Rags of Ash and Silver

Chapter 1

Emery

The heat from the ceremonial bonfire licks at my skin, even from the very edge of the circle where I stand. It’s a heat I’m not entitled to, a warmth meant for them. For the pack. My fingers curl into fists behind my back, nails digging into my palms. I keep my head down, my gaze fixed on the dirt, on the worn leather of my boots. Be invisible. Be silent. Survive. That’s the mantra I’ve lived by for sixteen years.

“Look at her,” a voice like poisoned honey cuts through the sacred chanting. Bianca. Of course, it’s Bianca. “The kennel girl, hiding in the shadows. Does the dirt make you feel at home?”

A few sycophantic giggles ripple through the younger wolves near her. I don’t look up. Looking up is an invitation. It’s an acknowledgment that her words can touch me. They can’t. They’re just sounds, air shaped by a cruel mouth. The same air I breathe. The same air that carries the scent of pine and burning oak and the electric tang of the full moon.

Alpha Marcus, her father, stands before the roaring flames, his arms raised to the sky. His voice booms, a deep baritone reciting the ancient oath of allegiance to the Moon Goddess. He’s the center of their world. I am a dust mote floating at the furthest orbit, just barely caught in his gravity.

“She probably can’t even feel it,” Bianca stage-whispers, louder this time, deliberately pitching her voice to carry. “Can you feel the moon, mutt? Or is there nothing inside you for her to call to?”

My breath hitches. Wolf-less. The word hangs in the air, an old and familiar wound. In a world defined by the beast within, I am an empty vessel. An outcast permitted to live among them only because I clean up after their true forms. I tend to the pack's wolves when they are not wearing human skin, mucking out their dens, tending their injuries, my hands perpetually smelling of fur and antiseptic.

I risk a glance, not at her, but across the circle. My eyes find him instantly. Asher. Head Warrior. He stands like a statue carved from mountain granite, his arms crossed over his massive chest. He isn’t looking at the Alpha. He isn’t looking at the moon. His gaze, intense and unreadable under a heavy brow, is fixed on Bianca. His jaw is a hard, unforgiving line. It’s not protection, not really. It’s… something else. A silent condemnation that only I seem to notice.

He caught me once, years ago, trying to steal a loaf of bread from the kitchens. I was seven, small and starving. He didn’t drag me to the Alpha for a whipping. He just watched me with those same dark, quiet eyes, then broke the loaf in half and gave me the larger piece. He never said a word. He never has. But sometimes, when Bianca’s cruelty gets particularly sharp, I see that look on his face. And for a moment, I feel less alone.

“Bianca, silence,” Alpha Marcus growls without turning around. His focus must remain on the ceremony. The command is soft, but it carries the weight of absolute authority. Bianca falls silent, but I can still feel the burn of her glare on my skin.

The chanting swells, the pack’s collective energy rising to a fever pitch. It’s a raw, primal thing, a song my soul yearns to join but has no voice for. They feel their wolves stirring, the imminent shift a joyous agony. For me, it’s just another night where I am reminded of what I am not.

“A toast!” the Alpha proclaims, raising a ceremonial goblet. “To the Goddess! To the pack! To our strength!”

“To our strength!” the pack roars back, a single, thunderous voice. I flinch at the volume, my lips moving around the words I have no right to say.

Bianca chooses this moment, this crescendo of pack unity, to shatter my world. She steps away from her friends, her silver gown shimmering in the firelight, and walks directly toward me. The crowd parts for her like water for a shark. My heart hammers against my ribs. This is new. She has never been this bold during a sacred rite.

She stops a few feet away, a perfect, predatory smile on her lips. The chanting has faded, replaced by a low, curious hum. Every eye is on us.

“Father speaks of strength,” she says, her voice ringing with false sincerity. “But how can we be strong when we harbor weakness? When we allow the wolf-less to stand in our sacred circle?”

My blood runs cold. I finally look up, meeting her triumphant, malicious eyes.

