Chapter 5 SHADOW BENEATH THE ICE

The snow had returned with a vengeance.

By dawn, Winterborne was buried beneath another heavy shroud of white. The cold sank deep, sharper than steel, seeping through stone and bone. The wind howled outside like a warning or a cry.

Eira stood at the edge of the training yard, wrapped tightly in a fur-lined cloak, her breath rising in clouds. The place where she'd collapsed the night before, where her power had exploded outward was now smooth and untouched, her footprints erased by fresh snowfall.

But her body remembered.

The burn at the center of her back still pulsed faintly, and every muscle ached like she'd run a battle in her sleep. Lucien hadn't spoken a word to her since he led her inside. He'd helped her up, guided her back to her room, and left without a sound. No lingering touch. No glance back.

Like what had passed between them was too real.

Too dangerous.

Too much.

She didn't know what she wanted from him.

Only that it wasn't distance.

---

Downstairs, the manor buzzed with a tense, quiet urgency.

Cale stood at the hearth, studying maps spread across a broad wooden table. Maren flanked him, along with two others wolves Eira hadn't formally met, all speaking in clipped whispers, their tension electric.

As soon as she stepped into the room, silence followed. All eyes turned to her.

The map displayed the Northern wilds. One region had been circled in deep crimson ink.

"What's happened?" she asked, heart rising.

Lucien entered through a side door, his expression carved from stone.

"A scout found tracks just outside the northern perimeter," he said.

Eira tensed. "Wolves?"

Lucien's gaze met hers. "Not ours."

"Rogues?"

"No. Strategic. Coordinated. Hollow Pack."

The room seemed to tilt.

"They're here?" she breathed.

Lucien gave a grim nod. "Watching. Lurking. Close enough to strike if they choose."

"Why now?" she asked.

Cale exchanged a look with Lucien, then spoke flatly. "Because of you."

Maren laid a long sheathed blade on the table and unrolled a scroll beneath it.

"The Hollow Pack's been quiet for years," she said. "Waiting. Healing. Their truce with us has always been thin. But now that the Luna line has resurfaced..."

"They'll come for you," Cale finished.

Eira's voice was quiet. "I don't even know what they want from me."

Lucien's response was sharper. "Power. The Luna line once held the strength to unite all packs. And whoever possesses that power..." He didn't finish.

Eira did. "Controls everything."

Lucien nodded once. "Including you."

Her jaw clenched. "I won't be used."

"Then you'd better learn how not to be."

---

That afternoon, Eira followed Maren to the weapons hall.

It wasn't elegant, but just a long bare room lined with iron racks, blades, and tools she couldn't name. No glamour. Only steel and purpose.

Maren stood in the center, holding two wooden staffs. "Ever fought before?"

"Not unless dodging counts."

"Then you'll learn. Now."

She tossed one staff to Eira.

The first strike nearly knocked Eira flat. The second came faster. They circled each other, Maren's movements sharp and practiced. Every blow rattled through Eira's arms, but she kept her grip.

"You're hesitating," Maren snapped.

"I'm trying not to break something."

"This isn't about finesse. It's survival."

Eira growled and lunged, striking three times in succession. Maren blocked the first two, but the third cracked against her shoulder.

She grinned. "There she is."

They trained until Eira's limbs trembled and her palms blistered. Every breath burned. But beneath the pain, something settled. The fear hadn't disappeared but now it had form. Direction.

A choice.

---

When Eira stepped into the corridor, Lucien waited.

"You didn't come watch?" she asked.

His gaze flicked briefly over her bruises. "Didn't need to."

"I hit her."

"She told me. Said it stung."

Eira smiled. "She hits like a damn mountain."

Lucien's smile faded. "You'll need to hit harder. The Hollow Alpha won't hold back."

Eira looked down. "I don't want to kill anyone."

Lucien was quiet. "You may not have the luxury."

---

That night, the dreams returned.

She stood on a vast, frozen lake under a silver moon. The ice cracked beneath her feet. From the depths, something stared back. Not a creature, a face. Blood-red eyes. Cold. Patient.

A voice echoed across the void.

"The Luna cannot run from the war. She is the war."

Eira woke gasping, drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around her.

---

Lucien couldn't sleep either.

He stood outside her door, hand hovering midair, unsure if he should knock. Something inside him burned, restless, gnawing. Whenever she hurt, he felt it. Whenever she dreamed, it echoed in him too.

The bond was forming.

Too fast.

Too deep.

He hadn't marked her. Hadn't bitten her. Hadn't claimed her.

And yet... his wolf had already decided.

She belonged to him.

He turned to leave.

But the door creaked open.

"Were you planning to stand there all night?" Eira asked softly.

"I was just..."

"...Checking on me?" she finished.

He nodded.

"I'm not okay," she said.

"I know."

"I dreamed again. The lake. The red eyes. It spoke to me."

Lucien went still. "Did it say anything else?"

"It said I am the war."

Lucien swore under his breath. "You're dreaming of the Hollow."

"What is it?"

"Something that used to be a wolf. It devoured everything, power, flesh, even time. Now it's more shadow than beast. But it remembers the Luna blood. And it follows it like a scent."

"Why does it want me?"

"Because it fears what you are."

Eira stepped forward. "And you?"

Lucien didn't answer.

She reached for his hand. "Are you afraid of me?"

He stared at their joined hands, quiet.

"I'm afraid of losing you," he said finally.

The words hung between them, raw and exposed.

"You haven't claimed me," she whispered.

His jaw tensed. "It's not time."

"But I feel it," she said. "Between us. Don't you?"

"I do," Lucien admitted. "It's there. And growing."

"Then why wait?"

"Because the moment I do," he said quietly, "there's no going back. Not for you. Not for me. Not for anything."

She hesitated.

Then breathed, "Maybe I don't want to go back."

And in that fragile space between silence and surrender, something shifted.

---

Far beyond Winterborne's border, in the deepest stretch of forest, the Hollow Alpha knelt beside a blackened altar.

A severed wolf's skull rested atop it, carved with ancient runes glowing red beneath the moonlight.

"She awakens," he murmured.

His second-in-command stepped forward, bowing low. "Shall we strike now?"

The Hollow Alpha smiled, baring jagged teeth.

"No. Let her bloom. Let her believe she's safe."

He reached into the fire, pulling out a burning brand untouched by flame.

"And when the time is right..." he whispered, dragging a mark into the snow, "we take everything."