Chapter 4 4

The wind howled over the northern ridge, cold and wild, carrying with it the scent of snow and war. Annabelle stood at the edge of the cliffs above the Crescent Vale, the white fabric of her cloak fluttering behind her. The moon hadn't yet risen, but she could feel its pull in her blood. Her wolf stirred restlessly beneath her skin-alert, attuned, alive.

She hadn't slept in two nights. Not since the letter from High Alpha Varkos. Not since the weight of her bloodline had settled fully on her shoulders.

Below, the valley bustled with preparations-training, patrol rotations, weapons being forged and transported. The pack was arming itself, not just for a raid, but for a war.

A war started by her ancestors. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the stone. Why did you never tell me, Father? she thought. Why let me grow up ignorant of the storm I carried inside me?

"Found you."

Alfred's voice broke the wind's whisper.

She didn't turn, but he stepped up beside her. His presence was solid, grounding.

"You've been avoiding the hall," he said, glancing down into the valley. "The council thinks you're overwhelmed."

They're not wrong, she scribbled quickly on the notepad.

"But you haven't run," he said, "and that's what matters."

She sighed, then pointed to the horizon. What if they don't come alone? What if the Bloodfangs have united more than rogues?

"They will. Varkos doesn't attack unless he believes he already has the upper hand."

Then we're already outnumbered.

"Maybe," he said. "But not outwitted."

She turned to face him fully.

"Annabelle," he said carefully, "if this war goes the way I think it might... I need you to be prepared for what you might find out about your father."

Her heart skipped. What do you mean?

He didn't answer at first. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a thin, aged journal. The leather binding was cracked, the pages weathered by time and blood.

"I found this in the ruins of the council archives," he said. "It belonged to Alpha Elias Lowe-your father."

You kept this from me?

"I wasn't sure if it would help you or hurt you. But now I think you deserve to know."

She opened the first page. The handwriting was unmistakable- bold, purposeful, looping in a way she remembered watching as a child.

"To my daughter, Annabelle, should she ever find this..."

Her knees nearly buckled.

She sat down on a flat stone as Alfred crouched beside her, silent.

She read:

"There are truths I've buried to protect you. Truths that, if spoken aloud, would mark you for death. But you must know: we were betrayed not by rogues... but by wolves who once called us allies. They feared the strength of our bloodline, the bond between Alpha and Luna that your mother and I carried. The old ways frightened them.

And now they hunt us for what they could never control."

Her throat tightened. Alfred watched her quietly, letting her take in the truth at her own pace.

Another entry read:

"The mark on your skin will awaken when the time is right. When your wolf returns, so too will the knowledge of who you are. Not just my daughter-but the heir of the Alpha's Flame. A gift older than the bloodlines. A power buried in the hearts of the first Lunas."

She looked up at Alfred in shock.

The Alpha's Flame?

"I've heard stories," he said. "Old ones. About female wolves who could channel their bond into raw power-not just strength, but healing, elemental force. Most believed it was myth."

But it's not.

"No," he said, eyes darkening. "And now they know it lives in you."

She closed the journal gently. Her heart no longer beat in fear- but in thunder.

-

By nightfall, messengers began returning. Two ally packs had pledged aid: the Ironclaws of the north, and the Moonveil Pack to the west. Both had once served under her father's banner. Both had recognized her name.

Still, more refused.

Others claimed neutrality.

The Bloodfangs were too large, too brutal. No one wanted to risk extinction.

In the war room, the council gathered again.

Alfred stood at the head of the long table, Annabelle at his right, no longer hiding her presence.

"They'll be here by the next full moon," Rhea reported, laying down a sketched map. "If their army crosses the river pass, we lose the advantage."

Gavin nodded. "We need to draw them into the ravine. Thin them out. Let the cliffs fight for us."

"We'll need volunteers to block the ridge," one elder muttered. "That's suicide."

"I'll go," Annabelle signed.

The room froze.

Then Gavin nodded slowly. "If she's there, they'll follow."

Use me as bait, she wrote. Let me lead them into the trap.

Alfred's face turned to steel. "No."

"I won't hide behind these walls while they burn others for me."

"You think I'm afraid of losing a battle?" he asked, his voice low. "I'm afraid of losing you."

Her eyes softened, but her will didn't waver. Then fight beside me. Not over me. For a long moment, silence. Then, with a nod full of unspoken dread, he agreed.

-

Later that night, they stood outside her chambers. Alfred reached out, brushing a curl from her cheek.