“She eats our food. She sleeps under our roof. Yet she contributes nothing. She is a parasite. A flaw in the Bloodmoon lineage.”

I want to shrink, to disappear into the ground. But I am frozen, pinned by the collective stare of the pack. I see pity on some faces, contempt on others, and cold indifference on most. This is my place in the world. A thing to be pitied or scorned.

“Tell us, kennel girl,” Bianca presses, taking another step closer. I can smell her perfume, something cloyingly sweet, like dying flowers. “What is it like? To be so empty? To look at the moon and feel nothing? To be a disgrace?”

Something inside me flickers. Not anger. Not fear. It’s an ancient, unfamiliar thing. A spark of defiance in a place I thought was only ash.

“I am not a disgrace,” I whisper, the words tasting strange on my tongue.

Bianca’s eyes widen in mock surprise, then narrow with glee. She wanted this. A reaction. “What was that? Did the mutt speak?”

“Leave her be, Bianca,” a low voice rumbles. Asher. He hasn’t moved from his spot, but his voice cracks across the clearing like a whip. Every head turns to him. Challenging the Alpha’s daughter during a ceremony is unheard of.

Alpha Marcus turns fully now, his expression thunderous. “Asher. You forget your place.”

“And she forgets her honor,” Asher replies, his gaze never leaving the Alpha. The audacity of it steals the breath from my lungs.

Bianca scoffs, emboldened by her father’s presence. “My honor is not in question. I am merely cleansing our circle of filth.” She turns back to me, her face a mask of pure hatred. “You are nothing. Less than the lowest omega. You are a hollow shell, and you will die that way, alone and forgotten in the dirt with the animals you serve.”

Her words are the final blow. They don’t just hit my ears; they strike something deep inside me, a place I never knew existed. A pressure begins to build behind my eyes, in my chest. It’s like a dam cracking, a thousand years of held back tears and silent screams pushing against a fragile wall.

The bonfire roars, casting dancing shadows that make the trees look like grasping claws. The moonlight feels impossibly bright. Bianca’s face twists in a triumphant sneer, and in that moment, the dam doesn’t just crack. It shatters.

It’s not a sound. It’s a feeling. A silent explosion originating from the very core of my being. A wave of energy, cold and brilliant and overwhelmingly powerful, erupts from me. It’s not red like rage or black like shadow. It is pure, liquid silver.

The energy hits the bonfire like a tidal wave. The twenty-foot pillar of flame vanishes in a single, violent hiss. Steam and smoke billow into the night sky, plunging the clearing into the stark, cold light of the moon. The sudden silence is absolute, broken only by the shocked gasps of a hundred wolves.

Everyone is frozen, staring at the smoldering, blackened logs where a mighty fire once stood. Then, a collective gasp makes me look down at my own body.

A searing heat, more intense than any fire, burns on my right wrist. I push back the sleeve of my worn tunic. There, etched onto my skin in lines of glowing silver light, is a crest I have never seen before. An intricate, ancient symbol of a crescent moon cradling a blooming nightshade flower.

The light from the mark pulses, a soft, silent heartbeat of power. My power.

The strength drains from my legs. The world tilts, the shocked faces of the pack blurring into a meaningless smear of color. Bianca’s face is a perfect portrait of disbelief and horror. Alpha Marcus looks like he has seen a ghost. And Asher… Asher is no longer across the clearing. He is already moving, pushing through the stunned crowd, his eyes wide and fixed on me with an expression I can’t decipher.

My vision tunnels. The lunar crest on my wrist flares one last time, a brilliant silver nova, before the world dissolves into a quiet, welcoming darkness.

Chapter 2

Emery

I wake to the smell of sterile herbs and damp stone. A rough blanket scratches my chin. This isn't my cot in the kennels. My bed is straw and smells of cedar shavings and wolf.

My head throbs, a dull, persistent ache behind my eyes. I try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness pushes me back down onto the thin mattress.

“You are awake.”

