“You have thirty seconds to clear out of this pack.”
One of Zane’s enforcers shoved me hard from behind, forcing my legs into motion. I stumbled down the narrow trail, moving away from the beating heart of the Sapphire Pack’s territory. Cast out like refuse, I was treated as something utterly loathsome in their eyes. Nearly the entire pack had turned out to witness my exile. Most of them jeered and hurled insults, while a few stood in heavy silence, a flicker of pity in their gazes. Yet, not a single soul dared to intervene; Zane would have executed anyone reckless enough to show me open mercy.
I glanced back once at the massive iron gate marking the outer boundary of the Sapphire Pack, knowing this would be my final look. Just last night, I had called this place home, and now I was being driven out, officially branded an outcast. By the time I crossed over into the neutral zone, a lawless tract claimed by no pack, the jeering escort had dissipated, turning back to their normal lives as if my existence had already been erased.
I had no destination in mind; I simply kept walking. Stray tears occasionally slipped down my cheeks, but I lacked the emotional energy left to properly mourn my fate. The only thing I had to hold onto was the bitter, fragile comfort of drawing breath.
When I eventually stumbled out into a bustling thoroughfare, I realized I had reached a traditional trading square. Commerce here still clung to old-school customs, with cash changing hands directly. Wealthy merchants flaunted overflowing stalls and commanded dozens, sometimes hundreds, of laborers. Yet, right alongside them, desperate vagrants not unlike myself scavenged through refuse heaps for scraps of discarded food.
Even so, I swore I would never stoop to begging. That was one line I refused to cross.
An old, creaking wooden cart rumbled past me, loaded high with enormous baskets brimming with fresh apples. I didn’t hesitate. In a split second, I darted toward one of the handlers.
“Can I help unload? I don’t want money, just an apple,” I pleaded, locking eyes with the man in charge. He gave me a brief, pragmatic nod. Just like that, my day was salvaged by a single apple, earned through heavy labor hauling crates across the marketplace.
I was right in the middle of taking a bite when my gaze locked onto a familiar silhouette in the crowd. The face was so achingly recognizable, so devastatingly striking, that the air left my lungs entirely. The apple froze halfway to my teeth.
“Fheraen?!” His name slipped past my lips in a shaky, breathless whisper.
Six months had passed since I had last laid eyes on him, and now, as if summoned by cruel fate, he was standing right here. Yet he strode forward with a swift, purposeful gait, his eyes fixed straight ahead without sparing me a single glance. Of course he wouldn’t recognize me. I wasn’t hiding behind my old disguises anymore.
I shoved frantically through the dense crowd in a desperate pursuit, but within seconds, he had melted into the throng and vanished. Frustration crushed my chest, and I muttered a bitter curse under my breath.
“Taken a liking to that guy?”
The abrupt voice made me jump. A scrawny kid, slightly shorter than me, stood nearby, his sharp eyes glinting with mischief. I gave a hesitant nod, realizing he must have caught my intense reaction when Fheraen walked by.
“The son of the Ruby Line Pack’s Alpha drops by here pretty often,” the boy remarked casually. “If you’re lucky, you might spot him again tomorrow.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, surprise and a sudden spark of hope colliding in my chest. “What’s your name?”
“Nichole,” the kid replied shortly.
“Nicholas?” I guessed, assuming his name was just shortened.
“Not Nicholas. Nichole. People have called me that since I was in diapers,” he corrected with a stubborn flick of his chin.
“Alright, Nichole.” I managed a thin smile before dragging the conversation back to what mattered.
“You actually know the Alpha’s son from the Ruby Line Pack?”
“Not personally, no. I just know who he is, and honestly, so does everyone around here. He’s hard to miss,” Nichole explained, shrugging.
“Then tell me,” I whispered urgently, “if he comes here again tomorrow.”
“Just one bite of that apple,” Nichole said, pointing straight at my right hand.
Without hesitation, I handed over the hard-earned remainder of my fruit to the boy. Nichole darted off, already sinking his teeth into it. I let out a slow, relieved breath, my hopes suddenly soaring at the thought of finding Fheraen tomorrow. Cast out from the pack I was once destined to lead, I had learned to survive by clinging to the smallest crumbs of hope.
