The Northern wind was dry that morning, but in the main hall of the Wolf Bastion, the tension was as thick as the frost clinging to the windows.
Kilian Aurelian Luperca, King of the North, Supreme Alpha of the lycanthrope packs, was reading a report on a territorial conflict in the Varka district. His fingers, however, weren't turning the page. His gaze remained fixed on the fire in the hearth, as if he were trying to find answers in the flames.
On the dark stone table, opened and uncreased, lay a letter with the royal seal of Normalia. Red. Impeccable. Useless.
An invitation.
—Aren't you going to answer it, my king? —asked Ian, his beta, in the tone of someone who already knew the answer.
Kilian growled low. A rough, guttural sound. More of a warning than a response.
—She's just a pampered girl in a new dress —he muttered without taking his eyes off the fire—. Another human pretending to be royalty. I'm not playing diplomat while my wolf bleeds every full moon.
Ian sighed and took a seat across from him, documents in hand.
—This treaty is important, my king. The southern border needs stability. The lesser houses are pressing. And it's not just the humans who are worried...
Kilian raised an eyebrow slowly.
—Ian...
—...I know marrying a human is unthinkable to you. But you must do it for the good of our people —he continued, firm—. The alphas and betas from different districts are restless about the next moon. They know Laikan is on the brink of losing control... and they demand you carry out the ritual of your moon's choosing.
The name of his ancestral wolf hung in the air like a curse.
Laikan.
The White Wolf. The Original.
The demon sealed in his soul since he was born under a new moon, during a storm stained with red.
—I know, Ian. You don't need to remind me —Kilian growled, closing his eyes for a moment. Then added, in a nearly broken whisper—: It's just that... I still feel she's out there. That she's waiting for me.
Ian didn't reply immediately. He looked at him with a mix of respect and sympathy. Few knew that side of the king. The one who ruled with an iron fist, who never trembled in battle, who maintained the balance between beast and man... was also a son abandoned by fate.
—Maybe she is, my king... but there's no time left to keep waiting.
Silence.
Kilian picked up the letter, studied it as if it were a trap or a divine provocation. Finally, he let it fall back onto the table.
—You answer it. Say whatever you like. I'll go. But not for the princess.
—Then for what?
—Because if I don't find my moon before the next blood moon... I'll have to choose someone through the ritual. And if that happens...
—We know —Ian said quietly—. We all do.
The ancient Northern ritual didn't choose with love. It chose with blood. A brutal mating ceremony, where the strongest she-wolf would be claimed by the dominant wolf. If Laikan awakened... there would be no choice, no control.
And Kilian had already sworn never to repeat his father's story.
At seventeen, he rose to the throne after finding his parents torn apart at the frozen border. No one spoke of what had happened, but Kilian knew. His father, the former King of the North, lost control of the Alpha. His mother hadn't survived the mark.
Since then, Kilian ruled with coldness. With logic. With iron will.
Under his reign, the lycanthropes remained hidden beneath the guise of courtiers, warriors, diplomats. Their kind's existence was a well-guarded secret in the North. Only in their own territory were they the majority, yet they lived in harmony with humans, in peace.
A peace now hanging by a thread.
—I'll ready the royal guard —Ian said—. Shall I bring the Varkhan?
—Yes. I want all four with me.
The Varkhan were his personal guard. Four alphas with no pack. Old blood. Violent. Lethal. If anything went wrong in Normalia… they would be his sword.
Ian bowed in respect.
—I'll send the reply then. And ask the mages to prepare the containment runes.
—You think I won't be able to control myself?
—I think that if she's there... you won't want to.
Kilian didn't reply. He just stared into the fire, feeling Laikan's roar in his chest.
"Mate."
The word echoed inside him like a broken promise. The she-wolf had yet to appear. But time was running out.
And if she didn't show\...
The North would be painted red.