The voice comes from the shadows in the corner of the small, windowless room. Alpha Marcus steps into the dim light of a single oil lamp. His face is a granite mask, his eyes narrowed, studying me as if I were a puzzle he was determined to solve.

“Where am I?” My voice is a dry rasp.

“A secure room in the pack house,” he says, his tone clipped and devoid of warmth. “For observation.”

“Observation?” The word feels alien. I’ve spent my life being overlooked, not observed. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

His lips thin into a hard line. “You will tell me what happened. You extinguished the sacred bonfire with a thought. You will explain how.”

I stare at him, the memories rushing back in a chaotic flood. The jeers. Bianca’s hateful face. The pressure building in my chest. The wave of silver light. My wrist. I instinctively pull my right arm close, cradling it. The skin is cool to the touch, the searing heat gone, but I can feel the ghost of the mark under my sleeve.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, and it is the honest truth. “I just… it just happened.”

“Power does not ‘just happen’,” he snaps, taking a step closer. The air crackles with his authority, his barely restrained Alpha power. “You are wolf-less. You have no connection to the moon, no magic. So I will ask you again. Who are you working with? What witch gave you that trinket? What was the incantation?”

“There was no one. No trinket.” My heart hammers against my ribs. He thinks I’m a conspirator. A threat.

Before he can press me further, a commotion erupts outside the heavy wooden door. A fist pounds against it.

“Father! Let me in! I know she’s in there!” Bianca’s voice, shrill with fury. “You cannot protect a dark witch! She must be punished!”

Alpha Marcus pinches the bridge of his nose, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “Guard, do not let her…”

But it’s too late. The door creaks open, and Bianca storms in, her silver gown now smudged with dirt. Her eyes, wild and accusatory, land on me. Behind her, framed in the doorway, stands Asher. His expression is unreadable, but his presence is a solid, unmoving wall.

“There she is,” Bianca spits, pointing a trembling finger at me. “The little serpent. Look at her, playing the innocent. What foul magic did you conjure, kennel girl? Some cheap illusion to make a fool of me?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I say, my voice shaking despite my best efforts.

“You lie!” she screeches. “You made a mockery of the ceremony! A mockery of me!”

“Bianca. That is enough.” Asher’s voice is a low growl, vibrating with a danger that makes the oil lamp’s flame flicker. He doesn’t move, but the command silences his Alpha’s daughter more effectively than any shout could have.

Bianca wheels on him. “You dare defend her? The mutt who serves your kind? Have you forgotten your place, rogue?”

Asher’s jaw tightens, but his eyes remain locked on her, cold and steady.

“He is my Head Warrior,” Alpha Marcus says, his voice cutting through the tension. “And you are my daughter, acting like a spoiled pup. Leave us.”

“I will not!” Bianca retorts, her rage making her reckless. “This concerns the entire pack’s safety! We have a dark magic user in our midst, and you are coddling her!”

“The only thing threatening this pack right now, Bianca, is your hysteria.”

The new voice is soft, yet it carries more weight than the Alpha’s command. It flows from the doorway like ancient river water, cool and unyielding. Elder Lyra stands there, leaning on a staff of twisted hawthorn wood. Her hair is the color of snow, and her eyes hold the wisdom of a hundred winters. The pack makes way for her. Alphas command, but everyone, even an Alpha, listens to an Elder.

Bianca’s mouth snaps shut. She looks like a child who has been caught stealing honey cakes.

Lyra’s gaze sweeps over the room, dismissing the Alpha and his daughter, and settles on me. She takes a slow, deliberate step inside, her staff making a soft tapping sound on the stone floor. Asher moves aside for her, dipping his head in a gesture of profound respect.

“Leave us,” Lyra says, her voice gentle but absolute. It is not a request.

Alpha Marcus hesitates for a second, then gives a stiff nod. “As you wish, Elder.” He turns and exits, grabbing Bianca’s arm and pulling her along despite her indignant squawk of protest.

