.

Her heart raced. Had he lied? Did he know from the beginning who she was?

She left the stream, then hesitated. A twig snapped behind her.

She turned, eyes narrowed.

Alex was standing there, arms crossed. "You found it."

Her pulse spiked. "You know?"

"I didn't know it was you," he said defiantly, moving forward. "But I knew that the rogue I'd found that night wasn't just a rogue."

Naomi's jaw clenched. "So you let me stay. Waiting to find out what I'd disclose?"

"Call it ... instinct," Alex replied. That note was placed by one of my wolves. I wanted to know who it was for.

Naomi didn't believe him. Not fully.

"You don't trust me," he told her. It wasn't a question.

"No," she admitted. "And you shouldn't trust me, either."

To her surprise, Alex smiled. Just a little. "Good. Which means you're not stupid."

They were silent, the river murmuring between them.

Finally, Naomi folded the note once more and put it in her pocket.

"Somebody thinks I'm dead," she said. "Let's keep it that way."

Alex nodded slowly. "What do you want?"

Naomi glanced up at the moon, her voice steady.

"Answers. And revenge."

At the packhouse, the whispers had already started.

Who was the girl who had fire in her eyes?

Why did the Alpha act... weird around her?

Why was she discovered alone on the border?

Naomi ignored them all.

She had work to do. Clues to gather. A war to plan.

But more than anything, she had the vow burning in her chest.

I may wear a new face. But I am Naomi Carter.

And I will not rest... until the enemies who murdered me fall to their knees.

"Raise your glass," Violent purred, her voice honeyed and echoing throughout the Crystal Blue Pack's grand hall. To our future. To strengthen. "To the end of sorrow."

The wolves raised their goblets without hesitation. Applause followed. Laughter. Smiles not quite forgetting the grief that still lingered on the walls like smoke.

Naomi Carter had been dead just six days.

And even now, her throne was occupied.

Violent stood beside Alpha Damian Kingston, her hand curled delicately in the crook of his arm. She donned white, the mockery of mourning's purity. Her hair tumbled down her back in perfect golden waves, and her lips curled in satisfaction as she leaned closer to the man at her side

.

Damian's face was chiseled from stone.

He wasn't saying much tonight. Not even when the Elders proclaimed the Luna Moon Ceremony was completed successfully. That Naomi's spirit was now "at peace."

Peace.

If guilt could have a voice, that voice would be screaming inside Damian's head right now.

He'd buried her himself.

Six feet of earth. Nobody, just ash and bones. The remains had been discovered in the pack's periphery, burned beyond recognition, her scent weak but lingering. Everyone thought she had been ambushed by rogues. Everyone... except him.

Because there was something not quite right about Naomi's death.

Not her last words.

Not her growing dread before she died.

And certainly not the way Violent had started wearing Naomi's old ring like some kind of trophy.

"She would've wanted us to move on," Violent sweetly told Damian in his ear, as if she could hear his thoughts. You were miserable with her. This is your second chance."

Second chance.

That phrase curled his stomach anagrams.

Damian sat straight back, breaking contact with her fingers. The cheer got quieter for a second, heads swiveling.

"I need air," he said, walking out of the hall.

Violent smile didn't fade. She just gazed after him, head a little tilted.

"Take as much air as you like, darling," she muttered. "You will still come crawling back."

Damian paced the training fields outside, his fists balled at his sides. Time ambled patiently, like nature behind a high rebuke.

He couldn't breathe.

Not with violence in Naomi's clothes. Not with the way the pack had treated her, as if six days was sufficient to wipe out a Luna. Not with the taste of Naomi's final kiss fresh on his lips.

She hadn't been perfect. She was incapable of continuing his line. Her wolf had been weak. But she'd been kind. Loyal. In all the ways that counted, strong.

And she'd loved him even as he'd stopped meriting it.

He ran a hand over his face. What the hell is wrong with you, Naomi?

His thoughts wandered to the last full moon.

That night, Naomi had appeared anxious. Unsettled.

She'd talked about strange dreams. Voices in her sleep. Claimed she had sniffed wolfsbane at the border, but nobody else had picked up the scent.

He should've listened.

Should've stayed there that night and not gone on patrol.

Should've protected her.

But I failed you.

The guilt encircled him like chains.

Then-a scent.

His head snapped up. Familiar. Faint. Wrong.

It was Naomi's.

But sharper. Tainted with something else.

Impossible.

It was a trail that he followed, his instincts pulling his feet toward the edge of the training grounds where the wind always turned, near the old oak grove.

No one was there.

But someone, something had come through here.

Recently.

His wolf leaped to the surface, growling low. Mate.

Damian lurched backward, heart pounding inside his ribs.

No. It couldn't be.

She was dead.

Wasn't she?

Back inside, Violent stood in front of Naomi's old mirror, stroking her golden hair with slow sweeps of a brush.

She leaned close and admired herself.

"You're finally a queen," she whispered. "You have always had the crown, Naomi. But I had the spirit to wear it."

She opened a drawer and took out a small velvet pouch. Inside little glass vials containing powdered wolfsbane.

It had only taken a pinch.

Naomi had always been weak. Always trusted too easily.

And now, she is gone.

Violent chuckle to herself softly. "Poor Damian. He'll never know what it was."

Her ruminations were interrupted by a knock at the door.

She concealed the pouch and opened it.

He remained there, one of the scouts, nervous. "Alpha Damian just left the property. He's heading west. Alone."

For the first time, a violent smile disappeared.

"Did he say why?"

"No, ma'am. But he looked... off."

Her mind spun. West was the border. Where Naomi's remains had been discovered. The place she died.

Or did she?