Three months.
That was how long it had been since Moocha last saw the only family she had ever known.
The morning breeze drifted through the small wooden cottage where she now lived, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and damp earth.
Outside, villagers had already begun their day, their cheerful greetings filling the narrow streets.
To them, she was simply another traveler who had arrived battered and broken.
No one knew her story.
No one asked.
Moocha preferred it that way.
She sat quietly on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly rubbing the gentle swell of her stomach.
It had grown noticeably over the past weeks.
Sometimes she would stare at it for hours, hoping the child would somehow answer the questions that haunted her.
Who are you?
Who is your father?
Why did this happen to me?
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress.
Those questions always carried her back to that night.
>>>
The wagon rolled slowly beneath the moonlight.
Not a single word had been spoken for what felt like hours.
Shelley sat beside her, one hand wrapped protectively around hers.
Chole guided the horses in silence.
Moocha looked back.
The lights of Crestview grew smaller with every turn of the wheels.
Their bakery...
Their home...
Guta...
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"Will we come back?"
No one answered.
She looked at Shelley.
"Mother..."
Shelley forced a smile, but her eyes glistened.
"When?"
Still...
No answer.
Moocha's voice trembled.
"What did I do wrong?"
Shelley's grip tightened around her hand.
"You did nothing wrong."
"Then why are we leaving?"
Silence.
Moocha felt tears sting her eyes.
"The healer said I'm carrying a child."
Her voice cracked.
"I don't even know how."
She looked desperately between them.
"I've never..."
She couldn't finish the sentence.
"I don't understand."
Shelley's lips parted.
Nothing came out.
Chole's shoulders stiffened.
"I deserve to know."
Again...
Silence.
The only sound was the wagon wheels turning over the rough road.
Everything happened so quickly.
A sharp whistle tore through the night.
The horses reared violently.
The wagon lurched.
"Down!" Chole roared.
The next moment, arrows rained from the darkness.
Bandits.
Men emerged from the trees with blades drawn, surrounding the wagon before it could escape.
Chole transformed without hesitation.
His wolf burst forward with a thunderous growl, throwing two attackers aside.
Shelley pulled Moocha behind her.
"Run!"
"I won't leave you!"
"You have to!"
More men poured from the forest.
There were too many.
Smoke filled the air.
Someone grabbed Moocha from behind.
She screamed.
"Mother!"
Shelley turned, reaching for her.
"MOOCHA!"
Their hands almost touched.
Almost.
Something struck Moocha's head.
Darkness swallowed everything.
The stench was unbearable.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a cold stone floor.
Iron bars surrounded her.
There were others.
Children.
Old men.
Women.
All wearing the same hopeless expression.
She pushed herself upright.
Pain shot through her body.
Instinctively, her hands moved to her stomach.
Relief washed over her.
The child...
Was still alive.
"...You're awake."
An elderly woman sitting nearby offered her a weak smile.
"They brought you in yesterday."
"Where am I?"
"The Black Fang Den."
Moocha's blood ran cold.
"I have to leave."
The old woman lowered her eyes.
"So did the rest of us."
Outside the cell, rough voices echoed.
"That pregnant one..."
"She'll fetch a good price."
"Keep her alive."
Moocha wrapped both arms around herself.
No.
Not herself.
Her baby.
Every night she prayed.
Not for rescue.
For the child to survive.
Then...
Everything changed.
The shouting started before sunrise.
Steel clashed against steel.
Men screamed.
The gates burst open.
Several armed villagers rushed inside.
Leading them was an elderly man with brown hair tied neatly behind his back.
His sword cut through the bandits with practiced precision.
Within minutes...
The den had fallen.
He stopped before Moocha's cell.
"You've suffered enough."
His voice was calm.
Gentle.
He unlocked the door himself.
Moocha tried to stand.
Her legs gave way.
Before she hit the ground, the old man caught her.
His eyes drifted briefly to her stomach.
"You are carrying a child."
Fear flashed across her face.
"I..."
"You don't have to explain."
His smile was warm.
"You're safe now."
Those three words broke something inside her.
For the first time since leaving home...
Moocha cried.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
She wept until she had no tears left.
A soft knock pulled her back to the present.
>>>>
A soft knock sounded against the wooden door.
"Moocha?"
The familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts.
"Breakfast is ready."
It was Elder Rowan.
The same man who had rescued her from the Black Fang Den three months ago.
He had given her a roof over her head without asking for payment.
He had never questioned the child she carried.
Nor had he demanded to know why a young pregnant woman had been imprisoned by bandits.
To him...
She was simply someone who needed saving.
Moocha wiped the tears from her cheeks before opening the door.
"I'm coming."
The scent of warm stew drifted through the cottage as she followed the old man outside.
The village was already alive.
Children chased one another between the houses while women swept their front yards. Farmers pushed wooden carts toward the fields, exchanging cheerful greetings as they passed.
It was peaceful.
Peaceful enough that Moocha sometimes forgot she was living under a borrowed name.
"Sit."
Rowan gestured toward the small dining table outside his house.
"I'll bring another bowl."
Moocha smiled.
"You've already done too much for me."
"Nonsense."
He chuckled.
"This old man enjoys having company."
Before she could answer, hurried footsteps echoed from the entrance of the village.
Several children ran past them.
"He's back!"
"They're back!"
Moocha looked up curiously.
A small wagon rolled through the wooden gates.
It carried sacks of grain, bundles of herbs and hunting supplies.
Walking beside it was a tall young man.
His clothes were dusty from travel.