That night, I slept on a cold patch of pavement after being chased away from a storefront—a miserable step down from the austere Alpha academy dorms, which were already lightyears worse than my old bedroom back at the mansion. Even so, I drifted off easily, sustained by a single purpose: I was going to find Fheraen tomorrow.
At dawn, I stuck close to Nichole. He knew the layout and the rhythms of the marketplace far better than I did, especially when and where Fheraen usually arrived. Sure enough, a sleek luxury vehicle pulled up, and Fheraen stepped out entirely unescorted. He was standing only a few feet away.
“Fheraen!” I called out. For a brief second, he flicked his gaze left and right, but naturally, he didn't recognize me. To him, I had only ever existed behind the mask of *Ryker*. Still, a foolish part of me hoped my voice might ring a bell. He didn't break stride, though, clearly unwilling to stop for a stranger calling his name, and kept walking with sharp, purposeful steps.
“Go after him! Why are you just standing there frozen?!” Nichole hissed, his voice sharp with frustration.
I sprinted straight through the dense market crowds, shoving past vendors and shoppers in the middle of bartering. More than a few cursed at me for jostling their displays, but my eyes remained locked on the tall, striking figure ahead. I had to reach him.
“Wait!” I shouted, lunging forward until the tips of my fingers finally brushed his right shoulder. He spun around, catching me as I doubled over, gasping for air.
“Who the hell are you?” Fheraen frowned, his eyes narrowing as they cut into me. There was something different about him now, a sharper, colder edge than I remembered.
“I... you know me as Ryker,” I stammered out, forced to use the only card I had.
He furrowed his brow, utter confusion washing over his face. “Ryker? Are you out of your mind?” Fheraen let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “He died a year ago,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in irritation.
The words hit me like physical impact, but a strange warmth bloomed in my chest nonetheless—so Fheraen already knew. A fragile happiness stirred inside me; surely, if he knew that much, he also knew who the person behind the Ryker mask really was at the academy.
“I’m glad you know the truth, Fheraen,” I murmured softly.
He drew in a heavy, exasperated breath, his shoulders tightening under the weight of my words. “I’m not Fheraen,” he stated flatly.
My eyes widened in horror. “I had made a mistake.”
The boy standing right in front of me wasn't Fheraen at all—he was his identical twin.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, blood rushing to my ears.
“Relax. Our faces are carbon copies,” he sighed, trying to ease the tension. “Just stop tracking me down and chasing me through the streets. If it’s Fheraen you’re actually looking for, I’ll let this slide this one time,” he added, his voice dropping to a low warning.
I nodded mutely, standing there like an absolute idiot as the boy, who was, in reality, Dherael, turned and continued on his way. Nichole had mentioned that the Ruby Line Pack’s Alpha’s son frequented this market, so I had simply assumed he enjoyed the commotion. I already knew Dherael was the designated heir to his father’s title, yet it was striking how unassuming his clothes were, even if his posture and frigid tone were far harsher than Fheraen’s ever were.
“Why on earth did you just let him walk away after whining at me to find him?!” Nichole stormed up to me, having apparently watched the whole disaster unfold from the sidelines.
“I had the wrong person,” I muttered, staring at the ground.
“The wrong person?” Nichole scowled, his face twisted in utter annoyance.
“Yes. The guy I’m actually looking for is his twin,” I groaned, running both hands aggressively through my hair.
“Well, you could have just asked him to take you to his twin, you idiot!” Nichole snapped, throwing his hands up.
I froze. Nichole was entirely right, and I felt like a fool. I should have swallowed my pride and begged Dherael to bring me straight to the Ruby Line Pack.
Instead, I had stood there like a deer in headlights, staring at a face that wasn't even the one I loved. Dherael possessed a completely different aura anyway—far sharper, heavier, and undeniably more dangerous than Fheraen's.
“Does Dherael come here every single day?” I asked Nichole, a desperate sliver of hope clinging to my voice. The young boy gave a reassuring nod, and a wave of profound relief washed over me.
Alas, Nichole’s certainty proved misplaced. Dherael never showed up. Frustrated, I paced restlessly back and forth in front of the vacant stall, repeatedly clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth.
