Chapter 2 — The Gathering at Silverclaw

Claudia

The Silverclaw Den hummed with life, the mingling scents of roasted meats, burning herbs, and damp stone pressing against Claudia’s senses. The den’s cavernous expanse vibrated with the steady thrum of voices, laughter, and the occasional low growl—a chorus of dominance woven into the fabric of every gathering. Glowing runes etched into the stone walls pulsed faintly, highlighting the den’s history as a sanctuary and stronghold. Yet even with the ancient magic thrumming in her periphery, Claudia felt exposed. Vulnerable.

Her fingers tightened around the leather strap of her satchel as her mismatched eyes darted toward the firelit center of the chamber. There, werewolves from allied packs mingled, their movements an intricate dance of posturing and control. She lingered near the shadowed edge of the main hall, deliberately keeping her distance. Every glance that flicked her way, every whispered word that hovered just out of earshot, clung to her like a second skin. *Cursed. Witch-born. Demon child.* The words echoed in her mind, carving into her chest with a precision that felt sharper than any blade.

It wasn’t paranoia. She could see it in their stares—how they lingered a moment too long, the way conversations shifted to murmurs when she passed. Even now, she caught fragments of their words mingling with the hum of voices. “Her eighteenth…” “Stronger, but dangerous…” “That red eye…” Her jaw clenched. No matter how tightly she wrapped herself in her own armor, their judgment sliced through.

Claudia tugged at the worn sleeve of her leather jacket, willing herself to stand straighter. To not give them the satisfaction of seeing her falter. This wasn’t her choice. The gathering—her supposed *celebration*—was a carefully orchestrated display orchestrated by her mother. A spectacle, more for the packs than for Claudia herself. A chance for Alara to parade her Tribrid daughter as a curiosity, a weapon, or perhaps something to fear.

The knot in her stomach tightened. She shifted her weight, her boots scraping softly against the stone floor. The air around her felt heavy, saturated with the warmth of her kind and the metallic tang of the den’s runes. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t one of them, not entirely. And no amount of posturing or pretending would change that.

“Stop scowling,” came Lena’s familiar voice. It cut through Claudia’s spiraling thoughts with the kind of lightness only her best friend could manage. “You’re going to scare the Omegas into dropping the venison.”

Claudia turned, her lips twitching into the barest semblance of a smirk as Lena appeared at her side. The petite witch balanced a sly grin and an arched brow with practiced ease, her fiery red hair practically glowing in the light of the central fire. Her green eyes sparkled with mirth, though they softened as they met Claudia’s, her empathy quiet but steadfast.

“I’m not scowling,” Claudia muttered, though she knew it wasn’t entirely true.

“Oh, you absolutely are.” Lena leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But in your defense, they’re staring at you like you’re about to sprout horns and challenge the Alpha Council to a duel.”

Claudia snorted softly, the sound escaping before she could contain it. “Wouldn't that make this interesting?”

“Depends. Do you think the horns would suit you?” Lena teased, bumping her shoulder lightly against Claudia’s. The warmth of her presence eased some of the tightness in Claudia’s chest. “Honestly though, you shouldn’t let them get to you. This den is as much yours as it is theirs. More, even.”

“Tell that to them,” Claudia said, jerking her head subtly toward the crowd. Her gaze landed on James, who leaned casually against a stone pillar on the far side of the room. His golden-brown hair caught the flickering firelight, and his broad smile seemed to light up his whole face. He was surrounded by Betas and elders, laughing easily, blending into the fabric of the pack as naturally as breathing.

Her chest tightened, a pang lancing through her despite her best efforts to smother it. Of course James fit in. He always had. The golden child. The future Alpha. Everything she wasn’t.

“You mean him?” Lena followed her gaze, her tone softening. “He’s not as perfect as he looks, you know. It’s easy to smile when no one’s judging you.”

Claudia didn’t respond. The words didn’t quite settle, though they lingered in her mind like an echo.

The low hum of the chamber shifted, a ripple of tension threading through the gathered wolves. Claudia’s attention snapped back to the room as the voices faltered, heads turning toward the den’s entrance. A figure stepped into the light of the glowing runes, his broad shoulders and tall frame cutting an imposing silhouette. He moved with quiet confidence, his dark, tailored clothing setting him apart from the rugged attire of the other Alphas. His silver eyes, sharp and piercing like shards of moonlight, swept the chamber.

Claudia’s breath caught as those eyes locked onto hers.

“Ryland Morrow,” Lena whispered, her voice a mixture of awe and apprehension. “Alpha of the Morrow Pack. Rumor has it he killed a rogue with his bare hands when he was sixteen.”

Claudia didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her throat dry as the intensity of his gaze pinned her in place. The air around her seemed to thicken, pressing against her skin. There was something magnetic about him, something that made her instincts flare. A warning, a pull—both at once.

He moved toward her, each step deliberate, each movement precise. The crowd parted instinctively, wolves bowing their heads or stepping aside without hesitation. The quiet dominance he exuded was palpable, and when he finally stopped a few paces away, the den fell into a tense, expectant hush.

“You’re Claudia Arlen,” he said, his voice low and measured, carrying the weight of authority. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, sharp and unyielding.

“And you’re Ryland Morrow,” she replied. Her voice came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t flinch. She met his gaze head-on, her mismatched eyes narrowing. “What of it?”

His lips quirked into the faintest shadow of a smile. It wasn’t friendly—it was calculated. Predatory. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Claudia’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. “Funny. I don’t recall asking for one.”

Lena murmured something under her breath about drinks before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Claudia alone beneath Ryland’s steady scrutiny. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension stretching taut between them.

“You don’t enjoy this kind of attention,” he observed, his tone quieter now, though no less commanding.

“What gave it away?” she shot back, sarcasm lacing her words.

His faint smile faded, replaced by a more serious look. “You’re not what I expected.”

The words caught her off guard. There was no malice in his voice, no scorn. Just simple observation. It unsettled her, made her feel laid bare in a way she hated.

Before she could respond, the world shifted. A sudden chill swept over her, and the den blurred into darkness. Claudia staggered, clutching the cold stone wall for support as the vision seized her.

The images came sharp and fast—a blood-soaked Moonshadow Forest, rogue wolves marked with a crimson “X,” their glowing red eyes filled with a ravenous hunger. A chain, black and heavy, slithered through the shadows like a serpent, its links etched with sinister runes. The sound of howls tore through the vision, raw and agonized.

Her chest tightened, and she clawed for air as the vision shattered. The den rushed back into focus, its warmth clashing with the cold dread coiling in her stomach. Her hand pressed against the Shadowstone Pendant at her neck, its cool surface thrumming faintly.

“Claudia.” Ryland’s voice cut through her disorientation, sharp and steady. His hand gripped her arm, anchoring her. “What did you see?”

She shook her head, her throat tight. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his silver eyes narrowing. “You saw something. What was it?”

Her instincts screamed to push him away, to keep her distance, but his unwavering gaze rooted her in place. “Rogues,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “With… a crimson ‘X.’ They’re coming.”

For a moment, his jaw tightened, and she thought she saw a flicker of something—fear?—in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He released her arm, his expression hardening.

“You’re not done explaining this,” he said, his tone clipped, leaving no room for argument. “Stay close.”

Without another word, he strode toward the center of the room, his commanding presence drawing the crowd’s attention like a magnet. Claudia watched him go, her stomach twisting as the phantom weight of the chain lingered in her chest.

She glanced at the glowing runes on the walls, their steady pulse doing little to calm the storm within her. Something was coming. And she wasn’t sure even Ryland Morrow could stop it.