Crown of the Shadow Wolf

Chapter 1

Lucy

“Well, look what the river washed in.”

The voice is sharp, coated in honeyed poison. I keep my eyes fixed on the worn toes of my leather boots, focusing on the scuff marks my father made when he was patching them for me last week. Don’t look up. Don’t give her the satisfaction.

“I didn’t realize the Apex Games were accepting charity cases now,” the voice continues, closer this time. A pair of immaculate, silver-buckled boots stops directly in front of mine. They probably cost more than our entire pack’s winter stores.

“Honestly, Marin, I’m surprised she found her way here,” a second voice snickers. “A dud like her, without a wolf to guide her senses. It’s a miracle she’s not lost in the woods, chasing squirrels.”

The laughter that follows is cruel and high pitched. It echoes in the grand registration hall of Lycan Academy, a place of polished marble and vaulted ceilings that seems designed to make someone like me feel small. It’s working. My worn tunic, patched and faded from years of use, feels like a shroud.

I finally lift my chin. Marin Silvermoon stands before me, a perfect porcelain doll with platinum hair and eyes the color of a frozen lake. She’s the Alpha daughter of the most powerful pack on the continent, and she looks at me like I’m something she scraped off her shoe.

“Did you lose your tongue, Clearwater?” Marin asks, tilting her head. Her perfectly sculpted lips curve into a sneer. “Or did you trade it for a slot in the games? I heard your pack was on its last legs. What did your Alpha have to promise? A decade of servitude?”

My hands clench into fists at my sides. I can feel the eyes of dozens of other contestants on us, Alphas and Betas from powerful packs, all of them radiating an energy I can’t feel, a connection I can’t share. To them, I am a broken thing. A werewolf without a wolf.

“I’m here to compete,” I say. My voice is quiet, but it doesn’t tremble. I will not let it tremble.

“Compete?” Marin lets out a theatrical gasp, placing a hand over her heart. “Darling, you’re here to be the first one eliminated. You’re a placeholder. A joke. Everyone knows your sister, Lyra, was supposed to take this spot.”

My breath hitches. The mention of Lyra’s name is a physical blow.

“But she’s too sick, isn’t she?” Marin leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that carries through the silent hall. “So they sent the dud instead. The wolfless omega. Tell me, how does it feel to be the greatest disappointment your pack has ever produced?”

Anger, hot and sharp, cuts through the fear. I think of Lyra’s face, pale and thin against her pillow, her breathing a shallow rasp. I remember her gripping my hand, her eyes pleading. ‘Go for me, Lucy. Be my strength.’

That memory is my armor. “I’d rather be a disappointment than a bully,” I reply, meeting her icy gaze.

For a moment, surprise flickers across Marin’s face before it hardens into pure fury. “You little–”

She never finishes. A sudden hush falls over the hall. The ambient chatter of dozens of anxious contenders dies instantly. The air, already thick with tension, grows heavy, charged with an oppressive, electric power. Everyone turns towards the massive oak doors.

They swing open, and he enters.

Evan Blackwood.

He doesn’t just walk into a room; he conquers it. He is the reigning champion of the Apex Games, the Alpha of the most formidable pack in the territories, and he moves with a lethal grace that makes every other wolf in this hall look like a clumsy pup. His hair is as black as a moonless night, and his eyes are the color of a stormy sky. Power radiates from him in visible waves, a palpable force that demands respect, that demands silence.

Marin, who just seconds ago was a queen in her own mind, is now just another courtier. She straightens up, a simpering smile replacing her sneer. Every contender in the room seems to stand a little taller, trying to catch his eye, hoping to be noticed by the champion.

Evan’s gaze sweeps across the room, dismissive and cold. He assesses the new crop of hopefuls with the bored expression of a predator surveying a field of mice. Then, for a single, shocking heartbeat, his eyes land on me. There’s no pity in his look, no disgust like I see in everyone else’s. It’s a brief, penetrating glance. An assessment. He takes in my worn clothes, my defiant posture, the wolfless scent that must be an offense to his powerful senses. Then his eyes move on, as if he’s already forgotten me.

