The Wolf With No Eyes

Lyria’s POV

The forest changed as I crossed the ridge.

Bloodshield territory faded behind me like a memory I’d already outgrown. The trees thickened, their trunks wider, older, bark knotted with age and secrets. Mist curled low along the forest floor, moving with a mind of its own, parting around my ankles as if recognizing what walked among them.

Shadowrend lands.

A place mothers used to warn their pups about.

A place Rowan said was cursed.

A place where an Alpha ruled from the darkness, feared even by his own pack.

And yet… something here called to me.

Not gently.

Not kindly.

But with the unmistakable pull of recognition.

The air shifted, thickening around me. My new senses sharpened, the hairs along my arms lifting. The forest was no longer quiet. It listened.

Every leaf, every breath of wind, every shiver of earth beneath my feet whispered a single truth:

You are not alone.

I stilled, lowering my stance without conscious thought. The wolf inside me prowled forward, half-formed and blazing.

Then I felt it.

A presence.

Not moving.

Just there.

Watching.

Not the clumsy, frantic fear of a hunter or scout.

Not the curious prodding of another wolf.

This presence was still.

Heavy.

Predatory.

My heart didn’t speed up. My breath didn’t catch.

Instead, something inside me settled an instinct that recognized the power stepping out of the darkness.

A figure emerged between the trees.

Tall. Broad. Shoulders lined with muscle beneath black leather armor. His hair fell in dark waves to his jaw. His face was carved from shadow and sharp angles. But what struck me what froze me were his eyes.

They were blind.

Completely.

Pale, moonlit silver without pupils. Unfocused. Unseeing.

Yet somehow… I felt his gaze lock onto me.

He inhaled once, slow and deliberate. My scent wrapped around him, and something in his expression shifted softened? No. Hardened. Anchored.

As if he’d been waiting for this exact breath.

“Your scent,” he said quietly, voice deep enough to vibrate through the ground. “It’s new.”

I didn’t move.

His head tilted slightly. “And wrong.”

My wolf growled inside me, instinctive and defensive.

He stepped closer unhurried, almost graceful, his boots silent on the moss. Even blind, he moved like a predator who had never once stumbled.

His nose lifted slightly, inhaling again. “Ash,” he murmured. “Smoke. Blood.”

His jaw clenched.

“And resurrection.”

Nothing should have known that.

No one should have sensed that.

“Who are you?” I demanded, power humming beneath my skin, ready to ignite if he stepped too close.

He smiled slow, dangerous, a curve that didn’t reach his ghost-silver eyes.

“A name you already know, little flame.”

My breath hitched. Not from fear. From recognition.

Kael Draven.

The Blind Alpha.

The monster who ruled Shadowrend in shadows and silence.

He moved until he was a single step away, his presence engulfing the air between us.

“You crossed into my territory,” he said, voice low and edged with something feral. “Bleeding power. Bleeding purpose. Calling to me with every breath.”

His fingertips brushed the air near my cheek close enough that the heat from his hand rippled against my skin, but not touching.

“I heard your death,” he whispered. “And I heard your rebirth.”

My pulse faltered.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting across my jaw.

And though his eyes saw nothing, it felt like he was staring straight through me.

“You belong to no one now,” Kael murmured. “Except perhaps… the darkness that remade you.”

His scent wrapped around me night, pine, and something electric.

My wolf stilled.

Not tense.

Not submissive.

Recognizing something ancient.

Kael’s jaw tightened. His nostrils flared.

And then he whispered the words that splintered the silence:

“You smell like my mate.”