Chapter 2 — Exile Under Stars

Skye Ashbourne

The night stretched endlessly before her, the dark canopy of the forest overhead broken only by the fragmented glow of the full moon. The air was thick with the damp scent of moss and rotting wood, the chill biting at her exposed skin. Skye Ashbourne walked with measured steps, her boots crunching softly against fallen leaves and brittle twigs. Each footfall seemed to echo louder than it should, as though the forest were holding its breath, waiting.

Her chest ached, the raw sting of rejection still fresh, lingering like an open wound. Kaiden’s words repeated in her head, relentless and cruel: “I reject the bond.” At times his voice was distant and dispassionate; at others, it roared in her memory with all the force of his authority as Alpha. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the leather of her gloves. He had cast her aside, dismissed her like she was nothing more than a threat—a complication he could no longer tolerate. The pack she once called family had turned away from her, their judgmental stares cutting deeper than any blade.

The harsher truth—the one she struggled to admit even to herself—was that some of his words had struck a chord she couldn’t ignore. Was her magic truly dangerous? She had spent years learning to harness it, to guide its power rather than fear it. Yet Kaiden’s condemnation had stirred a seed of doubt she couldn’t uproot. What if she wasn’t enough? What if her strength failed her when it mattered most?

Her pace faltered as the weight of these thoughts pressed on her. Skye leaned heavily against the rough bark of a tree, her breath coming in unsteady gasps. The forest was alive with its usual nocturnal symphony—the hoot of an owl, the rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth—but to her, it was hollow, distant. She tilted her head back, letting the faint light of the moon illuminate her face. Her silver eyes burned faintly, not with magic but with the frustration and grief lurking beneath the surface. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away with a sharp inhale. She couldn’t afford the luxury of breaking down. Not now. Not when she was alone, with no one to rely on but herself.

Her hand instinctively brushed against her abdomen, a gesture that anchored her to the present. The life growing within her was fragile but steady, a reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone. “I’ll protect you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. Her voice cracked, but the promise was firm, as much for herself as it was for her child.

Pushing off the tree, she continued deeper into the forest. The shadows seemed to close in around her, and the trees stood tall like silent sentinels. There was no path to follow save the instinctive pull that seemed to guide her steps forward. It wasn’t loud or insistent, more like a whisper at the edge of her senses—a constant, faint tug that had been with her since the first step away from the pack. She couldn’t explain it, but it felt purposeful, as though the forest itself were calling her somewhere.

The chill of the night settled into her bones, but she welcomed it. The numbing cold was better than the fiery ache in her chest. Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Kaiden—not the alpha who had rejected her, but the Kaiden she had once loved. She remembered the warmth of his hands, the way his amber eyes softened when he looked at her during moments stolen from the weight of leadership. She remembered his voice—not the sharp, commanding tone he used before the pack, but the rare, soft timbre he reserved for her alone. Those memories were traitorous now, cruel reminders of what she had lost. She shoved them aside, a flicker of anger rising to replace the sorrow. He didn’t deserve her grief. He didn’t deserve her at all.

Yet even as the anger simmered, it couldn’t extinguish the doubt. She had seen the fear in his eyes when he spoke those words. Was he right to fear her magic? Skye had worked tirelessly to control it, to wield it for unity and protection, but she knew its volatility. Some days, she felt like it was an extension of herself. Other days, it felt like a stranger, an unpredictable force just beneath her skin. What if she failed to control it when it mattered most? What if she failed to protect her child?

The forest thinned slightly, and she found herself at the edge of a shallow river. The water moved sluggishly, its surface reflecting the moonlight in fractured patterns. Skye crouched by the riverbank, her fingers brushing against the cold, damp earth. The quiet gurgle of the water was soothing, a lull in the storm of her thoughts.

Scooping up a handful of water, she let it trickle through her fingers before splashing her face. The cold shocked her senses, grounding her. As she stared at her reflection in the water, her silver eyes glowed faintly, catching her attention. They seemed brighter tonight, her magic restless beneath the surface of her skin. It hummed faintly, an ever-present reminder of her difference, her otherness. She had spent so long hiding it, suppressing it, but now, alone in the wilderness, she let it stir. The familiar pulse of energy radiated through her veins, warm and alive. It wasn’t something to fear. It was hers.

The sound of a distant howl broke the stillness, low and mournful. Skye stiffened, her senses sharpening. The howl wasn’t from Apex territory. It was lonelier, tinged with a sorrow that mirrored her own. A lone wolf. For a moment, she considered seeking the source—another outcast might understand her pain—but the thought of meeting another soul right now felt unbearable. She wasn’t ready to face anyone, not even another wolf who shared her exile.

Turning her back to the river, she pressed onward, her steps quicker now. The forest grew denser, the trees towering above her like ancient watchers. The faint, mystical pull she had been ignoring all night grew stronger, tugging at her senses. It wasn’t insistent, but it was undeniable, as though the forest itself were leading her somewhere. She hesitated briefly, uncertainty gnawing at her, before deciding to follow. Whatever lay ahead, she couldn’t turn back now.

The pull led her deeper into the heart of the forest, where the air grew heavier, charged with something unnameable. The trees seemed older here, their gnarled roots twisting out of the earth like ancient fingers. A faint glow began to seep through the underbrush, soft and flickering like fireflies. Skye paused, her breath hitching as she took in the sight before her.

The Whispering Glade.

She hadn’t intended to come here, but somehow, her steps had carried her to this place. The clearing was bathed in the faint, ethereal light of bioluminescent fungi and wildflowers, their glow casting soft shadows against the mossy ground. The air was thick with the hum of magic, a subtle vibration that resonated deep within her chest. She had heard the stories and legends of the glade’s power, but standing here now, she felt its reality in a way that words could never capture.

Slowly, she stepped into the clearing, her boots sinking slightly into the spongy moss. The glade seemed to sigh at her arrival, the faint rustling of leaves and the whispers of the wind welcoming her. For the first time since her exile, she felt a flicker of peace.

She wandered farther into the glade, her eyes drawn to the ancient oaks that bordered it. Their trunks were massive, their bark etched with the faint outlines of runes—marks of a time long past. Skye reached out, her fingers brushing against one of the carvings. A faint pulse of energy traveled up her arm, startling her. The runes seemed to react to her touch, faintly glowing before fading back into the bark.

Her magic stirred in response, a soft, tentative connection forming between her and the glade. It wasn’t intrusive or overwhelming—more like a gentle nudge, a whisper of reassurance that she wasn’t entirely alone. The realization brought a lump to her throat. She sank to her knees, pressing a hand to her abdomen once more.

“This is where we begin,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the tears that finally spilled over. The glade would be her sanctuary, her refuge. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

As the night deepened, Skye sat in the center of the clearing, her silver eyes reflecting the faint glow of the glade’s magic. The forest stretched vast and unknown around her, but for the first time, the uncertainty didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like freedom.

She closed her eyes, letting the hum of the glade lull her into a quiet calm. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new dangers, but tonight, beneath the stars and the watchful gaze of the ancient oaks, she found a fragile sliver of hope. It was enough.