Asher lingers in the doorway for a moment, his dark eyes meeting mine. There’s a question in them, and something else. Something fiercely protective. Then he too is gone, pulling the heavy door closed, leaving me alone with the ancient she-wolf.

The silence in the room is heavy. Lyra moves closer to the cot, her movements slow and measured. She does not look like a threat, but the sheer weight of her presence is overwhelming.

“Do not be afraid, child,” she says, her voice kind. “I am not here to accuse you. I am here to understand.”

She sits on the edge of the cot, her old bones creaking softly. “Bianca speaks of dark magic. I have seen dark magic. It is twisted and foul. It smells of rot and ambition. The energy that came from you… it was the opposite. It was pure. As pure as the moon herself.”

Hope, fragile and tentative, flickers in my chest.

“I don’t know what it was,” I confess. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“Show me your wrist,” she says gently.

My hand trembles as I push back the worn sleeve of my tunic. In the dim light, the mark is no longer blazing with silver fire. It has settled, looking more like a delicate, silvery tattoo on my skin. A crescent moon cradling a blooming flower. It pulses with a soft, internal luminescence, like a firefly trapped under my skin.

Elder Lyra’s breath catches in her throat. Her gnarled, gentle fingers reach out, hovering over the mark for a long moment before she dares to touch it. Her touch is feather-light, but a warmth spreads from her fingertips, and the mark on my wrist glows a little brighter in response.

Her eyes, which have seen so much, widen with a look of profound, stunned reverence.

“By the Moon Goddess,” she breathes, her voice filled with an awe that frightens me more than the Alpha’s anger. She traces the intricate lines of the crest, her expression unreadable.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “Is it a curse?”

Lyra finally looks up from my wrist, her ancient eyes locking with mine. There are tears shimmering in them.

“No, child,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “Not a curse. A miracle.”

She lets go of my hand and stands, turning as the door opens again. It is Alpha Marcus, his patience clearly worn thin. Asher stands just behind him, his posture tense.

“Lyra? What is it?” the Alpha demands. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

Lyra turns to face him, her demeanor transformed. The gentle elder is gone, replaced by a vessel of ancient authority.

“Recognize it?” she says, her voice ringing with newfound strength. “I have only seen it in the oldest scrolls, in prophecies whispered on the night of a blue moon. It is a mark of legend. A blessing we thought was lost to the ages. Wiped from this world with the blood of a noble line.”

Alpha Marcus stares at her, then at me, his mind clearly working, trying to piece together the political implications of her words.

Bianca pushes past him, her face a mask of disbelief. “A blessing? On her? She’s a wolf-less nobody! An orphan! It’s a trick!”

Before anyone else can speak, Asher takes one deliberate step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of me. His movement is subtle, but the meaning is clear. He is a shield.

His cold, hard gaze falls on Bianca.

“Leave,” he says. The single word is flat, devoid of emotion, but it carries the chilling promise of violence. It is not a request or a command. It is a statement of fact. You will leave.

For the first time in her life, Bianca looks truly afraid. She shrinks back from the sheer force of his will, her hateful words dying in her throat. She gives me one last venomous look before turning and fleeing the room.

Alpha Marcus watches her go, then turns his calculating gaze back to me, and to the glowing mark on my wrist.

“We have much to discuss, Elder Lyra,” he says, his voice low and serious. He finally looks at me, and I am no longer the kennel girl in his eyes. I am something else. A weapon. A prize. A problem.

Lyra nods. “Indeed, we do. But the girl needs rest. The Goddess has woken something powerful within her. It will take time to settle.”

They leave, Asher closing the door with a soft click, plunging me back into the quiet dimness. I am alone, but the room no longer feels empty.

I raise my hand, staring at the impossible symbol etched onto my skin. It pulses softly, a steady, silent heartbeat. For sixteen years, I was invisible. A hollow shell. Nothing.

Now, I am something. I don’t know what. But it is something that makes Alphas plot, Elders weep, and Head Warriors stand as shields.

