Chapter 2 — Whispers in the Forest

Cat

The Forest of Shadows enveloped Cat in its primal embrace as she plunged deeper into its dark heart, the oppressive weight of Blackmoor Manor fading behind her. The cool, damp air carried the rich scent of pine and moss, sharp and grounding. Moonlight struggled through the twisted canopy of ancient branches above, casting fractured silver patterns across the forest floor. Here, away from her father’s suffocating demands and the silent judgment of ancestral portraits, she could almost breathe—almost.

Her boots crunched over leaves and twigs, their rhythmic sound matching the tempest raging in her chest. Fury roiled within her, a relentless tide threatening to pull her under. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to channel the storm. She needed to move, to act, to fight against the suffocating helplessness that threatened to creep into her resolve.

Reaching a small clearing, she halted abruptly. The moonlight spilled into the open space, bathing it in an ethereal glow. A fallen tree, its stark skeletal branches stretching like claws, framed the clearing’s edge. Shrugging off her jacket, Cat tossed it onto the log, the chill evening air biting at the exposed skin of her arms. Her werewolf instincts simmered beneath her human form, raw and untamed, as she took a sharp breath and stepped into the center of the clearing.

She dropped into a fighting stance, every line of her body taut with controlled energy. Her fists sliced through the air with precision, each punch a physical outlet for the fire burning within her. She pivoted smoothly, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick that sent a spray of leaves into the air. The motions were second nature, honed through years of relentless training—strike, block, pivot, strike again. But no combination of movements could extinguish the anger that drove her, no matter how hard she pushed herself.

Her father’s cold, commanding voice echoed in her mind. *You will do your duty, Catriona.* The memory sharpened her movements until her strikes became vicious, almost feral. She imagined the faces of everyone who had ever tried to dominate her—Alaric, the council, even the faceless Lucian Ravenshade, her supposed mate. A deep, guttural growl escaped her throat as she landed a devastating punch against the air, her breath coming hard and ragged.

Before her next move, a noise—a barely perceptible shift in the forest’s rhythm—pricked her senses. She straightened abruptly, her instincts flaring as she scanned the trees. The shadows shifted, and then a familiar voice broke the silence.

“I’d really hate to be the poor bastard you’re imagining right now,” Isla said lightly, her tone tinged with humor and warmth.

Cat spun on her heel, but the tension in her posture eased when she caught sight of Isla leaning casually against a tree. The faint moonlight illuminated Isla’s fiery red hair, the untamed strands catching the light like embers. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, though her expression softened as she took in Cat’s flushed face and tense stance. Dressed practically in a fitted jacket and worn boots, Isla radiated her usual mix of casual confidence and quiet strength.

“How long have you been skulking in the shadows?” Cat asked, grabbing her jacket from the log and shrugging it back on. Her voice was sharp, but not unkind.

“Long enough to know you could take down a mountain if it pissed you off enough,” Isla replied, stepping into the clearing. Her steps were light, but her gaze was keen as she studied Cat. “So, what’s got you tearing through the forest like a hurricane tonight?”

Cat hesitated, her jaw tightening. She didn’t want to talk—not really. But Isla wasn’t just anyone. Isla was her anchor, her confidant. The one person Cat could trust with the darkness she kept locked away. And Isla knew her too well to let her brush it off.

“It’s my father,” Cat admitted finally, her voice low, almost a growl. “He’s arranged a mating for me. With Lucian Ravenshade.”

Isla’s eyebrows shot up, and she gave a low, approving whistle. “Well, that’s one hell of a way to ruin a perfectly good evening.”

Cat let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You don’t say. He’s throwing me to the wolves—literally—for the sake of politics.”

Isla’s humor softened, replaced by genuine concern as she moved closer. “I get why you’re angry, Cat. I do. But it’s not like this is coming out of nowhere. The council’s been pushing for peace between the clans for years. You can’t be all that surprised that someone decided to tie a neat little bow on it.”

Cat glared at her, though the fire in her green eyes lacked true heat. “Whose side are you on, exactly?”

“Yours,” Isla said firmly, her voice steady. She stepped closer, resting a hand on Cat’s shoulder. The weight of it was grounding. “Always. But you know I’m going to tell you the truth, even when you’d rather deck me for it.”

Cat sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She looked away, her gaze dropping to the forest floor. “It’s not just about the mating,” she admitted after a moment. “It’s about him deciding for me. Again. I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove I can lead without being his damn puppet. And now? Now he’s forcing this... this *bond* on me.”

“And what do you want?” Isla asked, her voice soft, coaxing.

Cat opened her mouth to answer, but the words caught in her throat. What *did* she want? Freedom, undeniably. But beyond that? The question hung in the air, unanswered, as she looked away, her brows furrowing in frustration.

Isla’s hand squeezed her shoulder briefly before falling away. “Look, I know you, Cat. You’re not the kind of person who lets someone else decide her fate. So don’t start now.”

Cat met Isla’s gaze, her green eyes steady and fierce. “I won’t,” she said firmly. “I don’t care what the council or my father or anyone else says—I’ll find a way out of this. I won’t let them force me into something I don’t want.”

A small smile tugged at Isla’s lips. “That’s the Cat I know. Stubborn as hell, but not wrong.” She glanced toward the edge of the clearing, where the shadows of the forest seemed to shift like a living thing. “Come on. Let’s walk. You can vent while I pretend to be wise and insightful.”

Cat snorted, a wry smile breaking through her stoic exterior. Falling into step beside Isla, she let the forest’s silence envelop them. The cool air calmed her, if only slightly, the rustling leaves and distant hoot of an owl grounding her in the present.

“Do you think it’s possible?” Cat asked after a long stretch of quiet.

“Do I think what’s possible?” Isla replied, glancing at her.

“Peace,” Cat said, her voice quieter now. “Between the clans. Do you think this whole mating thing could actually work?”

Isla was silent for a moment, her hazel eyes thoughtful. “I think peace is possible,” she said finally. “But not because of some council decree or a fancy ceremony. Peace happens because people like you fight for it. Even when it seems impossible.”

Cat frowned, her gaze distant. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she murmured.

“You can,” Isla said without hesitation. “You’ve been fighting your whole life. This is just... a new battlefield.”

They reached a small brook, its water glinting faintly in the moonlight as it trickled over smooth stones. Isla crouched by the edge, dipping her fingers into the cool water. Cat perched on a nearby rock, her arms draped over her knees as she stared at the rippling surface. The quiet was a balm, soothing some of the tension that had knotted her muscles since her confrontation with her father.

For a while, neither of them spoke. As the first hints of dawn crept through the trees, Cat rose to her feet with a sigh. “We should head back.”

Isla stood as well, brushing dirt from her hands. “Feeling any better?”

“A little,” Cat admitted. She looked at Isla, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Thanks.”

Isla grinned, her hazel eyes sparkling. “Anytime, Alpha.”

Cat rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a chuckle as they began the trek back to Blackmoor Manor. The forest seemed less foreboding now, its shadows lighter, its silence less oppressive. The weight of her father’s expectations still lingered, but she felt steadier. More sure of herself.

The battle was far from over, but she was ready to face it.