My heart is hammering against my ribs. It felt like he saw right through me, past the omega, past the dud, and into the terrified girl who is only here because her sister is dying.

“Alright, settle down, pups,” a gruff voice barks from the front of the hall. An old, grizzled wolf with a scarred face stands beside a large, glowing rune stone. This is Master Torvin, the head instructor and a former champion himself. “Welcome to Lycan Academy. Welcome to the Apex Games. Your rank, your future, your mate… it all starts here. But first, we need to know what you are. Or, in some cases, what you are not.”

His eyes flick pointedly in my direction. More quiet snickers ripple through the crowd.

“The arcane stone measures the strength of your inner wolf,” Torvin explains, gesturing to the pulsating artifact. “Step forward, place your hand upon it. The magic will seek your core. It will be… unpleasant. Your reading will be displayed on the board. This is your starting rank. Don’t disappoint me.”

One by one, they step forward. The first is a broad shouldered Alpha from the Stonecrest pack. He places his hand on the stone, and a guttural roar tears from his throat as blue light engulfs him. He stumbles back, panting, as a high number flashes onto the large scoreboard above. The crowd murmurs in appreciation.

A slender beta goes next. She whimpers as the light takes her, collapsing to her knees. Her score is respectable, but her display of weakness earns her a few disdainful looks.

Marin steps forward like she’s walking onto a stage. She places her palm on the stone with a delicate grace. The light that envelops her is a brilliant, blinding silver. She grits her teeth, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow, but she remains standing. Her score flashes onto the board, the highest yet. She throws a triumphant, venomous smirk directly at me.

My turn is coming. My stomach feels like it’s full of churning ice. I’ve never been touched by raw arcane magic before. They say for a wolfless, it’s like being set on fire from the inside out. The magic searches for a beast to connect with, and when it finds an empty void, it recoils violently.

I touch the small, carved wooden bird in my pocket. Lyra made it for me. Its smooth surface grounds me.

“Next. Clearwater,” Torvin calls out, his voice laced with boredom.

Every eye in the hall is on me. I can feel their anticipation, their hunger for my humiliation. They want to see me scream. They want to see me break. I walk forward, my boots silent on the marble floor. The world narrows to the glowing stone in front of me.

I think of Lyra. Her frail form. Her fierce belief in me. ‘You’re stronger than any of them, Lucy. You just have a different kind of strength.’

I place my hand on the stone.

Pain.

It’s not fire. It’s worse. It’s a thousand icy needles stabbing into every nerve, seeking a connection, an echo of a wolf spirit that isn’t there. The magic shrieks into the hollow space inside me, a silent, metaphysical scream of frustration. It rips and tears at my soul, demanding an answer from the void.

I clench my jaw. I will not scream. I will not give Marin the satisfaction.

Instead of fighting it, I open myself to it. I feed the arcane torment with my own. I give it every sneer, every pitying look, every lonely night spent listening for a howl I would never hear. I give it the fear that gnaws at my heart for Lyra, the desperation of my pack, the crushing weight of being the only broken thing in a world of predators.

I channel a lifetime of quiet suffering into a single point of focus. I build a wall of sheer human will against the magical onslaught. The pain is immense, a tidal wave that should shatter me.

But I do not flinch.

I don’t make a sound. I don’t even tremble. I just stand there, my hand pressed against the stone, my expression calm, my breathing even. I stare straight ahead, my focus on a point on the far wall, and I endure.

It feels like an eternity. Then, the light sputters and dies. The pain recedes, leaving a dull ache in its place. I pull my hand back slowly.

A single digit, barely above zero, flickers onto the scoreboard next to my name. A wave of derisive laughter washes over the hall.

“Pathetic,” Torvin grunts, already looking past me. “Barely a flicker. As expected. Next!”

I turn and walk back to my spot at the edge of the room, keeping my head held high. I ignore the jeers and the mocking looks. I did what I came to do. I survived.

I risk a glance across the room, to where Evan Blackwood stands, observing the proceedings. He hasn’t moved. But his bored expression is gone. His head is tilted almost imperceptibly, his stormy eyes narrowed. He isn’t looking at the scoreboard with its pathetic number.

