Chapter 2 The Howl Beneath

The moon was a sliver in the sky, a pale fang biting through clouds. It cast long shadows across the Silverfang Keep, painting the stone corridors in bruised silver and ghost-blue. Kaela moved silently through them, her cloak drawn tight and her boots soft against the worn flagstones.

The raven's message burned in her memory.

You are not what they say.

It hadn't come again. No more birds, no more words. But that one sentence had been enough to light a fire in her bones. She couldn't sleep. Couldn't think of anything else.

Now, before dawn, when even the Watch was at its most inattentive, she crept through the Keep's underbelly.

She had spent two days pretending nothing had changed. Sitting at court beside Darian, listening to him make speeches about order and legacy. She had danced in the marble halls with the daughters of nobles and made excuses when they asked about the dark circles beneath her eyes.

But behind that mask, she was unraveling.

Tonight, she would begin to understand why.

She paused before a heavy oak door deep in the archives wing. The hinges groaned softly as she pushed it open.

Dust spiraled in the torchlight.

Kaela slipped inside.

The old library smelled of parchment, stone, and secrets. This section of the Keep was reserved for texts on magic history-rare scrolls that had outlived three wars and been touched by blood and fire. Only those with Highborn clearance were allowed inside.

Fortunately, she had it.

I am the daughter of Lyra Raventhorn, she reminded herself. I carry her name and her fire.

Her fingers glided over the spines of ancient tomes. Her mother used to read to her from these shelves in secret. Before she died. Before Darian and his father took control of the court.

Kaela stopped at a cracked volume: "Bloodlines of the Moon-Bound."

She slid it free and placed it on a stone table, lighting a second candle beside her.

The pages were brittle but intact.

She read for hours.

What she found both stunned and terrified her.

There had been a time-hundreds of years ago-when the Bloodmarked were celebrated. Wolves born beneath rare lunar events, bearing the crescent and claw. They were healers. Seers. Warriors of peace.

But they had been betrayed.

Not by Nightmanes.

By Silverfangs.

Kaela's heart pounded as she turned the pages, finding names she had seen in her family tree. Her great-grandfather, Taran. His sister, Mirelle. Marked by the moon, exiled in disgrace. Branded as cursed.

Lies. All of it lies.

The final chapter was missing-torn from the spine. But a single scrap of parchment was pressed between the last two pages. A map.

Drawn in haste. Marked in blood.

And on it, a name scrawled in the margin: Whispervale.

She had never heard of it.

But she knew someone who might have.

---

"Whispervale?" Elder Thorne narrowed his eyes, his pipe trailing smoke like mist. "That's a ghost story."

Kaela sat across from him in the old sunroom, the one where the roof leaked in spring and the ivy grew wild along the walls. It was her favorite place in the Keep-mostly because no one else bothered with it anymore.

Thorne was one of the few council members her mother had trusted. A man of dry wit and sharper intellect, half-forgotten by most of the court.

"Tell me anyway," she said.

Thorne puffed his pipe, eyeing her. "They say it was a sanctuary. A place where wolves like you could live without fear."

Her blood ran cold. "What do you mean, like me?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, child." His voice was soft. "I knew your mother. I held you when you were born. You think I never saw the mark?"

Kaela's throat tightened. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Thorne sighed. "Because if I had, Darian would have buried you in the woods by your fifth name-day. Your mother died protecting you. I had to protect what little she left behind."

Kaela stared at him, stunned.

The walls felt closer now. The air heavier.

"Is Whispervale real?" she asked.

Thorne nodded slowly. "If it still exists, it would lie beyond the Veil Forest. South of the Frostline. But no one returns from there. Not in living memory."

"I have to go."

"Kaela-"

"I have to find him."

Thorne's eyes narrowed. "The Nightmane?"

She didn't answer.

"Do you trust him?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "But I trust that he knows the truth."

The old man studied her, then gave a slow nod.

He reached into his cloak and pulled out an old medallion-a crescent moon with a howling wolf carved in obsidian.

"Take this," he said. "It belonged to your mother. She said it would guide you one day."

Kaela clutched it tight.

---

That night, she packed her satchel and left a decoy in her bed. Her armor remained untouched in the trunk-too loud, too obvious. She dressed in black travel gear and tied her hair in a warrior's knot.

She slipped past the guards using a trick her mother had taught her-three clinks of metal on stone to distract the outer sentry, then a silent drop through the eastern tower's shaft.

She hit the ground running.

Every step away from the Keep was like shedding a skin she had long outgrown.

The wind howled through the trees. Her wolf stirred beneath her skin.

She let it rise.

And for the first time since childhood, Kaela shifted.