Could he have stopped frequenting the market simply because my presence offended him? Or worse—was he exposing my secret to everyone? It had been half a year since Fheraen last caught a glimpse of my true identity, but Dherael knew the truth. I let out a heavy sigh, tormented by the agonizing thought that Dherael might right now be unmasking my disguise at the Alpha academy to Fheraen.
“Freya, seriously, cut it out. You’re making me dizzy with all that pacing,” Nichole groaned, massaging his temples.
“You shouldn’t have built up my expectations like that,” I snapped back, still holding him accountable for his earlier, overly confident claim that Dherael was a morning regular.
“This is literally the first time he’s ever skipped a day,” Nichole muttered, offering an unbothered shrug. “Besides, admit it, you’re harboring the exact same suspicion I am, aren’t you? That this is somehow your fault. If you ask me, Dherael is probably just annoyed that you stumbled onto his little clandestine getaway.” His casual accusation only made my hackles rise higher.
“For your information, nobody else in this entire market realizes he’s the heir to the Ruby Line Pack Alpha, only me,” Nichole quickly chimed in, rushing to defend himself with his trademark inconsistency.
“Whatever. Your story changes every five minutes. Yesterday you swore up and down that everyone here knew who the Alpha’s son was, and now you claim you’re the sole person in the know.” My voice climbed an octave, fueled by sheer exhaustion and irritation.
We slumped down onto the freezing concrete slab, drawing our knees tight against our chests to ward off the chill. I was rapidly losing whatever grit I had left to keep holding out for Fheraen. The night stretched ahead in agonizing, endless silence, and sleep felt like an impossible luxury.
“So, what exactly is your ultimate end game in all of this?” Nichole broke the heavy quiet, piercing straight through my anxious thoughts. I shot him a sharp frown.
“Are you chasing after Fheraen because you’ve actually fallen for him, or purely because you expect him to salvage your ruined pack?” Nichole pressed, refusing to let it drop.
“Fheraen doesn’t even know I’m a woman,” I muttered bitterly. “Right now, reclaiming my pack is the only thing that matters.” I forced cold logic to override the foolish, fluttering tremors of a lingering crush.
“If Fheraen turns you down, it’s going to completely shatter you,” Nichole stated with brutal candor. His words hit home with the force of a physical blow, making me glare daggers at him. “So, Freya, if you’re genuinely desperate for a way out, don’t put all your eggs in Fheraen’s basket. Start looking for other allies who might be willing to stand against your uncle, too.”
As much as my pride loathed to admit it, Nichole had a point. Despite his erratic behavior and maddening contradictions, there was an undeniable core of truth to his advice tonight. Fheraen couldn’t be my only safety net; I needed backup plans.
“I have no one left. I honestly don’t even know where else to turn,” I whispered, the crushing weight of despair finally breaking my resolve.
“What if we just head straight to the Ruby Line Pack tonight?” Nichole suggested out of nowhere.
My eyes flew wide open. It was a wildly reckless gamble. The Ruby Line Pack territory was miles away, and even if by some miracle we managed to cross the distance, there was zero guarantee I could secure an audience with the Alpha’s son. The packhouse sentinels would never grant a nameless outsider entry so easily.
“Come on. Even if you don’t manage to corner Fheraen or Dherael right away, at least you’ll get a firsthand look at the lay of the land,” Nichole urged, his eyes glinting with stubborn determination.
“You know what? Maybe you’re right,” I murmured, a reckless spark of resolve finally eclipsing my doubt.
And just like that, under the cover of darkness, we set off toward the Ruby Line Pack, hitching a clandestine ride on the back of an overnight vegetable truck bound in that general direction. The vehicle eventually dropped us off at a transit town still several miles shy of our destination. In the unfamiliar, dimly lit streets, Nichole immediately set to work trying to scout out a second ride to bridge the remaining gap.
“The Ruby Line Pack doesn’t run a charity for filthy vagrants like you two. Get lost!” snapped the grumpy bus terminal attendant when Nichole nervously inquired about transport. The uniformed man looked us up and down with blatant disgust, clicking his tongue and sneering as his gaze lingered on my threadbare, dust-stained clothes.
“We’re just worried that something might have happened to one of the twins. Neither of them showed up at the market this morning, and they’re usually there without fail,” Nichole replied with a clever, deceptive smirk.
