When all was quiet again, and Iris looked down, she noticed the wolf's neck was still between Dante's powerful jaws. The enemy should still be fighting, but he wasn't. He was down with a stillness Iris knew too well. A soft, broken whimper escaped her throat. Dante heard it. He watched her eyes flicker between the body and him. Shock. Unease.
Her breath hitched. She stumbled back, her paws skidding against the dirt. Her ears pinned flat, her tail curled, her entire body folding in on itself.
Dante shifted before she could pull away further. In an instant, moving fast, he reached for her. Iris snapped at him, fangs flashing, sinking her teeth into his hand, but he didn't stop. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, holding her tight, pressing against her trembling frame, grounding her, keeping her from unraveling. She wrenched her head back, shifting mid-motion, forcing herself human again.
"Oh gods, oh gods! They are going to kill me."
"No, they won't," Dante murmured into her fur, voice steady, certain. "I'll take the blame for it."
"No, no, you can't--" Her voice cracked, her hands fisting against his chest, pushing, shaking. "They'll tear you apart!"
Dante didn't let go. "They won't," he said, so sure that she had to look up, searching his face, desperately trying to understand. He was so sure. So calm.
"You don't understand," she choked out. "You killed one of them. They will never let that go."
"Have faith in me, Iris."
His grip didn't loosen.
***
Dante carried the wolf's body over his shoulders. The weight was almost unbearable for his human form, but he pushed on. The mist of dawn kept him from seeing far, and the forest was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of his footfalls against the earth. Then, as the towering walls of Locri loomed closer, the first howls reached him. One. Then another. And another. The call spread like wildfire, a ripple through the pack. Wolves emerged from the woods. Their fur bristled, their teeth flashed. Some snarled, baring their fangs in silent challenge, bodies lowering in preparation to strike.
Dante held his ground even as tension built. But then, movement from above drew their attention. The young ones gave way, their aggression tempered by respect. Two older wolves descended from the cliff, moving through their sons and nephews with quiet authority. As they reached the road, they shifted.
The alphas stood before him in human form. They were taller than most people, carrying an older version of the curse. Their frames were strong and broad. Their skin was marked by the weight of years lived as hunters, warriors, rulers. One of them stared at the body at Dante's feet, the scent of blood thick in the air. To avoid more bloodshed, Dante knelt.
He had expected fury. Judgment. Instead, their expressions were calm. Assessing.
"I came to pass through your land, and your young one challenged me, respected Alpha," Dante said with a firm tone. He would not grovel.
The alpha who still stood, the one with long silver hair, kept his expression unreadable. "And so you slew him."
Dante met his gaze. "He would not yield."
A murmur spread among the gathered wolves. Some tensed with anger, others shifted uneasily. A few, he noticed, smirked, as if amused by the boldness of it all.
The one who knelt beside the body, with dark, short brown hair, pressed a hand against the dead wolf's neck. His touch was not gentle, nor mournful, just practical. He pushed back the fur and studied the mark of Dante's fangs. After a moment, he exhaled through his nose, rising to his feet. "He was protecting his home, as we all should," he stated simply.
The younger wolves barked and howled. They were hungry for blood, and that alpha was practically giving them permission.
But the silvery wolf shook his head. His eyes flicked from the corpse back to Dante. "Indeed, he fought as a wolf should. He claimed the right of strength and lost. It is not a crime to win." His gaze sharpened. "But you are not of Locri. Your presence here is not owed to us."
The brown wolf's jaw tightened. "Arsinoe, is this not a crime? Then what shall we call it? He was one of ours, and now he is dead. Do we let strangers kill our kin without consequence?" He stepped closer to Dante, muscles coiled, like he was waiting for an excuse. "What do you think, lone wolf? That you can walk away because you fought well? That we owe you for spilling our blood?" He turned sharply to Arsinoe. "You would let this stand?"
Dante did not flinch under the weight of his words. "I did not seek his death, but he disrespected me. He would not stop," he said, holding Atreus' glare.
Arsinoe raised a hand, silencing the growing murmurs among the gathered wolves. "Enough, Atreus. The dead will be carried home and mourned. The living will decide what comes next." He pointed at Dante. "You will not leave yet." It was a command, not a suggestion. "You will come to our halls, sit at our fire, and tell us where you came from and how this death came to be," Arsinoe continued.
Dante immediately nodded. There was no refusing.
The wolves turned back toward the fortress, running home, throttling through the woods with ease, weaving between the trees. Blood still clung to Dante's skin, trailing behind him, a scent no wolf would ignore. He felt all eyes on him--some curious, some resentful, some waiting for an excuse to pounce. The trees broke, revealing the towering walls of Locri. No longer a distant fortress on the horizon, but the belly of a strange beast he was about to be swallowed by.
Inside the gates, past the courtyard, he followed the alphas through the sprawling streets. Homes built from stone, wood, and daub surrounded him. There was a heavy scent of roasting meat, freshly cured hides, and wild herbs. Wolves in human and lupine form were everywhere. But ahead, past the winding streets and clustered houses, stood the great temple. A shrine flanked by statues of wolves carved from marble, their snarling jaws frozen. A temple to whom? He didn't recognize the symbols for his goddess or any other.
Dante was taken instead to Arsinoe's hall of guests. There, warm water drawn fresh from the well was set out for him to bathe. New clothes, a clean cape. When he finally emerged, his hair was oiled and brushed, his face smooth and free of dust. He looked presentable and tamed like he'd never looked before. He knew he was being allowed hospitality for now because Arsinoe was honorable. That might not last. A beta led him forward, guiding him through the halls until they reached the grand gathering space. The scent of fire and wine thickened the air. Wolves in high-backed chairs lined the room. Their clothes were fine, their presence unmistakable. Dante stopped at the threshold and counted heads. Twelve alphas awaited him.
The six men and six women who sat before him were tall, strong, their hair touched with silver, their bodies bearing the marks of warriors. Their hands had held swords and spears. So human of them. Atreus sat near the center, draped in his deep-brown furs, his golden eyes burning hot, restless with anger. Beside him, Arsinoe, silver-haired and still, watched without emotion. Irene, a woman with iron-streaked curls and a scar running from brow to cheekbone, leaned forward.
"Tell us, stranger, how does it feel to wear the scent of our kin's blood?"
"I doubt he'll lose sleep over it," Atreus bit out.
A murmur rippled through the room, some voices thoughtful, some sharp-edged with resentment. Dante held his ground. "It brought me no pleasure to end the life of a young wolf."
A chuckle, dry and humorless, came from another alpha. Nikomedes, a lean, hawk-eyed man who sat with no comfort, almost clawing at the armrest. Arsinoe, ever the still one, raised a hand, silencing the room before the conversation could turn into something more volatile.
"Let's not mock this hearing. You were brought here to explain yourself. Tell us your story."
"I'm Dante of Dafnis, son of Myrtilus and Clymine, born in a pack that does not mark its borders because it has no need. We roam where the wind takes us, from the mountain caves to the river valleys, moving with the moon. We do not settle. We do not build walls."
Atreus narrowed his eyes. "I met a Myrtilus of Dafnis in my youth."
"If he was a black wolf with a white spot on his forehead, then that was likely my dear pa and alpha."
Arsinoe raised his voice. "Tell me then, son of Myrtilus, how is it that you stand before us without a pack?"
