Oswald stood at the threshold of the pack house, his gaze fixed on the swirling snow that obscured the path Arin had taken. A gnawing unease settled in his gut, a cold dread that tightened its icy grip with each passing moment. He replayed the scene in his mind, the harsh words, the finality of his banishment, the look of utter betrayal and hurt in his daughter's eyes.
He had acted swiftly, decisively, driven by fear and the desperate need to protect his pack. But now, as the adrenaline faded and the weight of his actions settled upon him, a wave of guilt washed over him, a crushing burden that threatened to break him. He had sent his own daughter, his only child, into the unforgiving wilderness, a wolfless werewolf at the mercy of the elements and the predators that lurked in the shadows.
"What have I done?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, the words a hollow echo in the vast emptiness of the hall. He took a step forward, his hand reaching out towards the swirling snow, as if he could somehow pull her back, undo the terrible wrong he had committed.
But before he could take another step, a hand gripped his arm, a firm, insistent pressure that halted his movement. He turned, his eyes meeting the cold, calculating gaze of Usera.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her voice sharp and accusatory, her eyes flashing with a fierce intensity.
"I… I have to go after her," Oswald stammered, his voice laced with a desperate urgency. "I can't just leave her out there."
Usera's grip tightened, her fingers digging into his flesh. "You will do no such thing," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Have you lost your mind? Do you want to bring the king's wrath down upon us all?"
"But she is my daughter," Oswald protested, his voice trembling with a mixture of guilt and fear. "I can't just abandon her."
"You already have," Usera retorted, her voice laced with a cold finality. "And you did the right thing. Forgiving her now would only make the king think we condone her treachery. It would be disastrous."
She stepped closer, her eyes boring into his, her voice laced with a persuasive intensity. "We must show the king that we are loyal, that we are willing to make sacrifices for the good of the pack," she said. "We must make amends."
Oswald's brow furrowed, his mind struggling to reconcile his paternal instincts with the cold, hard logic of Usera's words. He knew she was right. Roan's anger was a dangerous force, one that could destroy their pack. He could not afford to risk the king's wrath yet... his daughter's life was at stake.
"But what can we do?" he asked, his voice laced with a desperate helplessness.
Usera's lips curled into a sly, predatory smile. "We can offer him Nova," she said, her voice laced with a seductive purr.
Oswald's eyes widened, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. "Nova?" he echoed, his voice barely audible. "What are you talking about?"
"We offer her as a new mate," Usera said, her voice laced with a cold pragmatism. "A worthy replacement for the disgrace that Arin turned out to be. Nova is beautiful, obedient, and she is pure blooded. She will give him strong heirs, and she will solidify our alliance with the king."
Oswald hesitated, his mind reeling from the sudden shift in their conversation. He looked at Usera, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and a growing unease.
"But… Nova is just a child," he stammered, his voice laced with a hesitant protest.
"She is of age," Usera retorted, her voice sharp and dismissive. "And she is a virgin, I am sure of that. The king will be pleased. It will repair the damage Arin caused."
Oswald looked back towards the swirling snow, his heart heavy with a mixture of guilt and resignation. He knew that Usera's plan was ruthless, but he also knew that it was their only chance to salvage their relationship with the king. He had to think of the pack, of their survival.
He nodded slowly, his eyes filled with a quiet despair. "Very well," he said, his voice barely audible. "We will offer him Nova."
Oswald turned away, leaving Usera smiled smugly at her plans falling into place.
*
The biting wind whipped at Arin's cloak, a constant, chilling reminder of the unforgiving northern landscape. She crossed the invisible boundary of the Mountain Peak Pack's territory, each step a severance, a brutal tearing away of the only life she had ever known. The moment her foot touched the frozen earth beyond the pack's wards, a sharp, agonizing pang ripped through her chest. It was the severing of the connection, the invisible thread that bound her to the pack, to her father, to the very essence of her existence.
She stumbled, her legs suddenly weak, her breath catching in her throat. The world swam before her eyes, the stark white landscape blurring into an indistinguishable haze. She felt a wave of nausea, a dizzying sense of disorientation, as if her very being was being ripped apart. The pain was a physical manifestation of the emotional wound, a raw, gaping chasm in her soul.
She pressed on, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes fixed on the desolate expanse before her. She was banished, an outcast, a wolfless werewolf adrift in a world that offered no sanctuary. The vast, snow-covered mountains, once a familiar and comforting backdrop, now loomed like silent, menacing giants.
The severance was more than just a physical separation; it was a profound sense of isolation, a complete and utter disconnection from the community that had defined her. She was alone, utterly alone, in a world that was so huge and terrifying. she walked, the silence of the wilderness pressed in on her, broken only by the mournful howl of the wind and the crunch of her boots on the frozen snow. She felt a sense of vulnerability, a primal fear that gnawed at her resolve. She was a wolfless werewolf, stripped of her pack, stripped of her protection, a solitary figure in a predator's domain.
Then, a prickling sensation crawled across her skin, a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a whisper of unease that sent a shiver down her spine. She stopped, her breath catching in her throat, her eyes scanning the desolate landscape.
Something was following her. Or someone.
She could not see it, could not hear it, but she could feel it – a presence lurking just beyond her perception, a shadow moving in the periphery of her vision. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She turned slowly, her eyes searching the vast, white expanse, her senses straining to detect any sign of movement. The wind howled, the snow swirled, and the shadows danced, playing tricks on her eyes. But the feeling persisted, a cold, insidious dread that clung to her like a shroud.
She wasn't imagining it. She was being watched.
She quickened her pace, her movements swift and silent, her eyes darting from side to side. She had to get away, to put as much distance as possible between herself and the unseen presence. She had to find shelter, a place to hide, a place to gather her thoughts.
But the feeling only intensified, the sense of being hunted growing stronger with each step. She could almost feel the eyes on her, the unseen predator closing in, its presence a dark, suffocating weight.
She broke into a run, her boots pounding against the frozen earth, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The wind whipped at her face, stinging her cheeks, blurring her vision. She didn't know where she was going, didn't know what she was running from, but she knew she had to keep moving, had to keep running.
Once again she regretted the fact that she did not have a wolf, if she did, she would at least be able to tell what it was from its scent. But she did not have that much needed ability.
The wilderness stretched before her, an endless expanse of white, a vast, desolate landscape that offered no refuge. She was alone, hunted, and utterly vulnerable. And she knew, with a chilling certainty, that her journey had just begun.