Now, he was by her side, yet he had lost his heiress. She who would bring peace to his people but had been captured by a barbarous tribe. They were unaware of the identity of the one they stole, but they would soon learn, as soon as he secured the woman’s safety and rallied his forces. He would overcome any adversary who dared to take his precious daughter.
The woman was taken to a medical facility, where she received proper care and was cleansed before proceeding to the chieftain’s mansion. There, he ushered her into his bedroom, straight into the bathroom's shower stall.
"Can you manage to bathe on your own?" he enquired.
Upon her affirming nod, he peered through the window, assessing her ability to escape, and warned:
"We’re on the second floor; don’t attempt an escape. I won’t harm you if you stay, but should you flee, there will be consequences." After issuing the threat, he exited the bathroom and utilized the other shower down the hall, bathing briskly, then returned, clad in a towel with damp hair trailing down.
The woman emerged from the bathroom in an oversized plush robe, hair wet as well. She surveyed the bedroom, noting the austere decor in shades of gray and white, devoid of embellishments—a space clearly absent a woman's touch. She then gazed at him, as he was also watching her.
"What do you want from me?" she questioned.
"You don’t remember me, do you? We shall talk, and I shall clarify everything. Please, sit down."
Wary, she observed him, uncertain of her next step. Her emotions were a tangled web, priorities undefined. The reality that she had given birth and yet hadn't glimpsed her baby's face left her in turmoil. Now, here she was before a stranger, clueless about his intentions and yearning to find her little one.
No choice was needed. He drew her to the opulent bed, lifted her and seated her atop it. He then proceeded to the closet, donned a tracksuit and toweled his hair dry. He returned to the bedroom, seating himself on the bed facing her.
"I thought you’d recall me, or at least recognize my scent," he said.
"Who are you?" she asked, her brow furrowed with confusion.
"The father of your child," he replied, displeased by her shocked expression.
She drew deep breaths to calm herself and think clearly. Her mind was muddled, clouded by the remembrance of scents and events when she was attacked in the woods after her exile while vulnerable and uncertain.
"So, it was you. Why? I was fragile, afraid, and in no need of an unbridled man taking advantage of me," she accused him.
"My name is Condor. I am the leader of my people and was tracking two thieves who’d been pillaging our offspring. I traced them to you, but your scent overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t resist," he explained with remorse tingeing his voice.
"But you didn’t know me, didn’t even speak or ask, why?" she demanded, herself not offering an introduction as he had done.
"I thought you’d detected my scent and recognized me. Do you not sense it still?" He was puzzled by her demeanor.
She inhaled deeply, allowing his scent to fill her senses, and within her, something stirred, surprising her. She'd believed her wolf dormant, having never transformed, and this revelation startled her. She regarded him with intrigue and resolved to introduce herself at last:
"My name is Leona. I hail from the Death Claw Pack, and on that day you found me, I was cast out in desperation, which is why I didn’t rebuff you."
"Why were you expelled?" he inquired.
"After turning eighteen without shifting, my Alpha father, discontented, banished me," she offered, withholding the details of the beating she had endured.
"So, your father is the fool stealing our cubs. Do you know why?" he queried.
"Our pack suffers a shortage of males. More females than males are born; perhaps that’s the reason," she explained.
"What’s wrong with training the women? Let it go... Have you really never shifted?" he asked, curious and concerned over the prospect of a Luna without a wolf.
"No, I even considered that she might not exist, but sensing your scent now, she’s stirring within me," she said, emotions welling.
"Then she has recognized me," he stated as much a declaration as a question, feeling a glimmer of hope. He was fond of her, irrespective of their bond, for she was beautiful, well-mannered, and seemed serene.
She would make a fitting Luna, he thought.
"I’m not sure…"
"How can you not know? Has she not told you?"
"No."
"This is aggravating. You seem omega-like; if that’s the case, you'll be ill-suited for aiding in our daughter’s retrieval," he grumbled, rising with irritation.
"So what?" she responded, feigning indifference.
"Remain here, you need recovery post-childbirth. I’ll order food for you," he said, exiting hastily.
Leona approached the window, scrutinizing it, gauging its height. The window was large, sliding open like a patio door, leading to a balcony. She stepped out, and from this vantage point, the forest was visible. Night had fallen, the rain ceased, stars punctuated the sky, and the full moon’s luminescence brighten the night. She relied on the stars for direction towards the Death Claw Pack.
The journey by car suggested a considerable distance too vast for her to traverse on foot, unless her wolf emerged. Her wolf would need to arise and undertake the voyage to retrieve her pup. She concentrated, standing mid-balcony, and beckoned to her wolf. She then opened her eyes, offering a silent plea to the moon above.
She experienced an intense pain in her bones, a pressure building within her chest, her vision morphed, her hands, and feet expanded, revealing claws in place of nails. White fur enveloped her skin, and she fell to all fours, steadying on what were now her four paws. Her body ached intensely, more than she could bear, but she contained her cries until the transformation was complete, and she became a white wolf, formidable and robust.
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