Stolen Mate

Rylan's words clung to me like smoke—*we'll die loud*. But as dawn broke, the pack's routines ground on, oblivious. Lila's laughter rang from the Alpha's lodge, sharp and bright. Kieran's howl echoed over the territory, a sound that once anchored me. Now, it felt like a funeral song.

I found Rylan at the watchtower, packing a frayed satchel with dried meat and a stolen knife. His movements were brisk, purposeful. He didn't look up as I entered.

"We need to leave today."

I hovered in the doorway. "Where?"

"The Whispering Woods. There's a witch there—Morana. If anyone knows how to break scent magic, it's her."

A witch. The word prickled my spine. "And if she won't help?"

He slung the satchel over his shoulder. "Then we find another way."

"You don't even know me."

He paused, amber eyes slicing through me. "I know you're not a coward."

The challenge stung. I stepped inside, the tower's chill seeping into my bones. "The pack thinks I'm cursed. If I disappear—"

"They'll assume you ran. Or died." His tone softened. "Either way, they won't follow."

He was right. To them, I was already a ghost.

I nodded. "We'll need a reason to be gone. Gathering herbs for the winter stores."

"Will they believe it?"

"I'm still the healer in their eyes. Even if they hate me."

***

The plan was simple: leave at midday, when patrols shifted. Return before dusk. No one would question a half-day harvest.

No one but Lila.

She intercepted me near the storeroom, Kieran's cloak draped over her shoulders like a trophy. "Off to sulk in the woods again?"

I clutched my empty herb basket. "Meadowsweet. For the elders' joint pain."

Her smile tightened. "How *dedicated*. But don't wander too far. The Alpha's ordered stricter borders."

A threat. I forced a nod.

She leaned in, lavender poison sweet on her breath. "You look pale, Elara. Maybe you're not meant for the wilds anymore."

I stepped around her. "Or maybe I am."

***

Rylan waited at the tree line, hood pulled low. His gaze swept the forest, wary. "Ready?"

"No."

He smirked. "Good. Means you're thinking."

We walked in silence, the autumn leaves crunching underfoot. Every snap of a twig made me flinch, but the woods stayed empty. No patrols. No howls.

"How do you know this witch?" I asked.

"Heard stories. She trades in secrets and blood."

"Charming."

"You got a better idea?"

I didn't.

The deeper we went, the darker the woods grew. Gnarled oaks loomed, their branches clawing at the sky. Rylan navigated without hesitation, as if the shadows spoke to him.

"You've been here before," I said.

"Once. Tracking Lila's scent."

His jaw flexed. I swallowed the questions crowding my tongue.

At midday, we stopped by a stream. I filled the waterskin while Rylan scanned the trees, restless.

"We're being watched," he muttered.

I froze. "Nightshade?"

"Or worse."

A twig snapped. Rylan shoved me behind him, dagger drawn.

A rabbit bolted from the brush.

I exhaled, shaky. "Worse?"

He sheathed the blade, scowling. "Mistrust."

***

By dusk, the air smelled of damp moss and decay. The Whispering Woods lived up to its name—whimpers coiled through the fog, though nothing moved.

Rylan halted at a clearing where a crooked hut leaned, its roof sagging under vines. Bones dangled from the eaves, clattering in the wind.

"Morana," he called.

The door creaked open. A woman emerged, hunched and hairless, her skin etched with black runes. "Rogue," she rasped. "And a ghost." Her milky eyes fixed on me. "Scentless."

I stiffened. "We need your help."

She grinned, needle-like teeth glinting. "Everyone does."

Rylan stepped forward. "We can trade."

Her gaze raked him. "Blood. Fresh."

"How much?"

"Yours. Hers. A vial each."

My stomach turned. "No."

Rylan didn't hesitate. "Done."

"No!" I grabbed his arm. "We don't know what she'll use it for."

He pulled free. "We need her."

Morana chuckled, retreating into the hut. "Come, little wolves. Bleed for your truth."

Rylan followed. I lingered, the woods' whispers clawing at my back.

*Trust him*, my wolf urged.

But trust was a currency I'd run dry of.