He’s looking at me.

And in his gaze, I don’t see mockery. I see a flicker of something else. Something I can’t name. It’s sharp, analytical, and… intrigued. It’s as if he didn’t see a dud who barely registered on the scale. He saw a girl withstand a torrent of arcane power without making a sound, and he’s the only one in this entire hall who understands what that truly means.

Chapter 2

Lucy

The hall empties out around me. The laughter and sneers follow me like ghosts as I’m handed a simple key and a room assignment. No one meets my eye. I am a specter in their world, a walking, breathing failure they are forced to acknowledge.

My room is a stone box. A bed, a small desk, a wardrobe. Nothing more. It is cold and impersonal, a cell for the lowest ranked contender. I run my hand over the rough wool blanket on the bed. It feels like home. Our blankets are always rough.

I unpack my few belongings. A change of clothes. A small whetstone. The wooden bird Lyra carved for me. I set it on the small table beside the bed, its smooth, familiar shape a beacon in this hostile place.

The loneliness is a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Lyra’s words echo in my mind. *Be my strength.* I close my eyes and take a slow breath, trying to find it.

A loud gong sounds through the academy, signaling the evening meal. My stomach clenches. Facing them all again so soon feels like a punishment. But not eating would be a weakness, and I cannot afford to show any more than I already have.

The refectory is a cavernous space filled with long wooden tables. The noise of a hundred conversations hits me like a wave. Every pack sits together, a sea of Alphas and Betas laughing, boasting, strategizing.

There is no Clearwater pack table. There is only me.

I get my food, a simple stew and a hunk of bread, and find the emptiest corner of the room. I sit with my back to the wall, a habit learned long ago. Always know what is in front of you.

I eat slowly, mechanically, keeping my eyes on my bowl. I can feel the stares. I can hear the whispers. The words ‘dud’ and ‘wolfless’ drift on the air like poison smoke.

A tray clatters onto the table opposite me, splashing stew onto the wood.

“Oh, gods. Sorry. I am so sorry.”

I look up. A boy with a mop of sandy hair and wide, apologetic brown eyes is frantically wiping up the mess with his sleeve. He’s thin, with a nervous energy that makes him seem like he’s vibrating in place.

“It’s fine,” I say, my voice rusty from disuse.

He slumps onto the bench opposite me, running a hand through his hair. “First day and I’m already redecorating with dinner. My Alpha is going to kill me.” He lets out a short, nervous laugh. “I’m Leo. From the Sunstone pack.”

I just nod.

“You’re Lucy Clearwater,” he says, not as a question. “I saw you at the registration. That was… intense.”

I brace myself for the insult, for the pity.

“I mean,” he continues, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “how you just stood there. My own score was barely high enough to qualify me as a paperweight, and I thought I was going to pass out. You didn’t even blink.”

I stare at him, surprised. He isn’t mocking me. He looks genuinely impressed.

“I’m used to pain,” I say simply.

Leo winces. “Yeah, I guess. Small packs, right? We get used to a lot of things.” He gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Sunstone is on the southern ridge. We mostly just try to keep the mountain trolls from eating our goats.”

A small smile touches my lips before I can stop it. “We have bog lurkers.”

“Bog lurkers are the worst!” he says with an earnestness that’s almost comical. “They get in the water supply. My sister got sick for a week. Said everything tasted of mud and regret.”

I find myself chuckling. A real, actual chuckle. The sound is foreign in the echoing hall. “My father says they’re good for the soil.”

“Your father is a braver man than mine,” Leo grins. “So, a wolfless omega and a beta who’s scared of his own shadow. We’re quite the pair, aren’t we? The champions of the forgotten packs.”

His cheerfulness is infectious. It’s a strange feeling, this lightness. “I suppose so.”

“Look, I know everyone here is… well, they’re all…” He struggles for the word.

“Predators?” I supply.

“Exactly! Predators. All posturing and sniffing each other’s… well, you know. It’s nice to just talk to someone who isn’t trying to mentally establish dominance over you before the appetizers are done.”

