Wolves of Fate

The first time I saw him, he was broken. His battered body sprawled across the riverbank seemed almost surreal, a powerful predator laid low. My heart twisted with a mix of fear and a strange, inexplicable pull—compassion, perhaps, or curiosity. I remember the tremble in my hands as I knelt beside him, torn between the instinct to run and the overwhelming urge to help. He was a stranger, yet something about his vulnerability felt achingly familiar, as though fate had tethered us in ways I couldn’t yet understand. A fierce predator, rendered vulnerable by wounds too deep to hide, lying unconscious at the edge of the riverbank. His blood stained the water, the crimson ribbons twisting and swirling downstream like a haunting melody. I hadn’t planned to save him—a lone wolf who dared enter my territory was dangerous, even if he was on the brink of death. Yet something about his stillness, his fragility, made me hesitate. Before I could think better of it, I had pulled him from the current and carried him back to my small, hidden cabin.

Each step was a struggle. The weight of his body pressed against mine as I pushed through the dense forest, my breath ragged and my arms trembling from the effort. I had no reason to risk so much for a stranger, and yet, leaving him there to die seemed impossible. By the time I reached my cabin, I was soaked in his blood and my own sweat, but I refused to let him go.

It took days of careful nursing, countless sleepless nights of tending to his fever and patching his wounds, before his breathing grew steady. Every moment was a test of my patience and resilience. I cleaned the gashes that marred his chest, wincing at the raw edges that refused to heal quickly. I sat beside him through the long nights, whispering words of encouragement he couldn’t hear, hoping my efforts weren’t in vain.

In those quiet hours, I found myself studying him. His features, though pale and drawn from blood loss, were striking. High cheekbones, a strong jawline, and lips that seemed to hold the ghost of a smile even in unconsciousness. He was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache, but I pushed the thought aside. He wasn’t mine to admire.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, the weight of my exhaustion hit me. I’d kept him alive, poured every ounce of my energy into making sure he didn’t slip away. But his gaze didn’t fall on me. Instead, it darted past, landing on my stepsister, Miriam, who had wandered into the room, curiosity alight in her eyes.

"You saved me," he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with gratitude. My stomach twisted, a mixture of disbelief and bitterness rising within me. How could he not see the truth? How could he not know it was me? I bit my lip to hold back the words that begged to escape, anger and hurt mingling in equal measure.

Before I could correct him, Miriam smiled coyly. “It was nothing.”

And just like that, my world shifted. The connection I had felt, the bond I thought had formed between us, was severed by her casual lie. She was my polar opposite—golden-haired, delicate, with a charm that drew people to her effortlessly. I was used to being overlooked in her presence. But this time, it cut deeper than I cared to admit. My hands clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I swallowed the bitterness that threatened to consume me.

He introduced himself as Alexander, though everyone called him Alec. The days that followed blurred into an uncomfortable routine. Alec grew stronger, his gratitude for Miriam evident in every glance, every lingering word of thanks. I tried to focus on my chores, to ignore the pangs of jealousy that twisted my stomach. After all, it wasn’t his fault he believed her. And it wasn’t Miriam’s fault that she was beautiful and captivating in a way I could never be.

Still, it hurt. Every time he smiled at her, every time he thanked her, it felt like a dagger to my heart. I wanted to scream the truth, to make him see what I had done for him. But the words stayed trapped in my throat, choked by a lifetime of being overshadowed by Miriam’s light.

When Alec announced his intention to take Miriam as his mate, my heart shattered. He promised to make her his Luna, to give her everything she could ever want. And Miriam, always eager for admiration, accepted with a gleeful smile. They left together, his hand on her back as they disappeared into the forest. I watched them go, the ache in my chest a cruel reminder of what could never be.

The cabin felt emptier after they left. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of my own ragged breaths. I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter, that I would move on. But the truth was harder to swallow. I had poured my heart and soul into saving Alec, only to watch him walk away with someone else.

I told myself it didn’t matter. I told myself I would forget him.

But forgetting Alec was like trying to forget the pull of the moon. Impossible.

At night, I would dream of him—of his golden eyes filled with gratitude, his voice whispering words of thanks. But in my dreams, he was looking at me, not Miriam. And every morning, I would wake with tears streaming down my face, the pain as fresh as the day he left.

I buried myself in work, trying to drown out the memories. I hunted, tended to the cabin, and avoided the places that reminded me of him. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape the shadow he had cast over my life.

I wasn’t sure how long I could keep going like this. The weight of my unspoken feelings threatened to crush me, and the bitterness I felt toward Miriam only grew with each passing day. But there was no escaping the truth. I had saved Alec, and he had chosen someone else.

And there was nothing I could do to change that.