Chapter 1 — A Rogue’s Life

Ella

The scent of pine and damp earth filled Ella’s lungs as she crouched low in the underbrush, her storm-gray eyes locked on the doe grazing in the clearing ahead. The forest, with its towering trees and whispering leaves, was her sanctuary. Quiet and untouched by the snarls of pack politics, it shielded her from the weight of expectations and the sting of rejection that had once carved scars deeper than even her skin.

The bowstring in her hands thrummed as she drew it taut, her fingers steady despite the tension that coiled in her shoulders like an unseen predator. For years, survival had been an instinct, honed to sharp edges in the wild. The doe’s ears twitched, sensing a shift in the stillness, but it was too late. The arrow flew, swift and true, striking its mark with a muted thud. The animal collapsed, and Ella exhaled slowly, lowering the bow. For a rogue, hesitation was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

“Not bad,” came a familiar, teasing voice behind her.

Ella didn’t flinch, though her lips curved faintly into a smirk. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Nick?” she asked dryly, straightening as she turned to face him.

Nick Harper lounged against a tree, his shaggy brown hair catching the dappled sunlight. His hazel eyes twinkled with mischief, and a dead rabbit dangled loosely from his hand. His grin was as roguish as ever. “Better than making sure you don’t starve? Probably not. Gotta say, though, your aim’s looking sharp. Guess you’re channeling all that pent-up aggression.”

Ella rolled her eyes and brushed past him to retrieve the doe. The faint scars that laced her arms caught the light—pale, silent reminders of battles fought long ago. “Or maybe I’m just better at surviving than you,” she retorted, crouching to grip the doe's hind legs.

Nick stepped forward before she could lift it, hoisting the animal onto his shoulders with an ease that belied his wiry frame. “Surviving, sure. But admit it—you’d miss me if I wandered off.”

Ella arched a silver brow, her expression as impassive as ever. “I’d miss the noise. The silence might actually become unbearable.”

Nick snorted as they began their trek back to the cabin. “Admit it, Ella. Deep down, under all that frosty armor, there’s an actual person. Warm, gooey, and probably layered with sarcasm.”

“Like a burnt pastry,” Ella replied, deadpan. But the faint twitch of her lips betrayed the amusement she wouldn’t voice aloud.

The path wound through a grove of ancient trees, their roots thick and gnarled, reaching as if to embrace the forest floor. A fleeting shadow passed overhead, and Ella glanced up to catch the silent glide of a lunar owl, its reflective eyes vanishing into the canopy. The forest was alive with the subtle hum of life—a harmony she’d come to rely on. But today, something felt askew, just slightly… wrong.

The cabin came into view as they crested a hill, its patchwork roof barely visible through the trees. Modest to the point of being ramshackle, it stood nestled in the grove, smoke curling from its chimney in a lazy spiral. The scent of stew carried on the air, warm and familiar, though Ella’s senses prickled with unease. She couldn’t shake the faint, unfamiliar scent that lingered beneath the forest’s usual aromas—a scent that didn’t belong.

Her hand instinctively shifted to the hilt of her dagger.

Nick noticed her hesitation, his grin fading. “What is it?”

Ella’s storm-gray eyes scanned the clearing, her muscles taut. “Someone’s been here,” she murmured. Her voice was low, cautious, her tone sharper than usual.

Before Nick could respond, a figure stepped out from the shadowed edge of the grove. The man’s posture was careful, his hands raised in a gesture of peace, but his amber eyes were watchful. He wore simple leather attire, the kind favored by couriers, and a satchel hung at his side. The straps were worn but well-maintained, and the faint glint of the Alpha King’s sigil—a wolf’s head encircled by a laurel of stars—gleamed on the satchel’s clasp.

“Ella Rosewood?” the courier called, his tone steady but tinged with deference.

Ella’s fingers tightened on her dagger hilt. “Depends on who’s asking.”

The man stepped closer, his movements measured and deliberate. “I bring a message from Ironclaw Keep. An invitation to the Gathering.”

Nick let out a low whistle, leaning casually against the cabin’s wall. “The Gathering? Isn’t that, like, the werewolf version of a family reunion... if every family member wanted to kill each other?”

Ella ignored him. The name itself tugged at memories she’d buried deep—of judgmental stares, whispered betrayals, and a mate who had cast her aside. Her grip on the dagger tightened as her heartbeat quickened. The Gathering was more than just a council; it was a maelstrom of power plays and alliances she had no interest in being part of.

“I’m not interested,” she said flatly, turning away.

The courier’s voice sharpened, respectful but firm. “It’s not optional. Attendance is required of all Alphas and… influential rogues within the Eastern territories.”

Nick raised a brow, his grin returning. “Influential rogues. Fancy title for you, Ella. Wonder if they’re handing out crowns next.”

“Shut up, Nick,” Ella muttered, though her mind was already racing. Why her? Why now? She hadn’t set foot in pack society for nearly a decade, not since the Bloodmoon pack had cast her out. The thought of returning stirred a cold dread in her chest.

The courier reached into his satchel and withdrew an envelope, its edges crisp and its wax seal unbroken. He held it out to her, his gaze careful but searching. The Alpha King’s sigil glinted in the sunlight, a stark reminder of the power tied to the name Braiden Thorn.

“You have until the next full moon to present yourself at Ironclaw Keep,” the courier said. His tone left no room for argument.

Ella hesitated, her fingers brushing the hilt of her dagger before she snatched the envelope from his hand. The weight of it felt heavier than it should. “You’ve done your job. You can go.”

The courier inclined his head once before retreating into the forest, his footsteps fading into the underbrush. Ella stared at the envelope in her hands, her expression unreadable, though her heart thundered in her chest. The forest seemed quieter now, the stillness pressing against her senses.

“Well,” Nick said, breaking the silence, “this is going to be fun. Back in the thick of it, seeing old faces, making new enemies—”

“I’m not going,” Ella interrupted, her voice cold.

Nick folded his arms, his hazel eyes softening as he studied her. “Ella, if you don’t go, they’ll come looking for you. And if they find you out here—”

“I can handle myself,” she snapped, though the edges of her voice betrayed her unease.

“I know you can,” he replied gently. “But this isn’t just about you anymore. If they suspect you’re hiding something...”

Her jaw tightened. He was right, as much as she hated to admit it. She’d spent years surviving by staying invisible, keeping the truth of her white wolf identity buried. The attention this invitation brought threatened to unravel everything.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally, brushing past him to enter the cabin. The warmth inside should have been comforting, but it only underscored the chill that refused to leave her.

Nick followed, his tone lighter as he tried to lift the mood. “I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t worry, I’ll be your plus-one. Keep you from stabbing anyone.”

“You’re assuming I won’t stab you first,” Ella muttered, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.

Her gaze drifted to the table, where the Moonveil Pendant rested, its shard of crystal glowing faintly. She reached out, her fingers brushing against it. The pendant pulsed softly, as if sensing her turmoil. For a moment, something flickered in her chest—a fragile thread of hope… or fear.

The Gathering loomed like a storm on the horizon, and deep down, Ella knew there was no escaping it. Whether she wanted to or not, her life was about to change.