For the first time since arriving, the crushing weight on my chest eases. I’m still an outcast. I’m still a dud. But I’m not entirely alone.

Our conversation is cut short by another gong. A stern looking woman in instructor’s robes stands on a raised platform at the front of the hall.

“Contenders!” her voice booms, silencing the room. “I trust you are enjoying your first meal. Do not get comfortable. Tomorrow at dawn, the first trial begins.”

A murmur of excitement and fear ripples through the crowd.

“This trial is designed to separate the strong from the weak. The clever from the foolish. It is called The Umbral Hunt.”

Her eyes sweep across our faces, cold and unforgiving.

“You will be taken to the Shadowwood, an enchanted forest on the academy grounds. Your task is simple. Survive. Within the forest, there are markers, arcane relics you must find. The more relics you collect by sunset, the higher your rank. But you are not the only hunters in that wood. The forest has guardians. And you will be hunting each other.”

The implications hang heavy in the air. This isn’t just a scavenger hunt. It’s a free for all.

“Relying on your senses may betray you,” the instructor continues, a grim smile on her face. “The magic of the Shadowwood is old and fickle. It plays tricks on the mind. It can make a friend look like a foe, a path look like a wall. It tangles the senses of a wolf until it cannot tell up from down.”

My heart gives a hard thump against my ribs.

“Be ready at dawn,” she concludes. “Dismissed.”

The hall erupts in noise. Alphas clap each other on the back, their voices loud with bravado. Leo just stares at his half eaten stew, his face pale.

“A forest that messes with your senses?” he whispers, his voice trembling slightly. “Great. Fantastic. I can barely find my way out of my dorm room.”

Before I can respond, a shadow falls over our table.

“Oh, look. The two zeroes found each other. How sweet.”

Marin stands there, flanked by two of her lackeys. Her silver eyes are fixed on me, glittering with malice.

“Talking strategy, Clearwater?” she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s your plan? Get lost so pathetically that the Game Masters take pity on you and send a rescue team?”

“Leave her alone, Marin,” Leo says, though his voice is small.

Marin doesn’t even look at him. She waves a dismissive hand. “The adults are talking, pup.” She leans down, placing her hands on our table, her face inches from mine. “I heard them talking about the hunt. Placing some friendly wagers.”

One of her friends giggles. “I put five gold marks on you not lasting an hour.”

“Too generous,” the other sneers. “I say she trips over a root and gets eaten by a grumpy badger in the first ten minutes.”

The rage is a familiar fire in my belly. I meet Marin’s gaze without flinching. “And what did you bet?”

Marin’s smile is slow and cruel. “I didn’t bet, darling. I guaranteed it. The Shadowwood is a dangerous place for a real wolf. For a little stray like you… it’s a graveyard. See you at the starting line. Try not to cry.”

She pushes off the table and saunters away, her followers trailing in her wake like hyenas.

Leo lets out a breath he was clearly holding. “Don’t listen to them, Lucy. They’re just…”

“They’re right,” I say, my voice flat. “To them, I’m easy prey.”

His face falls. “Don’t say that.”

But I’m no longer looking at him. My mind is racing, fitting pieces together. *It tangles the senses of a wolf.*

The very thing that has always been my weakness, my lack of a wolf, might be the one thing that saves me.

Back in my room, the stone walls don’t feel like a prison anymore. They are a fortress. Marin’s words echo in my head, but they’ve lost their sting. They are the snarls of a predator that doesn’t understand its prey.

They will all go into that forest relying on their inner wolves. Their superior hearing, their incredible sense of smell. They will trust instincts I do not possess.

But the instructor’s warning was clear. The forest is a liar. It will twist their greatest strengths into crippling weaknesses. It will feed their wolves false scents, phantom sounds, misleading trails.

I walk to the small window, looking out at the dark outline of the forest beyond the academy walls. I spent my whole life compensating. While other children were learning to listen with their wolves, I was learning to listen with my skin, feeling the vibrations in the ground. While they were tracking by scent, I was learning to read broken twigs, displaced stones, the flight patterns of startled birds.