Dark hair brushed against his shoulders, though several white strands stood out among the black.
He carried a sword across his back with the ease of someone who had used it for years.
The moment Elder Rowan saw him, his face brightened.
"You finally decided to come home."
The young man laughed.
"I told you I'd return before winter."
He embraced the old man warmly before his gaze shifted.
Straight to Moocha.
Time seemed to pause.
His expression remained calm...
Yet something flickered in his eyes.
Recognition.
Then it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
"So..."
He smiled politely.
"You're the guest Father wrote to me about."
Moocha offered a small nod.
"I am."
"Elder Rowan has spoken highly of you."
The old man laughed.
"I only told him you've been helping around the village."
"I merely did what anyone would."
The stranger inclined his head.
"My name is Kael."
"Moocha."
"A pleasure."
As he lowered the heavy travel pack from his shoulder, the collar of his tunic shifted.
For the briefest moment...
A jagged scar stretched across the side of his neck before disappearing beneath the fabric again.
Moocha stared.
Something about him unsettled her.
Not the scar.
Not even the sword.
It was...
His eyes.
One seemed darker than the other.
Almost clouded.
As though an old injury had stolen part of its light.
"Is something wrong?"
Kael asked, catching her staring.
She blinked quickly.
"N-No."
"I was just..."
She couldn't explain it.
He smiled.
"I've been told I can look intimidating."
Rowan burst into laughter.
"Only until people get to know you."
Kael rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"I suppose years of traveling have given me that face."
Moocha forced a smile.
"Perhaps."
Over the following days, she watched him carefully.
He rose before dawn to help the farmers.
He repaired broken fences without being asked.
He carried water for the elderly.
When children followed him through the village, he never chased them away.
Instead...
He carved little wooden animals for them using nothing but his hunting knife.
One afternoon, Moocha struggled to lift a basket of vegetables.
Before she could try again, another pair of hands reached for it.
"I've got it."
Kael balanced the basket effortlessly on one shoulder.
"You shouldn't strain yourself."
His eyes drifted briefly toward her stomach before returning to her face.
"The little one won't appreciate it."
Moocha smiled despite herself.
"I keep forgetting everyone worries more about this baby than I do."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"Someone has to."
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.
From that day onward...
The uneasiness she had felt around him slowly began to fade.
Perhaps...
She had judged him too quickly.
What Moocha never noticed...
Was that every now and then—
When she wasn't looking—
Kael's gaze lingered on her.
Not with curiosity.
Not with affection.
But with the quiet vigilance of a man guarding a secret he had carried for a very long time.
The afternoon sun hung lazily above the village as Moocha knelt beside the washing basin.
She dipped another piece of clothing into the cool water before rubbing it carefully against the washboard.
Life had become simple.
Wake before sunrise.
Help Elder Rowan prepare breakfast.
Wash clothes.
Tend the small vegetable patch.
Rest whenever the child demanded it.
It wasn't the life she had imagined.
But it was peaceful.
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
Perhaps...
Peace was enough.
She reached for another piece of clothing.
Suddenly—
She froze.
The breeze carried something unfamiliar.
Earth.
Pinewood.
Leather.
And...
Blood.
Fresh blood.
Moocha frowned.
There shouldn't be blood.
She slowly lifted her head.
The scent grew stronger.
It was mixed with damp fur and crushed leaves.
Someone was coming.
No...
Several people.
She looked toward the entrance of the village.
Nothing.
The road remained empty.
Confused, she glanced around.
The women nearby continued chatting as they hung laundry.
Children laughed while chasing each other across the square.
No one else seemed to notice.
"...Strange."
She returned to her washing.
Moments later...
The baby kicked.
Hard.
"Oh!"
She placed a hand over her stomach.
"What was that for?"
Another kick.
Then another.
Almost as though the child had become excited.
Moocha laughed softly.
"You've become quite energetic."
From the other side of the village came the sound of barking.
Heads turned.
Only then did the first hunters appear through the wooden gate.
Each carried freshly caught game over their shoulders.
At the front...
Walked Kael.
His clothes were stained with dirt.
A streak of blood ran along one sleeve where he had dressed a deer.
The moment he stepped into the village, Moocha's eyes widened.
"It was you..."
Kael looked at her curiously.
"What was me?"
"I..."
She hesitated.
"I knew someone was coming."
One of the hunters laughed.
"We've been gone since dawn."
"No" Moocha replied, still confused.
"I mean..."
"I knew before you arrived."
The men exchanged amused glances.
"You must've heard us."
"I didn't."
"We were still deep in the forest."
Another hunter scratched his beard.
"That's nearly half a league away."
Moocha's smile faded.
"...Half a league?"
Kael remained unusually quiet.
His gaze drifted to the hand resting protectively over her stomach.
The child kicked again.
This time, he noticed.
His expression remained unreadable.
"So," Rowan called cheerfully as he approached, "how was the hunt?"
"A good one" Kael answered without taking his eyes off Moocha.
"We'll have enough meat for everyone tonight."
The conversation moved on.
Everyone dispersed.
Only Kael lingered for a heartbeat longer.
Impossible...
The child had sensed him.
Not because of his footsteps.
Not because of his scent.
Because...
It had recognized the wolf within him.
His jaw tightened.
The Alpha's blood was already awakening inside the unborn child.
Far sooner than it should have.
If it continued at this pace...
Keeping Moocha hidden would become impossible.
Across the yard, Moocha frowned at her stomach once more.
"You've been acting strangely lately."
A tiny kick answered her.
She smiled despite herself.
"I'll take that as a yes."