Elara POV

The fierce determination that ignited in my chest at the market carried me straight through the night and into the next afternoon.

Albin Todd's herbalist shop sat on the dusty fringes of the Bloodmoon Pack's central market. The air inside was thick with a familiar, comforting scent—a heavy blend of dried moonpetal, sharp sage, and the bitter undertone of wolfsbane hanging from the rough wooden rafters. Sunlight filtered through the grimy windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing above the heavy oak counter.

I stood behind that counter, wiping down a heavy stone mortar. Beside the brass scale sat a small, unassuming glass jar filled with a pale, shimmering cream. My very first batch of the Glow Salve. The knowledge of how to extract the exact essence of the herbs had bloomed in my mind effortlessly, a quiet gift from my newly awakened White Wolf bloodline.

The little bell above the door chimed frantically.

Rosalie Vance swept into the shop, bringing with her the sour, nervous scent of pure anxiety. She was a pretty female, but today her skin looked sallow, and dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes. The upcoming Pairing Ceremony had half the Pack's unmarried females in a frenzy, and Rosalie was no exception. She was desperate to secure a strong Warrior mate.

"Albin!" Rosalie called out, her fingers anxiously tapping the oak counter. "Tell me you have something, anything, for my skin. I look like a corpse, and the Ceremony is in three days!"

Albin was in the back room, sorting a fresh delivery of roots. This was my chance. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my hands to remain steady as I pushed the small glass jar across the counter.

"Mr. Todd is busy, Rosalie," I said, keeping my voice even. "But I just finished brewing this. It's a Glow Salve. It hydrates the skin and restores natural vitality almost instantly."

Rosalie stopped tapping. Her eyes darted from the jar to my face, her expression twisting into a harsh sneer. She took in my frayed clothes, my sickly complexion from my recent fever, and the undeniable, pathetic scent of a wolfless Omega.

"You're selling a balm for vitality and glow?" she scoffed, her voice dripping with condescension. "By the Goddess, Elara, look at yourself. You're pale as a ghost. If this stuff is so miraculous, why haven't you used it?"

The words hit exactly where she intended. A phantom ache throbbed in my chest, a bitter reminder of the stigma I had carried my whole life. But beneath that old pain, my White Wolf stirred—calm, ancient, and entirely unbothered by the opinions of a lesser wolf. I swallowed the sting, guarding the secret of my awakening.

"I was severely ill, Rosalie," I replied softly, offering her a practiced, self-deprecating smile. "I only just managed to recreate this old family recipe today. It's gentle, but it takes time to reverse weeks of fever on a body like mine. However, the immediate soothing effects are undeniable."

Before she could argue, I unscrewed the lid. I scooped a tiny amount of the shimmering salve onto my fingertip and gently rubbed it into the back of her hand.

Rosalie flinched at first, but then her breath hitched. The salve melted into her skin upon contact. The dull, dry patch on her hand instantly plumped, leaving behind a soft, radiant sheen and the faint, luxurious scent of crushed moonpetal.

She stared at her hand, her skepticism warring with her vanity. The vanity won.

"How much?" she muttered, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Five dollars."

She dug into her leather purse and slapped a crumpled five-dollar bill onto the oak counter. She snatched the glass jar, her grip tight, but as she turned toward the door, she paused and looked back at me, her eyes narrowing.

"Alright, I'll take it," Rosalie warned, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "But if you're selling snake oil, Elara Snow, I'll make sure every wolf in this Pack knows you're a fraud."

The bell chimed again as she marched out, leaving the shop in heavy silence.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My hands were trembling, not from fear, but from the sheer, intoxicating rush of victory. I reached out and smoothed the crumpled five-dollar bill flat against the wood. It was the first real money I had ever earned with my own two hands.

Footsteps shuffled from the back room. I looked up to see Albin Todd approaching the counter, his wise, aged eyes dropping to the money under my palm. The real test of my new life was about to begin.

Elara POV

Albin Todd stopped at the edge of the heavy oak counter, his weathered hands resting on the wood. His sharp, aged eyes shifted from the crumpled five-dollar bill to my face. The scent of dried sage and old parchment that always clung to him seemed to soften.

