Chapter 2: Wounds and Warnings
The Hollow was never truly quiet. Even beneath stone and tree, where firelight danced across moss-covered walls and the air carried the scent of earth and rain, you could hear it — the heartbeat of wolves. Low growls. Barefoot thuds. Breathing that was just a little too sharp, too animal.
And now, every sound was sharper. Louder. Because there was a new wolf in the den.
Fenra.
She sat cross-legged near the center fire, her cloak tossed beside her, sharpening a blade that looked older than the forest outside. Her eyes flicked from face to face — calculating, measuring. Watching like a creature used to being hunted.
Draven leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching her back just as carefully.
She hadn't flinched when the others glared. Hadn't bowed when the old stones had thrummed with pack magic. She had simply walked in like she belonged, dropped her weapons with a casual shrug, and said, "You'll get farther with me than without me."
That had been three hours ago. And no one had spoken since.
Not really.
Until Kira snapped.
"This is a bad idea," she growled, pacing the room like a caged wolf. "We don't know her. She could be a spy."
"I could also be your only chance to stop your enemies from eating your faces off," Fenra replied coolly without looking up.
"Say that again," Kira hissed, her hand twitching toward her dagger.
Draven stepped forward before the knives could fly.
"Enough."
His voice wasn't loud, but it cracked like thunder. Kira stilled instantly. Even Fenra paused, the whetstone still in her hand.
"She's not part of the pack," Kira said, turning to him, her voice lower now. "You said we trust no one. And now you just let her in?"
"I didn't let her in," Draven said. "I let her prove herself."
He turned to Fenra. "You said you fought with Rauthar."
"I did," she answered, standing slowly. She was nearly Draven's height, lean muscle under that cloak, eyes like molten amber. "Until I realized he doesn't want to change the world. He wants to own it."
"And what made you change your mind?" Amoga asked, stepping into the firelight. His long cloak trailed ash as he moved. "Guilt? Or did the smell of losing bother you?"
Fenra smirked. "Neither. I left because he started experimenting on pups."
The fire popped.
Even Thorne looked up at that.
Fenra's voice lowered. "He's turning children now. They don't survive it. Most of them don't even scream — just go quiet. Like the moon stops singing to them."
A silence settled, heavy and sacred.
Then Draven nodded once. "You'll run the Blood Trail."
A murmur from the pack.
The Blood Trail was no ordinary test. It was an old rite, used to measure loyalty, courage, and strength. You ran it alone, hunted by illusions of your own fears — and sometimes, worse.
Fenra sheathed her blade and gave him a crooked smile. "Is that all? Thought you'd ask me to juggle fire next."
The forest whispered as the moon climbed higher. Mist coiled between tree trunks like slow breath. Fenra stood at the marked edge of the Blood Trail, her cloak discarded, her eyes fixed ahead.
Draven joined her, quiet and watchful.
"I'll survive," she said, without looking at him.
"That's not the point," he said. "This isn't just about passing. It's about belonging."
She turned to face him fully. "And do you feel like you belong, Draven? Or are you just too good at pretending?"
He stared at her for a beat.
"You talk too much."
She grinned. "Better than brooding all the time."
A long howl echoed from the Hollow behind them. It was time.
Draven stepped back. "Run. And don't stop until you see the black tree."
Fenra took off without another word, shifting mid-stride — bones cracking, fur spreading across skin, limbs stretching into their wolf form. Her figure blurred into the trees, a streak of dark silver and firelight.
And then she was gone.
Back at the Hollow, Amoga approached Draven quietly. "She's not what she seems."
Draven didn't look at him. "None of us are."
"She carries an Alpha's soul. That much I can smell. But it's… bent. Twisted. Like it's been hurt too many times."
"So has mine."
"You're bonded to the pack. She's bonded to rage."
Draven didn't answer. He was watching the trees, waiting for a sign.
Amoga's voice dropped. "You've felt it, haven't you? The pull. Between you and her."
A pause.
Draven's throat tightened. "That's dangerous talk."
"It's truth, Alpha."
Then, just as the air grew still, a figure burst from the trees — scratched, bleeding, panting — but grinning.
Fenra had returned.
She dropped to one knee in front of Draven, her clothes torn, eyes glowing in the moonlight.
"Told you," she said breathlessly. "I survive."
Draven reached down, offered a hand.
She didn't take it.
She rose on her own.
And the pack? They didn't cheer. They didn't howl.
They just watched.
Because something had changed.
She wasn't just a visitor now.
She was one of them.
[END OF CHAPTER 2]