Lilith Nightveil came back at night because daylight made too many promises. The clearing didn’t look smaller. That surprised her. In memory, everything had shrunk—the halls, the council chamber, the long stone steps where blood once dried faster than it should have. But the land hadn’t folded in on itself the way she had. It lay open, exposed, unconcerned with her return. She stopped where the outer wall used to begin. There was nothing to mark it now. No rubble. No broken stone. Just ground that refused to grow anything tall. Grass tried and failed. Flowers never bothered. The earth here had learned something and didn’t want to repeat it.
Lilith stood very still, listening. The forest made its usual sounds, but underneath that was something quieter. A tension that hummed low, like a held breath. It told her she wasn’t alone. It also told her she wasn’t being hunted. Not yet. She stepped forward, boots sinking slightly. Too soft. The ground should have hardened by now. She remembered pacing this perimeter once, years ago, arguing with a man who thought borders could be negotiated if you used the right tone.
Lucan Moonclaw. The name rose without invitation. She let it. Fighting memory wasted energy. Her hand brushed the air where the gate had been. She didn’t reach for it on purpose. The motion happened anyway, fingers curling around absence. For a moment, something in her chest pulled tight and sharp, like a wire drawn too suddenly.
Lilith dropped her hand. “This isn’t nostalgia,” she said aloud, though the night hadn’t accused her. “This is inventory.” She crossed into the clearing. The house had stood at the center, built low and wide, stone sunk deep enough that even earthquakes had left it breathing. Now the ground dipped there, uneven and dark. She walked to it slowly, counting steps she still remembered.
Fourteen from the gate, six to the stairs and three more to the threshold. She stopped on the last count.
Her foot hovered, then settled. Nothing happened. No echo. No resistance. Just dirt and the faint smell of old smoke, stubborn as a scar. Lilith crouched and pressed her fingers into the soil.
Cold. That was wrong. This place had always held heat. Magic soaked into it, fed by bloodlines and rituals and stubborn belief. Cold meant absence. Cold meant the land had been stripped down to bone. Her jaw tightened before she noticed. She exhaled through her nose and withdrew her hand, dirt clinging beneath her nails. She didn’t clean it away.
A branch cracked behind her. Lilith straightened but didn’t turn. She already knew who it was. The forest shifted differently when wolves moved through it—less caution, more confidence. Ownership disguised as instinct.
“You’re late,” she said. Silence answered. Then footsteps, unhurried, stopping a few paces behind her. “I didn’t know you were coming,” Lucan Moonclaw said.
His voice had changed. Not drastically. Just enough that she noticed. Rougher at the edges. Less patience where humor used to sit. Lilith turned. He stood where the treeline thinned, moonlight catching in his hair, his coat half-fastened like he’d pulled it on without thinking. He looked broader. He looked tired. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept properly in years and had convinced himself it was a choice.
“You always knew,” she said. Lucan’s gaze dropped to the center of the clearing, then returned to her face. His eyes didn’t linger, but they didn’t slide away either. “I didn’t think anyone survived,” he said.
“That’s because you didn’t look,” she replied. Something crossed his face then. Not denial. Not outrage. A small, quiet recalculation. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
Lilith laughed. It came out thin. “I lived here.”
“Not anymore.” She stepped closer. Not threatening. Just close enough that he had to acknowledge her presence as real, not imagined.
“You don’t get to tell me what’s mine,” she said. Lucan held her gaze. For a second, something old stirred there—recognition, familiarity, the muscle memory of a hundred arguments that had never ended cleanly.
“This land belongs to the pack now,” he said. Lilith nodded once. “I know.”
“And?”
“And they took it by fire,” she said. “Which means it doesn’t belong to them. It’s just occupied.” Lucan’s mouth tightened. “You’re asking for trouble.”
“No,” she said. “I’m bringing it back.” The forest shifted again. More movement now. Not hidden. Curious. Wolves gathering just beyond sight, listening without pretending otherwise. Lucan noticed. His shoulders set. “You came alone.”
“Yes.”
“That’s reckless.” She smiled at him. Really smiled this time. “No. That’s insulting.”
He studied her, eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you want, Lilith?” She didn’t answer right away. She walked past him instead, crossing the clearing as if he weren’t there at all. He turned to follow, caught between irritation and something sharper. Lilith stopped near the far edge, where the ground sloped down toward the river. She looked out over it, hands clasped loosely behind her back.
“Do you remember the night the pact was signed?” she asked. Lucan hesitated. “Yes.”
“You stood exactly here,” she said. “You argued that your people wouldn’t accept the terms unless they felt respected.”
“And you argued….”
“That respect was meaningless without consequence,” she finished. “I remember.” She turned then, slow, deliberate.
“They burned my house,” she said. “They slaughtered my coven. They dragged bodies into the street and left them there as warnings.” Lucan didn’t speak.
“I want to know,” Lilith continued, voice level, “whether that was your order.” His jaw flexed. “No.” The answer came fast. Too fast to be rehearsed.
“And when you found out?” she asked. Silence stretched. Wolves shifted in the trees. Somewhere, a low growl started and cut off abruptly.
“I was too late,” Lucan said. Lilith nodded. “So was I.” She closed the distance between them again, stopping close enough that he had to tip his head slightly to meet her gaze.
“You’re Alpha now,” she said. “That means the blood belongs to you.” Lucan swallowed. “If you came here to kill me….”
“I didn’t,” she said. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing.”
“Then why are you here?” Lilith leaned in, her voice dropping, not soft but precise.
“Because I want your pack to destroy itself,” she said. “And I want you to help me.” Lucan stared at her, disbelief flickering briefly before something darker took its place. “You think I’d betray them?” “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you already are,” she said. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.” A howl broke the air closer now. Not a challenge. A signal. Lucan glanced toward the sound, then back at Lilith. “You don’t understand what you’re starting.” She stepped back, finally giving him space. “I understand exactly,” she said. “And you’re running out of time to decide which side of it you’re on.” Another howl answered the first. Then another. Lucan looked past her to the clearing, to the ground that refused to forget. “Someone’s coming,” he said. Lilith smiled, cold and certain. “I know,” she said. “That’s the point.” The forest went quiet, then the ground beneath the clearing began to move.
