Chapter 8:
As I left the ring, I felt the weight of more eyes on me—not with doubt this time, but with something quieter, something closer to trust.
The next morning, I stood at the training grounds, my resolve steeling as wolves gathered around me. This was only the beginning, but I could feel the first stirrings of something stronger than doubt. Hope.
POV: Osric
The morning sun cast long shadows over the Talon Pack compound, illuminating the familiar faces I had come to know over decades of service. But the light did little to ease the growing tension that clung to the pack like a storm waiting to break. Each wolf moved with purpose, heads bowed slightly, their eyes avoiding one another’s too often for comfort.
I stood near the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed, watching Elara. She was speaking to Lyle, the eager young wolf who had begun stepping up in patrols, and I couldn’t help but notice the strain in her posture. Her words were calm, steady, but her shoulders carried a tension she was trying desperately to hide. It was a burden all Alphas bore—this endless balancing act of strength and vulnerability. But Elara’s burden was different. Heavier.
She turned her gaze toward me briefly, catching my eye, and gave me a faint nod. I returned the gesture, though I couldn’t suppress the unease that had settled deep in my chest since the day Dante returned.
Dante.
The thought of his name alone sent a ripple of unease through me. I glanced toward the far end of the compound where he was sparring with a group of younger wolves. His movements were sharp, calculated. Despite the years of separation, he hadn’t lost his edge. The younger wolves hung on his every word, their admiration plain in the way they followed his instructions with rapt attention. Too much attention.
The way they watched him reminded me of a different time—a time when Dante was at the heart of the pack, trusted by many, and regarded as a natural leader. He had a charisma that couldn’t be taught, a force of personality that drew others to him even when it sowed seeds of doubt among the elders. I remembered watching him in those days, seeing how easily he commanded respect from the younger wolves while testing the patience of the council.
There had been a moment, years ago, when Dante’s vision for the pack clashed openly with Marcus’s. It was during a debate over a territorial dispute with a neighboring pack. Dante had argued for expanding our borders, advocating strength and boldness, while Marcus favored negotiation and restraint.
“We have the power to take what’s ours,” Dante had said, his voice ringing through the council chambers.
“Hesitation only makes us look weak.”
His words had lit a fire in the younger wolves, but I could see the worry in Marcus’s eyes. That worry had simmered for weeks until the confrontation that led to Dante’s exile. Now, seeing Dante back among us, I felt a pang of that same unease—his presence was a catalyst, and I wasn’t sure whether it would strengthen us or tear us apart.
“You’re staring.”
Celia’s voice broke me from my thoughts. She approached quietly, her hands clasped behind her back, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp. As one of the more levelheaded members of the council, she often played the role of mediator when things grew tense. Today, though, I wasn’t sure even she could smooth the waters.
“Can’t help it,” I muttered, nodding toward Dante.
“You see how they look at him? Like he’s already taken over.”
She followed my gaze, her lips tightening.
“They’re drawn to him because he’s new, Osric. Wolves gravitate toward confidence, especially when things feel uncertain.”
I shook my head, a low growl rumbling in my throat.
“It’s not just that. He’s got history here. He left, but he’s still remembered as one of the strongest wolves this pack has ever had. Some of them wonder why he isn’t Alpha now.”
“And do you?” she asked, her voice calm but probing.
