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Chapter five

Serena

T he mountain doesn't sleep. And neither do I.

I was drifting before I even closed my eyes.

Sleep took me not like a lullaby, but like a riptide—pulling me down fast, without warning, without breath.

One moment, I was staring at the ceiling above Tristan’s bed, wondering why he’d left me there alone.

The next, I was standing barefoot on cold stone, surrounded by silver light and silence so deep it hummed.

The air shimmered with frost, though no wind stirred. The walls rose high and curved like ribs, etched with glowing runes that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. No— not mine. Something older. Wilder.

I reached for my wrist. My mark burned cold.

The crescent moon and stars shimmered just beneath the skin, not ink or scar but light—alive and watching. I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came. The silence swallowed me whole.

A figure stepped out of the darkness ahead. A woman. Tall, robed in shadows that flowed like ink across the stone. Her hair was copper fire, wild and loose, and when she turned, I felt something lurch inside me.

She had my face .

Older. Hollowed out. Tired in the way only wolves cursed for too long could ever be.

“You found him,” she said—not surprised, not kind. Just… resigned.

I tried to move, to speak, but my body didn’t obey. I was rooted. Watching. Dreaming.

Her eyes—my eyes—swept over me like judgment. “But finding him is not the end. It’s only the test.”

Behind her, the walls bled light. Runes flashed faster. Symbols I couldn’t read burned themselves into my memory: a broken moon, a star pierced with thorns, a circle undone.

She stepped closer.

“You want to break the curse?” she whispered. “Then listen.”

A low howl echoed through the chamber. It wasn’t Tristan’s voice—but it felt like it belonged to him. Wounded. Angry. Alone.

The woman reached for my wrist, her fingers brushing mine. When she touched my mark, everything ignited .

Visions slammed through me like lightning: blood on ancient stone, two wolves back-to-back howling into a sky split with fire, a hand reaching— failing —to catch another before they were pulled into the dark.

Stones, glowing, pulsing—cracking. A silver dagger falling from someone’s hands.

A voice: “One must choose. One must lose.” When the dagger hit the stone, something in me shattered too.

A warning. A promise. I just didn’t know which.

“No,” I tried to say. “No, I won’t choose that.”

The woman only tilted her head, sad and unflinching. “You already have.”

The chamber shuddered like the mountain itself was waking. Cracks bloomed beneath our feet, and the wind began to scream.

“ Serena! ”

The voice wasn’t hers.

It was his .

I jerked upright in bed, gasping. My skin was damp with sweat, the sheets twisted around my legs. My heart was a drum in my chest, and the mark on my wrist—gods, it burned . I pulled it close to my chest, as if I could hold the magic in, keep the memory from slipping away.

But it was already fading. Only fragments remained.

A woman with my face.

A voice saying, “One must choose. One must lose.”

And Tristan.

Always Tristan.

I turned, half expecting him to be standing there, watching from the shadows.

But the room was empty.

And I was alone.

Again.

After waking up alone in his room, I’d spent half the day wandering the mountain compound like some awkward stray someone forgot to leash.

The place was bigger than I expected: winding stone halls that whispered old magic, rooms carved into the bones of the mountain, and too many curious stares from the wolves who clearly hadn’t decided if I was a guest, a prisoner, or a threat they should’ve already dealt with.

By the time I finally caught up with Tristan, I was cranky, starving, and about two seconds away from punching the next person who asked if I was lost.

He didn’t look surprised to see me. Just tired. But not in the same way as before. Something in his expression had shifted—less rigid, more… open. Maybe it was the way his eyes softened when they landed on me. Or the fact that, for once, he didn’t greet me like a challenge he needed to shut down.

“You hungry?” he asked, his voice rough like gravel.

“Starving,” I replied, arms crossed but voice gentler than I meant it to be. “You planning to throw me in the dungeon after dessert or...?”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Dinner first. Then we’ll see.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could follow up with something scathing, he said, “Come on. I’ll show you around first.”

And just like that, the alpha who chained me up yesterday was offering me a personal tour.

He paused near a torch bracket carved with ancient runes, fingers brushing the stone like it grounded him.

His jaw clenched, just for a second, before the alpha mask slid back into place.

The halls gave way to the open air, and I blinked against the sudden flood of late light.

