Chapter 8
Alaric Dawnsworn
By now, meeting Ronan has become part of my routine. Which is concerning.
Because normal people don’t secretly meet werewolves in the woods.
Then again, normal people don’t have werewolf friends.
I pause. Friend. The word feels strange.
Not wrong.
Just strange.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
The fox kits have become absolute terrors.
One of them somehow escaped this morning and managed to hide inside Father’s boot.
The resulting scream was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.
Valka laughed so hard she fell off her chair.
Mother nearly dropped an entire loaf of bread.
The fox looked very pleased with itself.
For once, breakfast wasn’t miserable.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
That evening, I head toward the pond.
The sun is beginning to set, painting the snow gold.
For a while, I simply sit by the water.
Then something lands beside me. A pinecone. I don’t even need to turn around.
“You’re getting predictable.”
Ronan drops down onto the grass beside me.
“I could’ve hit you.”
“You missed by half a meter.”
“I was being nice.”
“That’s debatable.”
He grins. And just like that, the conversation starts flowing naturally. No awkwardness. No fear. Just two idiots sitting beside a pond.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Eventually, we leave the clearing and wander through the forest.
Ronan leads. I follow. Mostly because I have no idea where we’re going.
At one point he suddenly stops. His posture changes instantly. Every muscle in his body goes rigid. I nearly walk into him.
“What?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he stares into the trees. Listening.
A few seconds pass. Then he relaxes.
Weird.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Ronan ignores me and keeps walking.
Suspicious. Very suspicious.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
The deeper we go into the forest, the more I notice things.
Tracks. Not animal tracks. Footprints. Too large to belong to anyone from the village. I crouch beside one.
Fresh. Recent.
The print is partially hidden beneath snow. My stomach twists.
“Ronan.”
“Hm?”
“Whose footprints are these?”
He glances down. Then immediately away.
“Nobody’s.”
I stare at him.
“Those are literally footprints.”
“Maybe someone walked here.”
I blink.
“That is how footprints work.”
Ronan looks offended.
“I’m glad you’re learning.”
I throw a handful of snow at him.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
A while later, we reach a small ridge. The forest stretches endlessly below us.
Beautiful. Quiet. Peaceful.
Then a howl echoes through the trees. I freeze.
The sound is distant. But unmistakable. Another howl answers it. Then another.
Not wolves. At least not normal wolves. Something about them feels different.
Ronan goes completely still beside me. His gaze fixes on the forest below. Listening. Waiting.
For the first time all evening, he looks serious.
No teasing. No smiling. Nothing. Just focus.
A strange unease settles in my chest.
“Do you know them?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. A tiny movement. Easy to miss. But I notice.
“Ronan.”
The silence stretches.
Then—
“Yeah.”
My heartbeat speeds up.
I knew it. I knew he wasn’t alone.
“Are there more werewolves nearby?”
He exhales slowly.
“Yes.”
The answer is simple. Too simple.
Like he’s choosing each word carefully.
“How many?”
“No.”
I frown.
“No?”
“No.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
“Not a good one.”
A smile briefly tugs at the corner of his mouth. Then it disappears just as quickly. For some reason, that bothers me.
The mystery doesn’t. The distance does.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
The walk back is quieter than usual.
Not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful.
Every time I ask a question about other werewolves, Ronan changes the subject.
Every.
Single.
Time.
By the time we reach the edge of the forest, I’m certain of two things.
First:
There are other werewolves living nearby.
Second:
Ronan absolutely does not want me knowing anything about them.
The question is why.
And somehow, I have a feeling the answer is important.