I know how to be quiet. I know how to be invisible. I know how to listen to the world with human senses, senses that the forest’s magic cannot touch, cannot deceive.

Marin thinks I am a stray. She thinks I am a broken, helpless thing. They all do. They see a wolfless omega, a zero on a scoreboard.

They don’t see the girl who can track a deer for two days through dense fog. They don’t see the girl who knows which berries are poison and which mushrooms calm a fever. They don’t see the girl who learned the forest’s language because she could not speak the language of the wolf.

They have their power. Their rage. Their inner beasts.

I have my mind. I have my knowledge. I have the skills born from a lifetime of being less.

And in the Shadowwood, that might just make me more.

I pick up the small wooden bird Lyra gave me. Its weight is solid in my palm. It is a promise.

Let them place their bets. Let them laugh. Tomorrow, the hunt begins. And I will not be the one who is prey.

Chapter 3

Evan

The air in my private suite is stale. It smells of political rot and desperation. I stand on the balcony, looking down at the manicured grounds of the academy. Below, the contenders mingle, their postures a mixture of arrogance and anxiety. They are peacocks, all of them. Flashing their power, trying to catch the eye of the sponsors, the Game Masters. Trying to catch my eye.

My victory in the last Apex Games granted me this suite, this view, this endless parade of sycophants. It has also chained me to them. Every Alpha with a daughter of mating age looks at me like I am the prize at the end of their ambitions.

“Evan, darling.”

The voice cuts through the evening air. I do not need to turn to know who it is. Marin Silvermoon. Her scent, a cloying floral perfume designed to signal her Alpha status, precedes her.

“I was just telling my father how impressive your control has become,” she says, stepping onto the balcony beside me. She leaves a careful, respectful distance between us. Smart girl. My wolf dislikes being crowded.

“Was I controlling something?” I ask, my voice flat. My gaze remains on the courtyard below.

She gives a light, practiced laugh. “Always. You control the room just by entering it. Everyone is so excited for the games to begin. Though, I can’t imagine there will be much of a challenge for you this year.”

Her eyes follow my gaze to the contenders. “It’s a weak crop. Filled with… placeholders.”

The word hangs in the air, weighted with her specific venom. She wants a reaction. She wants me to agree, to share in her contempt for the Clearwater girl. It is a tedious, obvious maneuver.

“Every contender earned their place,” I say, the words a dismissal. I turn from the railing, ready to retreat back into my rooms. Solitude is the only luxury I have left.

“Even the wolfless one?” Marin presses, her perfect smile tightening. “Surely you see it’s an insult to the games. To you. That they let a dud take a spot.”

I stop and finally look at her. Her silver eyes are bright with manufactured outrage. She is a finely crafted weapon for her father’s political games. Beautiful. Sharp. And utterly predictable.

“I see a contender who stood at the arcane stone and did not make a sound,” I reply. The memory is unexpectedly clear.

Marin scoffs. “She barely registered. The stone found nothing inside her. It’s pathetic.”

“Is it?” I let the question hang there. I saw Marin at the stone. She endured, yes. But I saw the tremor in her hands. I saw the sweat on her brow. I saw the effort it took for her to remain standing. The Clearwater girl showed none of that. She simply… was. A rock in the center of a storm.

I leave Marin on the balcony, her mouth slightly agape. I have no time for these games. My wolf is restless, pacing the confines of my soul, and it has nothing to do with the posturing of Alphas.

Later, in the quiet of my room, my mind drifts back to the registration hall. Not to the noise, or the fear, or the arrogance. It returns to that one, strange moment.

The arcane stone pulsed with violent energy, a raw magic that stank of ozone and power. It overwhelmed the scent of every wolf in the room. Almost. When she had stepped up, the Clearwater girl, Lucy, I had been standing closer than the others. Underneath the roar of the magic, beneath the scent of old stone and anxious sweat, there was something else. A flicker of a scent so faint, I thought I had imagined it.

It was not the scent of a wolf. It was not the flat, empty scent of a human. It was… different.