Bones cracked. Limbs twisted. Silver fur erupted from skin.

When it was over, she stood in the clearing on four paws, eyes glowing like molten ice, heart pounding with wild freedom.

She ran.

Fast.

South.

Toward the place no one dared name aloud.

Whispervale.

The forest was a blur.

Trees bent beneath her speed, their branches slicing shadows across her flanks. In wolf form, Kaela was wind and muscle, thought and instinct fused into one. Her senses were sharper than steel, her heartbeat wild with purpose. Snow churned beneath her paws. She ran until the Keep was a distant bruise behind her and the moon had dipped behind the mountains.

She was free.

But not alone.

Something was watching.

The wind changed, and she halted.

A scent. Faint. Ancient. Familiar.

She turned northward, her ears perked, hackles rising. Her breath steamed in the dark.

Then came the whisper.

"Kaela..."

Her human name, spoken like a prayer.

She shifted back in a blink, breathless, trembling.

And there-just beyond the tree line-stood a figure cloaked in black, silhouetted against the snow.

Riven.

Alive.

He looked like a shadow made flesh, broad-shouldered and still limping slightly from his wound. His eyes glowed red in the dark-but not with menace. With recognition.

With longing.

Kaela exhaled. "You're real."

He stepped forward. "So are you."

Their gazes met-and the pull between them surged again, like a tidal wave crashing through their veins. Her mark throbbed beneath her collarbone. His, across his chest.

A perfect mirror.

"You shouldn't have come," Riven said, voice low.

"I had to," she replied.

He studied her, jaw tense. "They'll hunt you. You know that."

"I'm counting on it."

Riven gave a huff of breath that might have been a laugh-or a growl.

Kaela stepped closer. "The raven... was it you?"

He nodded. "I had to be sure you were ready."

"I don't know if I am," she admitted.

"Then you're more ready than most."

Their hands touched. Not held-touched. A brush of fingers, electric and weightless. But in that contact bloomed something more than heat.

Memory.

Visions flared behind Kaela's eyes.

Flashes of a past not her own-stone towers, wolves bleeding silver, a sword made of moonlight shattering in fire. Riven, younger, kneeling in chains.

And herself-older, cloaked in stars-leading an army of wolves through frost and shadow.

She jerked back, gasping. "What-what was that?"

Riven was pale. "The Bond. It's strengthening. Faster than I expected."

"Bond?"

He looked away. "You haven't been told."

"I've been lied to."

Silence fell between them, thick with truths neither could name.

Then Kaela reached into her satchel and pulled out the map.

"Do you know Whispervale?"

Riven's eyes narrowed. "That's where we're going."

---

They camped beneath the canopy of ash trees.

Riven built a fire with practiced ease. Kaela watched him silently, noting the way his movements betrayed pain-his side still healing, though unnaturally fast. A Nightmane's strength was no myth.

He handed her dried meat and a flask of water. She took it, grateful but still wary.

"We weren't always enemies, were we?" she asked.

Riven sat down across from her, arms resting on his knees. "No. We were brothers once-our packs. Sisters. Until the Silverfangs betrayed the truce."

She frowned. "Why?"

His voice was bitter. "Fear. Power. They wanted to rule, not share. So they painted us as monsters. And slaughtered anyone who bore the mark."

Kaela's throat tightened. "Including... my mother?"

Riven met her gaze. "Lyra was a legend. She hid her mark well-but they knew. Darian's father knew. She died buying time for you to live."

Tears burned behind Kaela's eyes. She blinked them away.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" she whispered.

"Because truth is dangerous. And you... are truth, Kaela."

She looked at him then-really looked-and saw not a threat, but a reflection. A mirror image of her own hunger for answers. Her own ache for freedom.

Her own fear.

"I can feel it," she said softly. "The pull between us."

"The Moonbond," Riven said. "It doesn't lie."

Kaela touched the mark beneath her collarbone. "What does it mean?"

"That we're linked. By fate. By blood. By power."

She shook her head. "I don't want fate. I want choice."

Riven leaned in. "Then choose me."

Silence.

Then-

She kissed him.

Not softly. Not sweetly.

But with desperation. With fire. With the fury of two hunted souls clinging to the one thing the world had denied them: each other.

When they broke apart, gasping, Riven's eyes were wild.

"We should keep watch," he said, voice hoarse.

Kaela smiled. "We will. Just... not yet."

---

Far behind them, at the Silverfang Keep, Darian stood in Kaela's chamber.

The bed was empty. The decoy had been found.

And on the windowsill, feathers scattered like a warning.

Black. Gleaming. Raven-born.

Darian's eyes turned gold with rage.