I didn't hesitate. I smoothed the bill one last time, then looked him dead in the eye.

"The moonpetal and wolfsbane I used cost roughly two dollars," I said, my voice steady, though my heart was still racing from the thrill of the sale. "That leaves a three-dollar profit. I want to split it down the middle. One dollar and fifty cents for each of us."

Albin blinked, surprise flickering across his lined face. He reached out and gently pushed the five-dollar bill back toward me. "Keep it, Elara. All of it. You brewed the salve, and you made the sale. You earned it."

For a fleeting second, the temptation was overwhelming. Five dollars could buy enough grain to last us a month. But my newly awakened White Wolf bristled at the thought of taking charity. I needed a foundation, not a handout.

I pushed the bill back to the center of the counter. "No, Mr. Todd. I used your shop, your supplies, and your reputation to make that sale. If I take it all, I'm a charity case. If we split the profit, we're partners. I won't work here under any other condition."

Albin stared at me, the silence in the shop stretching thick and heavy. Slowly, a profound, melancholic warmth filled his eyes. He wasn't just looking at me anymore; he was looking through me, at a ghost from his past.

"You have her fire," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "Your grandmother, Agatha... she had that exact same look in her eyes when she made up her mind. Proud. Unbreakable."

He let out a soft, yielding sigh and opened the brass cash register. He pulled out two crisp one-dollar bills and a fifty-cent coin, sliding them across the wood.

"Two dollars and fifty cents," Albin said, a genuine smile finally breaking through his beard. "To my new partner."

I took the money, the metal of the coin cool and grounding against my palm. "Thank you, Albin."

By the time I left the shop, the late afternoon sun was casting long, golden shadows across the Bloodmoon Pack's central market. The air was cooling, carrying the scent of roasting meats and woodsmoke from the food stalls. My stomach gave a hollow, painful clench.

I bypassed the grain merchants and walked straight to the butcher's stall. The metallic tang of fresh blood hit my sensitive nose.

"Give me a cut of the fresh venison hindquarter," I told the burly Warrior behind the counter. "Fifty cents' worth."

He raised an eyebrow at my frayed clothes but didn't argue as I handed over the coin. He wrapped a heavy, dark red slab of meat in thick brown paper and shoved it across the ice.

Carrying that package felt like carrying a trophy. It was the first fresh meat my family would have in months.

I hurried down the winding dirt path that led away from the bustling center and toward the quiet, dilapidated fringes of the Omega quarters. As I rounded the final bend, two familiar figures came into view, pacing anxiously near the edge of the woods.

Isaac's broad shoulders were tense, his head swiveling as he scanned the path. Beside him, little Jett was practically vibrating with nervous energy. The moment the wind shifted and carried my scent to them, their heads snapped in my direction.

"Elara!" Jett yelled, sprinting toward me on his scrawny legs. He crashed into my side, his small hands gripping my jacket.

Isaac was right behind him, his brow furrowed with worry. "Where have you been? Mom is pacing a hole in the floorboards. We thought a Rogue might have—"

Isaac stopped dead in his tracks. His nostrils flared. His eyes dropped to the heavy brown paper package in my arms, and his jaw went slack.

"Is that...?" Isaac breathed, his voice cracking.

"Venison," I said, a fierce, protective pride swelling in my chest. I held the package out to him. "I sold my first batch of medicine today, Isaac. I bought us dinner."

Isaac took the heavy package from me as if it were made of fragile glass. He stared at the blood seeping through the paper, completely speechless. Jett gasped, his eyes wide with pure awe as he looked up at me.

"You bought meat?" Jett whispered, treating me like I had just pulled down the moon itself.

"I did," I smiled, taking Jett's hand. "Come on. Let's go home and show Mom."

Isaac clutched the venison to his chest, his posture shifting from a worried brother to a fiercely proud protector, and together, we walked the rest of the way to our small, weathered cabin.

Elara POV

The moment we stepped into the drafty cabin, the heavy brown paper package in Isaac’s arms became the center of the universe.