The attendant’s eyes instantly dilated, a flicker of panic washing over his features. It became glaringly obvious in that split second—he was affiliated with the Ruby Line Pack.
“I can only hope Dherael is simply off on a hunt,” the man muttered under his breath. “As for Fheraen? God only knows what’s gotten into him,” he added in a hushed tone.
Nichole and I exchanged a sharp glance. Dherael was out hunting? If that information held any truth, tracking down his forest hideout would be infinitely easier than attempting to infiltrate the heavily guarded Ruby Line Pack headquarters.
“How can you be so certain one of them is hunting?” I pressed further, coaxing him to spill more details.
“My cousin works as his stable hand,” the man answered more curtly this time. “Dherael is probably out in the woods just to blow off some steam, he’s about to be officially crowned our new Alpha, after all.”
Nichole and I both nodded along, putting on a convincing show of understanding while mentally filing away every word.
Having extracted more than enough intelligence from the bus station guard, we bypassed further transit and headed straight on foot toward the edge of the sprawling woods.
“It still doesn’t make much sense why Dherael would hunt outside his own pack’s territory,” I murmured, frowning into the shadows.
“Maybe he just prefers a tougher challenge,” Nichole offered a casual guess.
As we stepped off the dirt road and onto the narrow, overgrown woodland trail, the canopy was so dense that not a single ray of moonlight penetrated the gloom. But I was a werewolf; my enhanced vision cut through the darkness with ease. I tightly laced my fingers with Nichole’s small hand, pulling him along as we navigated the thick brush.
Suddenly, the distant, eerie growls of wild beasts in the deep woods sharpened my predator instincts, making me tense up, until Nichole abruptly wrenched his hand out of mine. A jolt of pure shock surged through me as his small frame snapped, rapidly shifting into a sleek wolf form right before my eyes.
“Damn it. So you’re a werewolf all along,” I hissed under my breath. I had to hand it to him; Nichole had managed to mask his wolf aura so flawlessly that I hadn’t caught even a faint trace of his scent until now.
“I want to join the hunt, too. Living off scraps and stolen meat from the market is getting old,” he declared, his voice echoing sharply inside my head via the mindlink.
“We need to track down Dherael first, remember?!” I snapped back, a sharp edge of frustration bleeding into my tone.
“Go find him yourself, then!” he shot right back through the mental link, darting away into the thicket.
Growling lowly in sheer exasperation, I forged deeper into the woods alone. Though faint, Dherael’s unique scent still lingered faintly on the breeze, and once I locked onto the trace, tracking him down wasn't nearly as difficult as I'd feared.
To my complete surprise, I didn't stumble upon him tracking game at all; instead, he was sitting cross-legged, deep in meditation inside a secluded limestone cave. The bus station attendant had gotten it wrong. Even so, immense relief flooded my chest—at least I had successfully located him in the exact woods the guard had specified.
Dherael’s head snapped up the precise second my boots crunched against the gravel at the cave’s mouth. He had sensed my presence instantly.
“What do you want here? Didn’t I make it crystal clear not to follow me?” His voice was dangerously flat, rigidly controlled as if keeping a tight leash on his emotions.
“I need your help,” I pleaded, stepping forward as my words bounced off the damp stone walls of the hollow cave. “Please, you have to take me to Fheraen.”
“Is that honestly all?” he asked, a single dark brow arching in skepticism.
“I... I also desperately need help winning back my pack from my uncle,” I confessed, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. Even as I spoke them, I was acutely aware of how utterly absurd it sounded to beg for such a monumental favor from someone I had barely known for more than a few days.
Slowly, Dherael unfolded his legs and stood up, striding toward me with measured steps. “I can arrange for you to see Fheraen. But helping you wage war to reclaim your pack? That falls entirely outside my jurisdiction.” His voice carried a heavy, authoritative gravity, every syllable deliberate.
I blinked in utter astonishment. Half expecting him to reject me outright with a cold laugh, I was stunned that he hadn’t immediately slammed the door on my request. Had his time spent meditating genuinely mellowed him out?
“Though, you must realize that my help doesn’t come without a price,” he added smoothly, instantly jolting me back to harsh reality. My posture stiffened. Of course he wasn’t going to extend a helping hand out of pure charity, not when we were still essentially strangers.