"She's gone," the guard stammered.

Darian's fists clenched. "No. She's been taken."

He turned to the captain beside him.

"Send word to the outer Watch. Tell them to track her scent. I want the Nightmane found. I want her found."

The captain hesitated. "And if she resists?"

Darian's voice dropped to a whisper colder than death.

"Then bring her back in chains."

By the third night, the snow turned to ice and the trees thinned into a skeletal graveyard of pine. The stars burned bright and clear in the northern sky, guiding Kaela and Riven like watchful eyes.

They traveled mostly in silence now-not out of awkwardness, but necessity. The terrain was harsher. The air, thinner. And something about the silence beyond the Frostline felt... sacred. Ancient.

Kaela studied the land as they walked. Her instincts buzzed constantly.

She was changing.

Not just the slow awakening of her bloodline, but something deeper. As if every step north peeled back another layer of who she'd been told she was-and revealed what had been buried.

What had been stolen.

They stopped at the edge of a cliff around dusk. Below them, a valley stretched wide and glimmering. At its center stood a ruined stone gate, half-swallowed by earth and frost. Vines curled through its arches like veins. Faint symbols shimmered on the weather-worn stone.

"Is that it?" Kaela asked, breathless.

Riven nodded. "Whispervale."

She stepped closer to the edge, heart hammering.

It was beautiful in a way nothing from her old life had ever been.

Wild. Untamed.

Free.

Riven pointed. "See that hill? We make for it by moonrise. There's a tunnel beneath it that leads to the old sanctuary."

They descended into the valley under cover of snow.

Riven moved with a wary grace, sniffing the wind often. His tension infected her.

"Something's wrong," he muttered after the third pause.

Kaela reached for the dagger hidden in her boot. "Scouts?"

"No. Worse."

They came just as the moon crested the peak.

Shadows on horseback. Gleaming silver armor. Eyes like fire.

Silverfang Riders.

Darian had found them.

"They must have tracked your wolf scent," Riven growled.

Kaela snarled. "Let them come."

Riven grabbed her wrist. "No. We run. Now."

They tore through the valley, vaulting stone and frost. Kaela shifted mid-stride, the transformation seamless now. Her fur rippled silver-bright under the moonlight. Riven shifted beside her-a massive black wolf, fangs bared.

Howls rose behind them. Arrows hissed past.

A bolt grazed Kaela's shoulder. Blood spattered the snow.

She didn't stop.

She didn't feel it.

The tunnel entrance appeared ahead, hidden behind a broken monument to the old gods. Riven slammed his shoulder against the stone, revealing a narrow opening.

"Go!" he barked.

Kaela ducked through. He followed, sealing the entrance behind them just as the first rider appeared on the ridge above.

Darkness swallowed them whole.

---

The tunnel was long and breathing.

That was the only way Kaela could describe it. The walls pulsed faintly with a bluish glow. Vines shimmered with dew. Magic hung in the air like perfume.

They emerged into an open cavern beneath the valley, and Kaela gasped.

A village, ancient and crumbling, slept there-carved into the stone, built around a pool that glowed with moonlight, though no sky could be seen.

The sanctuary.

Whispervale.

Riven stood beside her, panting. Blood streaked his side again, his wound reopened.

Kaela helped him to a stone bench.

"We're safe. For now," he whispered.

She sat beside him. "You should rest."

"So should you."

But neither of them moved.

They stared out over the lost sanctuary. The silence here wasn't cold. It was waiting.

"Your mark is glowing," Riven said suddenly.

Kaela looked down.

The crescent on her collarbone pulsed with light. Soft. Rhythmic. As if it recognized this place.

As if it had called her here.

She looked up at him. "This was meant to happen."

He nodded slowly. "It's beginning."

"What is?"

But before he could answer, a tremor passed through the stone beneath them.

The water in the pool rippled.

A low growl echoed from the far shadows.

Kaela stood, dagger drawn again.

And from the darkness emerged three wolves-older, marked, and dressed in armor not seen in centuries.

They didn't bare their teeth.

They bowed.

"Daughter of Lyra," one said. "We have been waiting."

---

Back at the Keep, Darian stood before a flame-lit map, fingers trailing along the northern mountains. His eyes gleamed with fury.

"She's in Whispervale," he said.

"How can you be certain?" asked the war-mage beside him.

Darian touched the mark on his wrist-black ink of a snake coiled around a crescent. It shimmered faintly.

"I can feel her."

He smiled coldly.

"Send the pack. Leave no stone unturned."

He turned to the fire and whispered a name he hadn't dared speak in years.

"Elyra."

And from the shadows, something ancient stirred.