Page 77 of The Pack

My chest tightened, anger and fear warring inside me. “The wolves weren’t going to hurt me.”

She frowned, her brows knitting together. “But they’re dangerous. Everyone knows that.”

“No,” I said softly, but firmly. “Not all of them. Some are… different.”

The old woman watched our exchange with a cold, calculating glare before turning back to the others.

“Prepare a space for her,” she commanded. “She’ll need rest before the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” I asked, my voice cracking despite my best effort to stay calm.

The woman smiled faintly. “Yes. The ceremony will take place in a few days. It will mark the beginning of your purpose here. The tribe will come together to ensure your bloodline strengthens ours.”

I forced myself to nod, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat. “I… understand.”

“Good girl,” the old woman said, patting my cheek before standing.

The figures began to disperse, their rough murmurs fading as they moved into the shadows of the cave.

I had to find a way out of this, for both me and my pack, and I had to find it fast.

The next few days passed in a haze of tension and quiet dread. Every move I made was met with watchful eyes. The tribe rarely left me alone, their strange sounds following me like an ever-present shadow.

Even when I thought I was alone, I could feel them watching—hidden in the darkness, their eyes gleaming like embers as they observed my every step.

They never touched me, never spoke or grunted directly to me, but their presence alone was suffocating.

The old woman remained close, her knowing stare always tracking me, as if she expected me to bolt at any moment. She didn’t say much beyond giving instructions to the others, but her words carried weight, and the tribe obeyed her without question.

Amelie was different.

The young girl followed me like a lost puppy, her wide eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and guilt. She rarely left my side, her small hands often clutching at my arm or the edge of my cloak like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go.

On the third night, I sat near the fire, watching the flames dance and trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. My escape would take careful planning, and the constant watch of the tribe made that almost impossible.

Amelie plopped down beside me, her little body folding easily onto the rough stone floor. She rested her chin on her knees, her dark eyes flicking to mine.

“You’re really pretty,” she said suddenly, her voice soft and earnest.

I blinked, startled by the compliment. “Oh. Uh… thanks?”

She grinned, her teeth small and slightly crooked. “You are. Your hair’s so shiny. And your eyes look like the sky before it rains.”

I let out a small laugh despite myself. “That’s… poetic.”

“What’s poetic?” she asked, tilting her head.

“It means you described something in a way that makes it sound beautiful,” I explained.

Her grin widened, and she sat up a little straighter. “I can do that? I didn’t know that.”

“You can,” I said, smiling faintly. “You’ve got a talent for it.”

Amelie beamed, clearly pleased with the praise. “I’m gonna try to think of more… poetic things to say, then. Maybe I can impress you.”

“You don’t need to impress me,” I assured her.

“I want to,” she said earnestly.

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