Draven’s Doubts
Draven stood at the edge of the clearing, hidden among the trees as he watched Isla’s training. His amber eyes were sharp, his wolf restless beneath his skin. The raw energy Isla displayed was mesmerizing, but his gaze kept flicking to Alaric. The easy confidence with which he guided Isla, the familiarity in his tone—it all set Draven’s teeth on edge.
Later that evening, as the camp settled into an uneasy quiet, Draven confronted Isla in their quarters. The tension in his shoulders was palpable as he paced the room. “You trust him too easily,” he said, his voice low but firm.
Isla, seated on the edge of the bed, looked up at him with tired eyes. “I don’t trust him blindly, Draven,” she replied. “But he’s helping me in ways no one else can. Right now, we need him.”
Draven stopped pacing and turned to face her, his amber eyes burning with frustration. “And what if he’s the one who poisoned you? What if this is all part of some elaborate plan to destroy us from within?”
The accusation hung heavy in the air. Isla’s breath caught, her mind flashing back to the day she nearly died. The memory of the pain, the helplessness, gripped her like a vice. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But if we let fear control us, we’ll never find the twins. I can’t afford to stop moving forward, Draven. I won’t.”
Draven crossed the room in two strides, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in his. “I’ll protect you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “From him, from your father, from anyone who tries to hurt you. But I need you to promise me you’ll be careful.”
Isla met his gaze, the intensity in his amber eyes softening her resolve. “I will,” she whispered. “I promise.”
Draven leaned closer, brushing his lips gently against her forehead before resting his head against hers. For a moment, the world outside their tent faded, leaving only the two of them.