---
The palace of Normalia rose on the horizon like a jewel of marble and gold. To human eyes, it was a symbol of power, tradition, and wealth. For Kilian Aurelian Luperca, it was nothing more than another political battleground. One more.
However, as his horse's hooves struck the imperial road's stones, something made him frown. A vibration, subtle, barely noticeable… but wild. It was like a scent hidden between stone and warm air.
His senses, trained to the limit, activated without his command.
The noise.
The scent.
The energy.
It was different.
—My king… —Ian murmured beside him, noticing his discomfort.
—Do you feel it? —Kilian asked, his voice barely more than a growl.
Ian subtly sniffed the air. His eyes narrowed.
—...Yes. It's... a she-wolf?
Kilian didn't answer. He was too focused. His inner wolf, Laikan, began to stir. As if something had touched a nerve that had lain dormant for years. The Wolf King clenched his fists, forcing himself not to run through the halls of that human palace.
"Calm down," he told himself. "It can't be. Not here. Not now."
But each step brought him closer to the inevitable.
When he entered the ballroom, the world stopped.
The perfumes, the candles, the music, the laughter… all became background noise. Because there, among flower-covered columns, the scent hit him like a brutal wave.
Dark honey. Fire. Full moon.
And beneath it all… her.
The ancestral alpha within him rose with a silent roar.
"She's the one."
Kilian spun on his heel and left the ballroom in a swift stride. He followed instinct. The invisible pull dragging him to the back of the palace.
To the garden.
When he passed through the stone arch, he saw the scene.
Three lycanthropes, young, foolish, led by scent rather than honor, were approaching the girl. They hadn't touched her yet, but they were surrounding her. As if they could… claim her.
His she-wolf.
The beast inside him roared.
Laikan emerged like a white shadow.
The air grew heavy.
The lanterns flickered.
The tree leaves rustled as though an invisible hurricane had descended.
The three werewolves froze.
Then stepped back.
One even fell to his knees from the weight of his Alpha's presence.
Kilian crossed the garden like a storm. Not a word. Just power. Pure presence.
And then, he saw her.
Her.
Pale. Panting. Her dress clinging to her skin like a second layer. Lips parted. Eyes wild. Confused. Vulnerable. Burning.
And beautiful. So damn beautiful his wolf growled with hunger.
Laikan lifted his head inside his chest.
And then he spoke.
—Mate.
Kilian wasn't even aware he had spoken. It was Laikan. It was his soul. It was instinct.
His steps carried him to her without thought. His hand touched her with brutal reverence. His thumb caressed the princess's cheek as if she were sacred. Because she was.
The wolf within her responded.
—Mate.
It wasn't her voice. It was the other one. The she-wolf.
The bond ignited.
A synchronized heartbeat. A shared breath. The universe aligned in an eternal instant.
And then, her body folded like a lily under the rain.
Kilian caught her before she touched the ground.
Her scent was intoxicating. Her heat, addictive. And her touch… it was like holding something that had always belonged to him, but that he had forgotten he needed.
—Alpha King! —Ian approached, alarmed—. We must get her out of here. Her wolf is taking over.
—I know —he growled—. If I don't move her now… I'll mark her right here.
And no. He wasn't going to do that.
Not yet.
He lifted her in his arms with an impossible gentleness for a warrior. Liana appeared running, carrying a water jug, breathless from the sprint.
—Your Highness! What happened?
—She fainted —Kilian said, never taking his eyes off the sleeping face of his moon—. Where is her room?
—This way… follow me… I'll call the royal doctor…
—No. That won't be necessary. I'll send for mine.
Liana looked at him, uncertain. Kilian's aura was overwhelming. She asked no more.
—May I have your name…? —she dared to whisper, almost out of duty.
Kilian looked at her without hostility, but with undeniable authority.
—I am the King of the North. Kilian Aurelian Luperca. Betrothed to Princess Abigail.
And as he followed her through the halls, carrying his moon, his she-wolf, his salvation… he whispered in the deepest, oldest voice he had ever used.
—At last… I've found you.