Kane Blackwood's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Kane Blackwood had claimed a woman he had never seen. On the blood moon, a scent found him and refused to leave. It was rain on cedar, warm skin, something wild. He told his pack she was his mate. No one argued. But three days later, the trail had gone cold, and a claim meant nothing if he could not find her. He crouched at the edge of the training grounds and pressed his nose to the packed dirt. The sparring ring stood empty behind him. Punching bags swayed in the wind. He had run every trail he knew since the moon rose. Now the scent was thin, almost gone. By morning it would vanish for good. "You've smelled that same patch of ground six times," a voice said. Kane looked up. His two seconds stood at the ring's edge. The twins, Brooks and Garther, ran his patrols and never disagreed with him. Until now. They wore matching dark gear and matching frowns. Brooks stepped closer. Garther stayed back, arms crossed. "The scent breaks here," Kane said. "It doesn't lead out. It leads in circles." "Because it isn't hers," Brooks said. Kane rose. He was taller than both by a head, and they both tensed. Alphas did not take that word well. "Explain." Garther finally spoke. "We tracked the north ridge while you worked the trails. There's a scent marker on the old stone by the water. Not wolf. Feathers. Big ones. White." "An elf came through pack land," Brooks said. "On the blood moon. She stood right where the trail starts. Then she flew." The word hit Kane like cold water. Flew. He had been sniffing the dirt for three days. She had never touched much of it. The scent circled because she had walked a few steps, then lifted into the air. No ground trail could ever lead him to her. That was why every path died. "You're sure," Kane said. Garther held out his hand. On his palm lay a single white feather, long as a forearm. Kane took it. He lifted it to his face. Rain on cedar. Warm skin. His whole body went still. It was her. The scent that had haunted him for three nights lived in this feather. "She has wings," Brooks said quietly. "Bright blue eyes, the water folk say. She leads a people north of here. She isn't wolf, Kane. She isn't ours." Kane closed his fist around the feather. His mate was not lost after all. She was not hiding. She had flown home, over a border his pack did not cross, to people who did not answer to him. "Then we don't track her on the ground," he said. "We find where the winged folk sleep." Brooks and Garther traded a look. They had feared exactly this order. "Ready the pack," Kane said. "We ride north at dawn."