The wind here smelled of moss and smoke, tinged with the faintest spice of wolfsbane and pine.

For the first time in days, I wasn’t cold.

The Stormvale compound wasn’t just stone and strategy—it breathed .

The outer terraces were wide and open, carved into the mountain itself, with jagged cliff views on one side and forest stretching endlessly on the other.

We passed small courtyards where wolves trained with blades and others gathered near the barracks, laughter spilling from their lungs like they didn’t have enemies just beyond the trees.

Like war hadn’t carved itself into their spines.

Then we reached the edge of a wide clearing, where firelight licked the air and ash drifted between conversations.

Wolves were everywhere—lounging, sparring, laughing, living .

Some sat by the fire with mugs in hand, others wrestled like overgrown pups in the dirt.

Children darted between the legs of the adults, shrieking with joy, while a few of the rougher warriors took turns sparring near the flames.

I paused, watching.

Tristan didn’t rush me.

“Shouldn’t you be showing them who’s boss?” I asked, nodding toward a particularly brutal takedown that left one of the younger men groaning on his back in the dust.

Tristan glanced that way and gave a lazy shrug. “They know who the alpha is.”

A beat. Then he looked back at me and winked .

I snorted before I could stop myself, warmth curling at the edges of my ribs. “Cocky much?”

“Confident,” he corrected. “It’s different.”

I watched him for a moment longer, taking in the way the firelight played across the hard angles of his face.

He didn’t bark orders or loom to intimidate—but everyone looked at him with the same mix of respect and loyalty I’d never seen in my own pack.

He was dangerous, yes. But there was something else, too.

He belonged here. Not because he ruled by fear, but because they trusted him.

And maybe that was what shook me the most. It was a stark contrast to the iron rule of my father.

I looked away before my thoughts turned traitorous.

“You could’ve locked me back up,” I said quietly. “But you didn’t.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Then, “No. I didn’t.”

Just that. No explanation, no demand for thanks. It hit harder than any threat.

We stood at the edge of the firelight for a breath longer, shoulder to shoulder. Then he tilted his head toward the hall.

His eyes met mine, and his face did that infuriating alpha thing—half amused, half “get ready to have a bad time.” He opened his mouth, and I braced myself for something cocky or infuriating.

Instead, he extended an arm. “Ready?” he asked.

The word was both a question and a challenge, floating in the space between us.

I blinked, actually caught off guard. Then I shifted my expression back to default sarcasm. “Well, aren’t you the gentleman,” I said. I slipped my arm through his before he could withdraw it, half-expecting to catch it halfway back to his side. It stayed right where it was. Damn him.

He led me away from the fire and toward the noisy, warm light of the dining hall. “Everyone’s curious about our guest,” he said, looking sideways at me. “Figured it’d be better if I walked you in instead of letting Ewan drag you kicking and screaming.”

“That was thoughtful,” I said. “In a suspiciously uncharacteristic way.” My gaze stayed straight ahead, but I felt him watching me, like he was taking mental notes or some kind of inventory. My hand twitched toward my hair again.

We paused at the entrance, the sound of clinking plates and clattering voices pouring out into the corridor. Tristan’s arm tensed under my hand. “You’ll be fine,” he said, like I was the one who needed reassurance. The nerve. “It’s just dinner.”

I made a face like he had just suggested torture. “If this is some kind of elaborate plan to get me to confess all my pack’s secrets over dessert, you’re going to be disappointed.”

He smirked. “Let’s call it a diplomatic mission, then.” Before I could shoot back, he pulled me into the dining hall.

It was a universe away from the icy, uncomfortable meals back home.

I had to keep my jaw from dropping like I’d never seen a room with a bunch of tables before.

People sat crammed together, talking and laughing like they actually liked each other.

The air smelled like heaven on a plate—roasted meat and fresh bread, spicy cider and something sweet.

I watched a woman ruffle the hair of the man next to her and got an uninvited pang of envy.

String lights were hung back and forth between the exposed wooden beams above, casting a warm glow over the cozy dining hall.

“Well, this is…quaint,” I managed to get out.

“Hey now, don’t mock mountain living,” Tristan joked as he shoved his elbow into my side.

“I’m not,” I laughed. “This is just a lot more…family fun than I’m used to.”