"You're stronger than anyone I've ever known," he murmured.

She touched his chest, just above his heart.

So are you.

Their bond sparked between them-brighter now. Not just survival. Not just fate. Choice.

"Then no matter what happens in the next moon," he whispered, "I want you to know... I would choose you. Again. And again."

Tears slipped down her cheeks. And when he leaned in- slow, reverent- she didn't pull away.

Their lips met, soft at first, then with the heat of a thousand words they couldn't say aloud. It wasn't a kiss of possession, but of recognition. Of a bond no curse or bloodline could break. Of two wolves- broken, remade, and finally, whole.

Morning came with a silence that felt heavy, anticipatory. Annabelle awoke with the weight of the world pressing against her chest. The kiss from the night before lingered on her lips, warm and comforting -but also terrifying. She hadn't expected to fall, not this soon, not after everything. But with Alfred... it wasn't just falling.

It felt like fate had righted itself. She stepped out into the brisk dawn air, her cloak wrapped tightly around her as she crossed the training field. Wolves were already lining up in combat formations. Some had slept barely an hour. The threat of Bloodfang pressed against the edge of the forest like an unwelcome fog.

Her presence didn't go unnoticed. Heads bowed. A few warriors murmured blessings. One young wolf, no more than fourteen, stepped up shyly, his eyes wide with admiration. "Luna Annabelle... they say you turned the tide. That your howl lit the stars brighter."

She smiled gently, touched his shoulder.

We all fought, she wrote. The boy nodded, then ran back to his post, pride straightening his back. She exhaled slowly. No time for fear. No room for doubt. The world was watching now.

-

Later that day, Alfred convened his most trusted allies in the war room. The map of Crescent Vale lay in the center of the table, now covered in new markings: routes, fallback zones, blind curves, kill points. The tension was thick.

Annabelle stood to Alfred's left, reading every move, every defensive line, and committing it to memory.

"They'll send scouts ahead of the main army," Gavin said. "If we can intercept them before they see the terrain, we keep the ravine ambush intact."

"Moonveil's warriors will arrive by nightfall," Rhea added. "They'll take the eastern ridge."

"And the Ironclaws?" Alfred asked.

"They'll follow behind," Annabelle scribbled. "They're cautious, but loyal."

Rhea arched a brow. "You think they'll hold?"

"They served her father," Alfred said. "And some debts are blood-bound."

He glanced at Annabelle.

"Still... they'll want proof of her strength. Not just hearsay."

Annabelle didn't hesitate. Then I'll give it to them.

-

That afternoon, a private arena was cleared at the Ironclaw outpost bordering Crescent Vale's northern territory. Dozens of soldiers from both packs formed a ring, tense and alert. Word had spread that the Silent Luna would demonstrate her power.

And she would not disappoint.

Annabelle stepped into the circle, dressed in dark leather armor stitched to her form. Her eyes glittered with silver fire. Her blade was strapped to her hip.

Across from her stood Daric, the Ironclaw Alpha's second-in-command. Tall, broad, with grey hair braided back from his stern face. His reputation preceded him-a warrior with the strength of three wolves and the patience of none.

He tilted his head. "You want to prove yourself, girl? I don't hold back."

Annabelle smiled faintly and wrote:

Neither do I.

They began. It was a blur-clashing steel, darting footwork, instinct sharper than any blade. Daric fought with precision, years of experience etched into every movement. But Annabelle moved like a storm unleashed.

She ducked. Swiped. Kicked.

And when Daric lunged to overpower her with sheer force, she rolled beneath his blow and pressed her blade to his neck in a heartbeat.

The crowd froze. She stepped back, chest heaving, and held out her hand to him.

Daric blinked. Then grinned.

"Well, damn. No wonder the rogues want your head."

He clasped her wrist, then turned to his pack. "We fight for her bloodline. For her name. For the Crescent Vale!"

A chorus of howls rose around them. The alliance was sealed.

-

That night, Annabelle stood beside Alfred as warriors from all four corners of the region filled the Crescent Vale stronghold. The Moonveil howlers. The Ironclaw brutes. The Crescent elite. Wolves who had once doubted her now bowed without hesitation. But even with this rising strength, she could feel it. The storm wasn't over. It had only just begun.

Later, alone in her chambers, she reread the final page of her father's journal. One sentence, written in shaking ink.

"When the Flame awakens, you will not be alone."

And she wasn't.

There was Alfred. There was a pack behind her. There was a war ahead. But most of all... there was her... Her power... Her wolf... Her legacy. And she would not run.