The Cursed Alpha’s Mute Bride – Episode 11
Morning spread pale gold through Silver Moon territory as Hunter led Wren out of the forest. He had not released her hand since they crossed the border. The steady warmth of his grip kept the emptiness left by her broken pack bond from swallowing everything else.
The trees opened onto a broad valley guarded by stone watchtowers. Slate roofs descended toward a river, smoke rising from their chimneys, while the Alpha’s manor stood on the highest ridge. It was less ornate than Wolfhart Castle and somehow more alive.
Warriors returning from patrol bowed as Hunter passed. Their respect shifted into curiosity when they noticed the silent woman wearing his coat. Wren felt their questions before she heard them.
“Is that really his mate?” one young wolf whispered. Another glanced at her thin dress and scraped hands. “A wolfless rogue? The Moon Goddess would never make a mistake—would she?”
The words reopened wounds that had never fully scarred. Different territory, different faces, yet the judgment sounded exactly the same. Wren slipped her hand from Hunter’s and lowered her gaze, wishing his coat could make her invisible.
Hunter stopped in the middle of the courtyard. Everyone around them stopped too. He turned back, waiting until Wren looked at him before lifting her chin with two careful fingers.
“You do not have to hide anymore,” he said. His voice carried far enough to reach every listening wolf. “You are under my protection, and you will be treated with respect.”
The courtyard fell silent. Wren saw uncertainty remain on several faces, but no one dared turn it into another insult. Hunter had not promised that they would instantly love her. He had drawn a line around how they were permitted to behave.
Clay approached once the crowd began to disperse. Concern creased his brow. “Alpha, the Elders will not accept this easily. She comes from a rival pack, and Gertrude declared her rogue before witnesses.”
Hunter’s expression stayed calm, but his aura rolled through the courtyard like distant thunder. “The Elders may question me,” he said. “They cannot question the Moon Goddess.”
Wren’s heart skipped. He did not speak as though the bond embarrassed him or required explanation. Before his own people, he accepted her with the same certainty he had shown in the forest.
They entered the manor through carved oak doors. Warm air carried the scents of cedar, herbs, and bread baking somewhere below. Wren expected a grand receiving line, but Hunter led her away from the curious servants and into a quiet room lit by a crackling fire.
An elderly healer waited beside a table covered with clean cloths and dark glass bottles. Silver braids framed her weathered face. She bowed to Hunter, then offered Wren a gentler greeting. “I am Elara. May I examine you, child?”
The question mattered. Wren glanced at Hunter, who remained near the door rather than answering for her. She nodded and placed her hand in Elara’s outstretched palm.
Elara cleaned the gravel from Wren’s cuts and pressed cool salve over the bruises on her throat. Her touch paused near the left collarbone. Beneath the torn neckline, a faint black crescent marked Wren’s skin.
The healer drew in a sharp breath. She tilted a mirror so Wren could see. The mark had been hidden for years, no darker than a shadow, but now thin silver veins pulsed around its edges in time with the mate bond.
“This curse was not born with her,” Elara whispered. Hunter moved closer. “The mark is a binding seal. Someone deliberately locked away her wolf and fastened the same spell around her voice.”
Wren had told Hunter as much on the trail, but hearing a healer confirm it changed something. Gertrude’s accusation—that Wren had been born wrong—had shaped the beliefs of an entire pack. Now another person could see the lie written into her skin.
“What kind of magic?” Hunter asked. Elara held a clear crystal above the mark. Black mist clouded its center before a silver spark forced the darkness back. “Forbidden blood magic. The caster used something tied to Wren’s family line, then fed the spell with years of isolation and despair.”
Hunter’s fists clenched. Wren touched his wrist before the cursed energy beneath his skin could rise. His gaze met hers, and the fury steadied, though it did not disappear.
