Gasps echoed through the air as Eleanor's hand stayed raised high. The village square buzzed like a hive of bees disturbed.
"She must've raised it by mistake," a woman whispered.
"Isn't she the weak girl from the Orrin household?" another murmured. "The one without a wolf?"
"What's she thinking?"
Eleanor stepped forward, her eyes firm and her chin lifted. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, but she didn't flinch. With each step she took toward the platform, whispers chased her like shadows.
She passed by the elders—men with lined faces and judgment in their eyes. Symone Orrin, standing beside them, reached out with a worried frown. "What are you doing, child?" he asked, his voice hushed but tense.
Eleanor didn't stop. Her eyes locked on Elyndra.
Elyndra gave her a cold smile, then turned to the crowd. "Look at her!" she said, gesturing dramatically toward Eleanor. "Even the weakest among us is willing to risk her life to protect this village. What excuse do the rest of you have?"
The crowd fell into uncomfortable silence. A few heads turned away, ashamed. Others stared at Eleanor with confusion, awe, or pity.
Suddenly, Alpha Koran grabbed Elyndra's arm and yanked her to the side, dragging her away from the villagers and into the shadows behind the platform.
"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.
Elyndra arched her brow, her voice silky and calm. "What happened, my Alpha? Afraid the people might start loving me more than you?"
"This isn't a game!" Koran's voice dropped but his anger burned hotter. "Are you trying to get your own sister killed?"
"I didn't force her," Elyndra replied smoothly. "I asked for volunteers. She chose."
Koran slammed his hand against the stone wall beside them. The impact echoed through the still night air. "Just because we're engaged doesn't mean you're Luna yet! You have no right to make political decisions behind my back."
"I'm a trueborn Luna," Elyndra snapped, her eyes flashing. "You didn't choose me—I chose you. And if you think you can control me, then stop thinking."
She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder and stormed back toward the gathering, her steps graceful and unbothered.
Back at the platform, a soft murmur passed through the crowd as two more figures stepped forward—both strangers to Eleanor. One was a tall woman with short copper hair and serious eyes. The other, a lean boy who couldn't have been older than sixteen but carried a knife strapped across his chest.
Aedric groaned quietly. "Damn it. Fine." He raised his hand too, and came forward.
Eleanor didn't look at him. "Volunteering."
"You're reckless," he grumbled. "But I can't let you have all the fun. And you are going to expose us."
That made her smile.
The crowd erupted again—more shocked now than ever. Four volunteers. One of them the so-called weakest girl in the pack.
Koran returned, his expression unreadable. He stood tall, raising a hand. "Thank you," he said, his voice colder than before. "We honor your bravery."
The meeting ended soon after. The crowd slowly dispersed, some muttering, some wide-eyed, and others silent with heavy thoughts.
Back at the Orrin household, the night was quiet—too quiet.
The house smelled of old wood, herbs, and freshly baked bread. In the hallway, Symone Orrin leaned against the wooden doorframe of the main room, watching the girls as they entered.
"Daria," he said, his tone more tired than angry. "You volunteered knowing your wolf still hasn't awakened?"
"I believe it's awakening," she said, her voice steady.
Elyndra chimed in from the corner, lazily twisting a ribbon of her hair. "She fought off black wolves a few days ago. Impressive, considering she still can't shift."
Symone raised a brow. "Hmm. We'll know for sure when the full moon comes," he said. "Until then, don't take unnecessary risks."
He pushed away from the doorframe and disappeared into his room, leaving a silence that lingered in the room.
—-
Outside the Orrin slave quarters, a cold breeze drifted across the pack grounds. The crescent moon hung high and sharp above the trees.
Eleanor paused outside Brina's room. A strange feeling tugged at her chest.
She knocked gently on the wooden door.
No answer.
She pushed it open slowly—just shadows and silence inside. The bed was untouched. The blankets, still folded.
Her heart jumped.
She turned and hurried out, searching. The hallways were dim and quiet. She looked everywhere—the kitchen, the well, the back gardens.
Nothing.
Minutes passed. Eleanor tried to rest, but her eyes kept fluttering open. A restless unease clung to her chest like a weight she couldn't lift.
Then it came—a howl in the distance. Sharp. Wild.
Shouts followed. Running feet. Doors slamming.
Eleanor sat upright.
She rushed outside, her heart racing. Villagers were already gathering in the square, clutching lanterns and murmuring in fear.
A woman passed Eleanor, eyes wide. "A slave… a slave's been killed by the wild beast."
Eleanor froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
"No," she whispered, her feet moving before her mind could catch up.
The crowd had already formed a circle around the body. The air was thick with the scent of blood and smoke from torches. Eleanor pushed through.
Her hands trembled. Her knees felt weak.
"Please," she whispered, trying to steady herself. "Please don't let it be her."
She knelt beside the small, still figure on the ground. Her fingers hovered, then gently pulled back the cloth covering the face.
The breath in her lungs stopped.
The lamp flickered over her face—her eyes wide, lips parted in horror. Her hands slowly dropped to her lap.
Her silence was louder than any scream.