CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KNOX
I stand frozen before the lifeless white wolf, its pristine fur gleaming under the ethereal blue light of the Ancient Heart.
The creature's vacant eyes stare into nothingness, a haunting emptiness that makes my stomach churn.
Despite the cool night air against my bare skin, sweat beads on my forehead as I try to process what I'm seeing.
"What the fuck is this?" I whisper, my voice barely audible even in the unnatural silence of the grove.
The wolf's coat shimmers like freshly fallen snow, untouched by the decay that should have set in days ago.
No smell of death, no signs of deterioration—just pristine white fur on a creature that shouldn't look this. .. preserved.
Noah stands beside me, his expression grim in the bioluminescent glow. He's thrown on a loose shirt and pants he must have stashed nearby, the fabric hanging awkwardly on his lean frame. The blue fungi light casts strange shadows across his face, making him look older, more solemn than his years.
"This," he says, gesturing toward the wolf, "is what has your father on edge. It was discovered fifteen days ago, Knox. Fifteen days, and look at it—no decay, no scavengers have touched it. Its white fur remains pristine, as if it died moments ago."
I crouch down, reluctant but drawn closer by morbid fascination. Something about this feels wrong—a violation of natural order that sets my wolf on edge. Liam growls deep within my consciousness, urging me to back away.
"Get closer," Noah insists, his voice strained. "Look at its eyes."
Fighting every instinct screaming at me to retreat, I lean in. That's when I see it—dried blood trails from the wolf's eyes, like crimson tears frozen in time. My stomach heaves, and I jerk back, nearly falling in my haste to put distance between myself and the macabre sight.
"What the actual fuck?" The words burst from me, echoing slightly in the sacred space. "Blood tears?"
Noah nods, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his hastily donned shirt. "That's what has everyone so disturbed. This isn't natural, Knox. Even Elder Silas is shaken."
The mention of Elder Silas—our pack's oldest and most respected sage—sends a chill down my spine. If something has disturbed that unflappable old wolf, we're facing something truly serious.
"How did you find it?" I ask, still unable to look away from the white wolf's blood-stained face.
Noah runs a hand through his disheveled hair, his eyes distant as he relates the story.
"Astor found it while hunting a stag near the northern border.
He'd been tracking it for hours when he sensed something strange—this unnatural stillness in the forest." He gestures around us, where even now, the usual night sounds of the forest have fallen silent, as if the creatures themselves are holding their breath.
"Astor said at first, he thought it was just resting," he continues, voice dropping lower.
"The way it was positioned—curled up like it was sleeping.
But when he approached..." He shakes his head, clearly disturbed even retelling it secondhand.
"No heartbeat. No breath. Just those blood tears and this unnerving perfection.
He immediately brought word to the castle. "
I stand, brushing dirt from my knees, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. "And what does Elder Silas say about it?"
"He believes it's an omen," Noah says gravely. "White wolves are incredibly rare, Knox. You know the legends—they symbolize peace, purity, divine favor. To find one dead with blood tears..." He trails off, letting the implication hang heavy in the air between us.
"An omen of what?" I ask, though part of me doesn't want to know the answer.
"War. Death. Chaos." Noah shrugs, the gesture at odds with the weight of his words. "Or it could be the work of rogue wolves sending a message. Either way, it has your father preparing for the worst."
I scoff, trying to push down the unease crawling under my skin. "It's just a dead wolf, Noah. Unusual, yes, but hardly a supernatural warning."
"Then explain why it hasn't decomposed," he challenges, gesturing toward the pristine corpse. "Explain the blood tears. Explain why no scavenger has touched it despite its exposure. Explain the silence in these woods that haven't been silent in centuries."
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. There's no rational explanation for what we're seeing, and we both know it.
"The prophet visited your father yesterday," Noah adds, his voice hushed as if sharing a secret. "She warned that this winter would be one of the harshest in decades—reminiscent of the one that preceded the great werewolf civil war."
The mention of that bloody chapter in our history sends another chill through me. Thousands died during that conflict, packs turned against each other, territories burned to ash. It took generations for our kind to recover.
"And how exactly does this connect to me finding a mate?" I demand, the pieces still not fitting together in my mind. "What does a dead wolf and a harsh winter have to do with my father's ultimatum?"
Noah sighs, moving to sit on one of the ceremonial stones surrounding the First Tree. The blue light catches on his wire-rimmed glasses as he removes them, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture of exhaustion.
"Your father's fear isn't just about the potential for conflict," he explains. "It's about the Awakening Ceremony."
"The what?" I ask, frowning.
"The Awakening Ceremony," Noah repeats, looking surprised at my ignorance. "It's performed every fifty years to reconnect the pack with its ancestral spirits, to renew our bond with the Moon Goddess herself. Surely your father has mentioned this?"
I shake my head, another flare of resentment burning in my chest. Just one more crucial piece of information my father deemed unnecessary to share with his second son.
"The ceremony must be led by the Alpha and Luna," Noah continues, watching my face carefully. "But not just any Luna—the youngest Luna in the royal line. Without your mate by your side, fully recognized and bonded, the ceremony cannot be completed."
"And let me guess," I say, the pieces finally clicking into place, "the ceremony is approaching."
Noah nods, his expression grim. "Winter solstice. Perfect astrological alignment only happens once every fifty years. If we miss this window..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to.
"So my father's urgency isn't about stability or heirs," I conclude, bitterness seeping into my voice. "It's about a fucking ceremony."
"It's about more than that," Noah argues, standing up to face me directly.
"The Awakening Ceremony isn't just tradition, Knox.
It's sacred. It ensures the continued blessing of the Moon Goddess on our kingdom, our people.
If this—" he gestures to the white wolf "—is truly a warning, we'll need that blessing more than ever. "
I pace across the moss-covered ground, tension coiling through my muscles.
The weight of responsibility settles heavier on my shoulders with each passing second.
Not just a kingdom to lead someday, not just a mate to claim—but a divine ceremony to perform, with consequences I'm only beginning to understand.
"And you believe all this?" I ask, turning to face my friend. "Omens, prophecies, ancestral spirits?"
Noah meets my gaze steadily. "I believe something unnatural is happening. I believe your father's fear is genuine. And I believe, regardless of personal feelings, that the kingdom needs unity and leadership now more than ever."
The silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the night breeze. I look back at the white wolf, its blood-stained face a stark reminder of the stakes at play.
"Even if I accepted all this," I say finally, "there's still one problem you and my father seem to be overlooking."
"Aubrey," Noah says, not a question but a statement of understanding.
"She avoids me at every turn," I admit, hating the vulnerability in my voice. "And when we do talk, she looks at me like..." I trail off, remembering her expression in the garden earlier—that mixture of confusion and revulsion when she saw the blood on my uniform. "Like I'm a monster."
Noah approaches cautiously, placing a hand on my shoulder in a rare gesture of physical comfort. "Then change her mind. You have two days."
"How am I supposed to convince her to marry me in two days?" I ask, the task seeming impossible in the face of her resistance.
"She's your mate, Knox," Noah says simply, as if that explains everything. "The bond is already there, whether either of you wants to acknowledge it or not. You just need to stop fighting it and start working with it."
I turn away from the white wolf's unseeing eyes, from the blood tears that seem to mock my predicament. Two days to convince a woman who can barely stand my touch to bind herself to me for eternity. Two days to secure the future of the kingdom against whatever omen this dead wolf represents.