Chapter 8 Fury

• THE WHISPER began subtly, like a chill wind rustling through the leaves of the ancient trees surrounding the Alpha’s estate. A stranger. A female. A witch. The hushed tones turned into murmured concerns, then outright fear and resentment. Selene felt it, even from the gilded cage of Waldemar’s chambers. The Moonbind, that cursed, undeniable connection, picked up the agitated hum of the pack, the undercurrent of unease that rippled through their collective consciousness. It prickled at her skin, a sensation distinct from the burning ache for Waldemar, but no less unsettling.
• She saw the glances from Lyra, who grew quieter with each passing day, her expressions tinged with a new anxiety. The guards outside the door seemed to shift more restlessly, their growls sharper, their golden eyes holding less suspicion and more outright hostility when they inadvertently met hers through the window. The scent of fear, mingled with a rising tide of anger, was a constant, acrid tang in the air.
• Selene knew what it meant. News of her presence, and perhaps even rumors of the Moonbind, were spreading through the Nightshade Pack like wildfire. Werewolves were territorial, fiercely protective of their own, and deeply distrustful of magic that wasn’t their own. A witch, especially one forcibly bound to their Alpha, was a volatile presence.