And I have never been more terrified in my life.

Chapter 3

Asher

The heavy oak door clicks shut, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. I remain where I am, a stone sentinel in the narrow stone corridor. My knuckles are white where I grip the hilt of the dagger at my belt. A useless gesture. The threat to her is not something I can simply cut down.

The echo of Bianca’s final, venomous look still hangs in the air. The Alpha’s fury. The Elder’s awe. It all swirls around one impossible point: Emery.

I saw it. I felt it. When that silver light erupted from her, it was not the foul stench of witchcraft. I have smelled dark magic on the battlefield, a cloying sweetness that coats the back of your throat and promises decay. This was different. It was clean, like the air after a lightning strike. Cold, like the deepest heart of winter. It felt ancient, and it felt pure.

My entire life in this pack has been a fight. A rogue pup, found starving at the border, taken in on a whim by Marcus’s father. I was a stray dog they decided to keep. I fought to earn my place. I fought to become a warrior. I fought until my knuckles bled and my body screamed, until they had no choice but to name me Head Warrior. But I have never shaken the feeling of being an outsider looking in.

She was the only other one. The kennel girl. The wolf-less orphan. They treated her like a stray, too. But where I fought with my fists and my teeth, she fought with a quiet endurance that baffled me. A resilience that shamed warriors twice her size.

I remember the first time I truly saw it. I was ten, still nursing the wounds from a brutal training session. No one spoke to the rogue pup unless it was to give a command or a sneer. I sat by the kennels, trying to hide the tears of pain and frustration. She found me there. She was maybe six years old, all sharp angles and oversized, haunted eyes.

She did not say a word. She just sat down a few feet away and held out a piece of honey cake, stolen from the kitchens, no doubt. It was her entire portion. I saw the hunger in her own face. I shook my head, but she just pushed it closer, her small hand trembling slightly. I took it. We sat in silence and shared it, the sweetness a balm on a bitter day.

It was the first act of unconditional kindness I had ever known.

From that day on, I watched her. I watched her absorb Bianca’s cruelty without breaking. I watched her tend to the wolves with a gentle hand that belied her own suffering. And I saw something in her that no one else bothered to look for. Not an emptiness, but a stillness. A deep, quiet well of strength they were all too blind to see.

Now they see. And I fear they see a prize.

The door opens again. Alpha Marcus steps out, his face a mask of cold calculation. The initial shock has worn off, replaced by the mind of a political animal scenting opportunity.

“Asher.” His voice is low, measured. “You will stand guard here. No one enters or leaves without my express permission.”

“Understood, Alpha,” I say, my voice a low rumble. I keep my eyes forward, fixed on the stone wall opposite me.

He doesn’t move away. I can feel his gaze on me, probing. “Tell me what you saw. The truth. Not the pack gossip that is surely spreading like wildfire.”

“I saw a girl pushed to her limit,” I answer, my words clipped. “And I saw something impossible happen.”

“Impossible things are opportunities,” he counters, his voice smooth. “An ancient power, one thought lost. Do you understand what this means for the Bloodmoon Pack? For our standing?”

My grip on my dagger tightens. He doesn’t see her at all. He sees a banner. A sword. A crown.

“I understand that she is a member of this pack,” I say, choosing my words with the care of a wolf crossing thin ice. “And she is in danger.”

Marcus almost smiles. It’s a chilling sight. “The entire world is dangerous, warrior. But power is the only true shield. Her power, aligned with mine, will make us untouchable. Our enemies will kneel.”

He wants to use her. A broodmare for power. A trophy to elevate his own status. The thought sends a wave of cold fury through my veins, a rage so possessive it startles me.

“She will need to be protected,” I state. It is not a suggestion.

“And she will be,” Marcus says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. The gesture is meant to show camaraderie, but it feels like a man putting a leash on a dog. “By you. My finest warrior. You will be her personal guard. Keep her safe. Keep her close. Let no one speak to her. Especially not any ambitious young males who might get ideas above their station.”

