Secrets and Lies
The morning sun bathed the training grounds in a soft golden light, the clang of sparring swords and the sharp bark of orders filling the crisp air. Isla stood by the fence, her silver hair catching the sunlight as she watched the younger wolves spar. Their movements were sharp, each strike purposeful as they worked to master their forms. For a moment, she found solace in their determination, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the fence.
“Quite the view, isn’t it?”
Isla’s heart jolted as Malrik appeared beside her, his steps silent and deliberate. He leaned casually against the fence, his pale face partially shadowed by his dark hood. His gray eyes, sharp and calculating, gleamed with a faint flicker of amusement.
“What do you want, Malrik?” Isla asked, keeping her voice steady even as unease rippled through her.
Malrik tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint, almost disarming smile. “A little conversation,” he said lightly, his tone calm but laced with an unsettling undertone. “Is that so much to ask?”
Isla’s silver eyes narrowed. “You don’t do anything without a reason. So, what is it this time?”
Malrik chuckled softly, his gaze drifting to the sparring wolves before returning to her. “Do you ever wonder, Luna,” he began, his voice low and almost gentle, “what Draven is hiding from you?”
Her body tensed, though she kept her expression guarded. “If he’s hiding something, it’s for a reason,” she replied, her tone firm.
“Ah,” Malrik murmured, his grin widening as if he’d expected her response. “Is that what you tell yourself? Or is it easier to believe that than to face the possibility that he doesn’t trust you?”
The words hit like a knife slipping between her ribs. Isla’s jaw tightened, but a flicker of doubt crossed her face before she could stop it.
She turned to fully face him, her silver hair catching in the breeze. “Why are you really here?” she demanded, her voice sharper now, pushing past the unease his words had stirred.
Malrik’s smile softened, his posture shifting as if he meant to appear sincere. “To help,” he said smoothly, though there was a faint edge to his words. “And maybe to remind my dear brother that the past doesn’t stay buried forever.”
Isla’s breath hitched at the weight of his words, her heart thudding heavily in her chest. Before she could respond, Malrik straightened, his dark cloak trailing behind him as he began to walk away.
He stopped just once, glancing back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Draven doesn’t tell you everything because he doesn’t know how to. That’s the difference between him and me—I’ll always be honest with you, Isla.”
She stared after him, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the packhouse. Unease twisted in her gut, her thoughts churning as the weight of his words settled over her.
When she turned back to the training field, her breath caught. Draven was standing near the edge of the sparring circle, his amber eyes fixed on her with a burning intensity. His powerful form radiated tension, his shoulders squared as if bracing for battle.
“What did he say to you?” Draven asked, his voice low and dangerous, each word clipped and measured.
Isla crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why won’t you just tell me the truth?” she shot back, her silver eyes flashing. “What are you so afraid of?”
The space between them felt charged, the unspoken truths building like an invisible wall. Draven’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, his eyes softened with something that looked like regret.
Finally, he exhaled, his voice rough with emotion. “Because the truth could destroy everything.