Diana froze by the stone hearth. Her eyes darted from the blood-stained paper to my face, a flash of pure, unadulterated joy illuminating her exhausted features. But in the brutal world of an Omega, joy was a luxury we couldn't afford. The light in her eyes fractured, instantly replaced by the gnawing, familiar panic of survival.

"You spent it?" Diana’s voice trembled, her calloused hands wringing her frayed apron. "Elara, winter is only months away. What if someone gets sick? That money... it was our safety net."

Isaac’s broad shoulders slumped, his grip on the meat loosening. Even little Jett looked down, the harsh reality of our poverty dampening his excitement.

"Mom, look at us," I said softly, stepping forward. My modern soul refused to let them live in this constant state of fear. "We are surviving, not living. We need strength to work, to earn more. This isn't a waste; it's an investment. The strong survive."

Diana opened her mouth to argue, but the quiet, unyielding authority in my voice—a spark of my dormant White Wolf—made her pause. I gently took the package from Isaac and walked toward the cramped kitchenette.

Behind me, Isaac was still standing in the middle of the room, staring at the kitchenette with a goofy, drooling grin.

*Smack.*

The dull thud of Diana’s palm hitting Isaac’s broad back echoed in the small room. "Stop grinning like a fool and go help your sister!" she scolded, her harsh tone masking her relief. "The meat won't cut itself."

Isaac just laughed, rubbing his shoulder as he hurried over to take the heavy knife from me.

Soon, the kitchenette was filled with the intoxicating sound of sizzling meat. I tossed the venison fat into the hot iron skillet, rendering it down into liquid gold.

Jett stood on his tiptoes, his nose twitching. "It smells so good, Mom," he whispered reverently.

Diana walked over, gently tapping the back of Jett’s head. "All you think about is your stomach," she chided, though her eyes were soft. She knelt, forcing Jett to look at her. "Remember who brought this food. You eat this meat, you get strong. And you use that strength to protect her. Understand?"

Jett’s small hands balled into fists. His chest puffed out with a fierce, primal loyalty. "I will, Mom. I'll protect Elara forever!"

I smiled, turning back to the bubbling stew. Reaching onto the high shelf, I pulled down a small, dusty leather pouch. Diana’s breath hitched. It was her precious reserve of spices, hoarded strictly for the Midwinter Festival.

I sprinkled a generous pinch into the pot. The rich, earthy aroma of rosemary and wild garlic exploded in the air. I braced myself for her scolding, but when I glanced over my shoulder, Diana was just watching me. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but she offered a small, defeated smile, silently surrendering her frugality to the sheer happiness radiating from my face.

*

Desmond POV

The eastern edge of the Warrior training grounds smelled of sweat, overturned earth, and the metallic tang of blood. I wiped a layer of grime from my forehead, my muscles burning pleasantly after a grueling sparring session with Kalen.

Suddenly, a heavy, authoritative pressure pushed against my mental barriers.

*“Desmond. Kalen.”* The voice of Frederick Lancaster, the retired Alpha, echoed in my head through the Pack's Mind-Link. *“The Alpha of the Silver Creek Pack arrives tomorrow with his daughter. I expect you both washed and presentable. It is time we discussed Pairings.”*

Panic seized my chest. A political Pairing was my absolute nightmare. I grabbed Kalen’s arm, my fingers digging into his bicep, and shoved my response through the link before Kalen could even blink.

*“Sorry, Grandfather, we've got a possible Rogue sighting on the eastern border. Urgent patrol required!”*

I didn't wait for a response. I practically dragged the current Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack toward the tree line.

Once we were out of sight, Kalen yanked his arm away, his deep chuckle vibrating in the crisp air. "Maybe they're just worried about you, old man," he teased, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Twenty-eight is practically ancient for an unmated Gamma."

I pointed a dirty finger at his chest. "I'm only two years older than you! You've got no room to talk!"

Kalen smirked, leaning against a pine tree. The terrifying Alpha aura he usually projected was completely dialed back around me.

I sighed, running a hand over my short hair. "Forget it. Come home with me this time. My Aunt Diana is making venison stew."