He is warning me off. The irony is so thick I could choke on it. He thinks I am a threat to his plans for her, but he has no idea that the only thing I want to protect her from is him.

“My loyalty is to the pack,” I say, the words tasting like ash. It is the only answer I can give.

He seems satisfied. “Good.” He turns and walks down the corridor, his footsteps echoing with newfound purpose. The predator has found a new, more valuable prey.

I am left alone in the silence again, the weight of his words pressing down on me. Personal guard. It is a cage within a cage. He wants me to be her warden. Her jailer.

A soft tapping sound pulls me from my thoughts. Elder Lyra emerges from the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind her. She looks ancient, her face a roadmap of worries and wonders.

She stops in front of me, her gaze far more perceptive than the Alpha’s. She sees past the warrior, past the rogue. She sees the heart of the man.

“He sees a political game,” she says, her voice a dry whisper like rustling leaves.

I just nod, my jaw tight.

“He plans to offer her to the highest bidder. An alliance sealed with her as the prize. Kael of the Silverwood Pack, perhaps. He is strong. Ambitious.”

Kael. The name sends a jolt through me. I know his reputation. Ruthless. Cruel. He collects power and beautiful things, and he discards them just as easily. The thought of his hands on Emery makes my vision swim with red.

“She is not a prize,” I growl, the sound tearing from my chest before I can stop it. It’s more emotion than I have shown in a decade.

Lyra’s wise eyes soften. “No. She is not. She is a daughter of the moon, and her path will be her own to choose. But the wolves are circling, Asher. They smell power, and it makes them hungry.”

“I will not let them touch her.” The words are a vow, spoken into the quiet space between us.

“I know,” she says, placing a wrinkled hand on my arm. Her touch is surprisingly strong. “You have been her shadow guardian for years. I have seen you. When you pushed the larger boys away from her in the training yard. When you left extra firewood by the kennel door on the coldest nights. When you silenced Bianca tonight. You have always seen her when no one else would.”

My breath catches. She has seen it all. The small, secret things I did, thinking no one noticed. The desperate, clumsy attempts to ease a burden I could not take from her.

“The Goddess has a plan for her,” Lyra continues, her eyes holding mine. “And I believe you are a part of it. But your rage is a wild animal, rogue. If you let it command you, you will become the very monster you seek to protect her from. Be her shield. Not her cage.”

She removes her hand and shuffles away down the corridor, her hawthorn staff tapping a slow, steady rhythm on the stones. Her words hang in the air, a warning and a blessing all at once.

Be her shield. Not her cage.

I turn back to the door. Marcus wants me to be her warden. Lyra wants me to be her shield. And I… I just want her to be safe. I want her to be free. I want to see her smile, a real smile, not the faint, sad curve of her lips she uses to survive.

I have spent my life earning a title. Head Warrior. A name that commands respect, even fear. But it is a hollow thing. It is armor I wear to hide the rogue pup underneath.

Her newfound importance will not bring her happiness. It will bring her powerful suitors, false friends, and hidden enemies. They will all want something from her. Her power. Her name. Her body. None of them will ever see the quiet girl who shared her only cake with a stray.

But I will. I will always see her.

I cannot tell her this. I cannot tell her that my heart has beaten for her in the shadows for years, a silent, hopeless rhythm. To confess that would be to claim her, to put my own desires upon her, just like Marcus, just like Kael.

Lyra is right. My path is clear.

I will protect her from the shadows. I will stand between her and the circling wolves. I will let them break themselves against me before they can lay a single hand on her. She will never know the depth of my feelings. She will see a loyal warrior, a dutiful guard. That is the price I will pay.

I lean my head back against the cold stone of the wall, my eyes fixed on her door. A silent vow solidifies in my soul, harder than any steel I have ever forged.

I am Asher, Head Warrior of the Bloodmoon Pack. But tonight, and for all the nights to come, I am only one thing.

I am her shield. And I will not fail.