Chapter 2 — The Gathering

Ella

The stone towers of Ironclaw Keep jutted from the cliffside like jagged fangs, their darkened silhouettes stark against the pale wash of twilight. Ella tightened her grip on the reins of her horse, the leather creaking beneath her fingers. Her storm-gray eyes scanned the horizon, warily drinking in the sight of the Keep. The air grew sharper as they approached, the scent of iron and pine mingling with a faint tang of wolf. It was a scent she hadn’t realized she’d forgotten—one that carried the weight of old betrayals and the fragile bond of pack life she had long since abandoned.

“Cheerful place,” Nick muttered beside her, pulling his flannel shirt tighter against the biting wind. His hazel eyes darted to the looming gates, his fingers fidgeting with his horse’s reins. His usual humor was intact, but there was a tension in his movements that didn’t escape Ella’s notice.

Ella kept her gaze forward. "Don’t start," she said, her voice low and clipped.

“Start what?” Nick replied with mock innocence, though his grin was faint. “I’m just saying, for a place that’s supposed to represent unity, Ironclaw feels more like a graveyard. All it’s missing is a few good ghosts.”

Ella’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. She focused on the gates ahead. Two sentries flanked the entrance, their black armor gleaming in the fading light. The crest of the Alpha King—a wolf’s head encircled by a laurel of stars—was etched into their breastplates, polished to an unyielding gleam.

The sentries stepped forward as Ella and Nick approached, their sharp, assessing eyes moving over them with the precision of blades. Ella felt their scrutiny linger on her silver hair, tied back in its usual braid, and the faint scars visible beneath the edges of her leather jacket.

“State your names,” one of the sentries commanded, his voice clipped and unyielding.

“Ella Rosewood,” she replied evenly, though her knuckles whitened on the reins. “This is Nick Harper.”

The sentries exchanged a brief glance. One nodded, stepping aside to allow them entry, though his gaze lingered on Ella, the flicker of curiosity in his eyes enough to set her teeth on edge. She felt his stare burn into her back as she urged her horse forward, resisting the instinct to snap at him.

As they passed through the gates, the air seemed to shift, heavier and charged with tension. The courtyard was alive with activity, the undercurrent of unease palpable. Alphas and wolves moved in the shadows—some in human form, others half-shifted, their golden eyes glinting in the dim light as they carried supplies or sharpened weapons. The sharp rasp of steel against stone carried on the air, mingling with low growls and murmured arguments.

Nick let out a low whistle as he dismounted, his boots crunching against the gravel. “Feels like a war camp,” he murmured, nodding toward a group of Alphas locked in a heated discussion near the far wall. Their stances were rigid, their voices clipped and edged with barely restrained aggression.

Ella swung off her horse, her movements fluid despite the tension coiling in her muscles. “Stay close,” she said quietly, her tone sharper than she intended.

Nick raised a brow, his grin softening the reprimand. “You worried about me, or worried I’ll say something that gets us both killed?”

“Both,” Ella replied dryly, tugging her jacket tighter around her. Her storm-gray eyes flicked across the courtyard, cataloging every sound and movement with practiced precision.

Before Nick could respond, a figure emerged from the shadows. He moved with deliberate, quiet authority, his dark, tailored coat emphasizing the broad lines of his shoulders and the effortless power in his stride. Ebony hair swept back from a face carved with sharp, imposing features, and his emerald-green eyes locked onto Ella’s with an intensity that made her straighten instinctively.

Braiden Thorn. The Alpha King.

The space around him seemed to still, as if the very air paused in deference. The silver ring on his finger—the Alpha’s Seal—caught the fading light like a beacon of status and responsibility. When he spoke, his voice was deep and steady, carrying the weight of leadership and a faint edge of curiosity.

“Ella Rosewood,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Ella met his piercing eyes, forcing herself not to flinch under the pull of his presence. “I wasn’t given much of a choice,” she replied evenly, the edge in her tone betraying her unease.

A flicker of something—amusement?—crossed Braiden’s expression, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Few of us are,” he said, his tone measured. His gaze flicked briefly to Nick, acknowledging him with a subtle nod before returning to Ella. “You’ll be shown to your quarters. The Gathering begins in an hour. Use the time to prepare.”

He gestured to a young woman standing nearby. She stepped forward, her expression guarded but polite, and motioned for Ella and Nick to follow. As they turned to leave, Ella felt Braiden’s gaze linger on her, as though weighing something unseen. The sensation prickled her skin, but she refused to look back.

The interior of Ironclaw Keep was a fortress of quiet power. The flagstone floors echoed faintly underfoot, and the walls were lined with aged tapestries depicting moments of triumph and betrayal within the packs. One, in particular, caught Ella’s eye—a faded depiction of a silver wolf beneath the full moon, its luminous gaze unyielding.

Her steps faltered for the briefest moment, memories pressing at the edges of her mind—the sound of a pack gathering, the warmth of a fire, the sting of rejection. She clenched her jaw and forced herself forward, unwilling to let the sight stir emotions she had buried long ago.

Their guide stopped in front of a wooden door, pushing it open to reveal a modest room with a single bed, a small table, and an oil lamp flickering softly. “This is yours,” she said, her tone clipped. She turned to Nick. “Your quarters are further down the hall.”

Nick glanced at Ella, his grin returning. “Guess this is where I leave you to brood in peace.”

Ella rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. She stepped through the doorway, the door closing behind her with a soft thud.

For a long moment, she stood there, letting the quiet settle over her like a second skin. The room was sparse but clean, the air carrying the faint scent of pine and stone. She crossed to the window and pushed it open, letting the evening breeze wash over her face.

Below, the courtyard buzzed with activity, but her gaze was drawn to the far side, where Braiden stood observing the commotion with a stillness that seemed to anchor the chaos around him. Even from this distance, his presence was magnetic, his authority palpable.

Her fingers brushed the Moonveil Pendant beneath her jacket. The crystal shard pulsed faintly, reacting to the swirl of emotions in her chest—wariness, unease, and something she couldn’t name. She tightened her grip on the pendant, forcing herself to turn away from the window.

The moon was rising, its light spilling into the room like liquid silver. Ella let out a slow breath, her storm-gray eyes flicking to the door as if bracing herself for what lay ahead.

The Gathering awaited, and with it, the world she had spent years avoiding.

She would face it. She always had.

But this time, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the battle would not only be against others—but against herself.