Rain on stone. That was the first note. Clean, cool, ancient. And under that, something sharp and electric. Like the air after a lightning strike. Hidden ozone. It was a scent of quiet strength and contained power. It was nothing like the aggressive, musky scents of the Alphas, or the warm, earthy scents of the Betas. It was unique.

And it called to my wolf.

He had stirred then, a deep rumble in my chest that was not boredom or annoyance. It was interest. A primal, possessive curiosity that I had not felt in years. Not since my first shift. It was an instinct so profound it bypassed my conscious thought.

I dismissed it. A fluke. A trick of the arcane energy in the air, twisting scents, creating phantoms. She is wolfless. An omega from a failing pack. A nonentity. My mind knows this. My wolf, it seems, disagrees.

I need to clear my head. The walls are closing in. I leave my suite and head for the training grounds, seeking the familiar clang of steel and the grunts of exertion. Anything to silence the illogical thoughts in my head.

The midnight training hall is rarely empty. A few contenders are always here, trying to get an edge. A hulking Alpha from the Stonecrest pack is heaving a comically large log over his head. Two betas are sparring with wooden staffs, their movements clumsy and full of wasted energy. It is all brute force and bluster. The same dance I have seen for a decade.

I am about to turn and leave when I see her.

She is in the far corner of the grounds, away from the main floodlights, in a space reserved for agility training. She is not lifting logs or swinging swords. She is on a narrow wooden beam, only inches off the ground, and she is walking. Eyes closed.

Her movements are slow, deliberate. Each step is placed with a quiet precision that is more compelling than any display of raw strength. She reaches the end, turns, and walks back. Her arms are out to her sides for balance, her breathing is low and even. She is not training her muscles. She is training her focus. Her senses.

I watch, unseen from the shadows of the armory doorway. She finishes with the beam and moves to a series of hanging ropes. Instead of climbing them, she tests their tension. She closes her eyes and tugs on one, and I can see her listening, feeling the vibration as it travels up the rope to the rafters. She is mapping the room not with her eyes, but with her other senses. The human ones. Honing them to a razor’s edge.

It is methodical. Intelligent. It is the strategy of a survivor, not a brawler. Anyone can build muscle. It takes a different kind of strength to build this level of awareness.

“An odd choice for a champion’s focus.”

My beta, Jax, appears at my side, his voice a low murmur. He follows my gaze to the corner.

“She’s wasting her time,” he says, his tone pragmatic. “Balance and hearing won’t stop a charging Alpha.”

“No,” I say, not taking my eyes off her. “It will help her avoid the charge altogether.”

Jax is silent for a moment. He is my oldest friend, the only one I trust without reservation. He knows my moods better than I do.

“Councilman Valerius sends his regards,” Jax says, changing the subject. “He hopes you are considering his daughter for the champion’s pairing. He says Marin is the strongest Alpha female in a generation.”

“Valerius is a snake, and his daughter is a parrot,” I reply without heat. It is a simple statement of fact. “She repeats the words that will get her what she wants.”

“And the Clearwater girl?” Jax asks, his eyes still on her. “What does she want?”

Lucy has moved on again. She is standing perfectly still now, in the center of the training floor. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted slightly, as if she is listening to the world itself. To the wind whispering through the rafters, the scuttling of a mouse in the walls, the very hum of the ancient stones around us.

What does she want?

The question echoes in my mind. The others want power, glory, a mate who will elevate their status. They wear their ambition like armor. She wears none. There is no ambition in her posture. Only a quiet, stubborn determination.

“To survive,” I say. The word feels right. It feels true.

“She has the lowest ranking in the games, Evan. The odds are not in her favor.”

“The odds are for gamblers,” I say, turning to leave. “I am a champion.”

As I walk away, I can still feel my wolf’s attention fixed on her. This feeling is a complication I do not need. An equation that does not make sense. She is a wolfless omega. A stray. A dud. She should mean nothing.

But as I retreat to the cold silence of my suite, a perplexing, unfamiliar instinct surfaces. An urge that has no place in the heart of a predator. Against all logic, against all reason, against everything I know about the hierarchies of our world, I find myself wanting to see her prove us all wrong.