The cold wind that swept through the Stoneveil Orphan Temple bit through the thin linen dress clinging to Selene Raventhorn's frail frame. She shivered but did not cry. She had long since learned that tears bought nothing here—no warmth, no food, no mercy.
Her knees ached against the hard stone floor where she knelt scrubbing the hallway. Her knuckles were raw, bruised, and bloodied. The iron scent of it lingered in the air, but no one paid her any mind. She was the one without a wolf—the Cursed Whelp, they called her behind closed doors. A disgrace to the Kingdom of Nightfang, where every child was expected to shift by their sixteenth moon.
Selene had seen seventeen moons, and her wolf remained silent.
The other orphan girls laughed when they passed her in the corridor, their steps echoing against the ancient walls. One of them—Mira, the Matron's favorite—paused to toss a bucket of dirty water toward Selene, dousing her in mud and ash.
"Still scrubbing like a rat, Raventhorn?" Mira sneered, her honey-blonde hair tied in braids like royalty. "Maybe your wolf is as filthy as you are. Oh—wait. You don't have one."
Selene said nothing. She kept scrubbing, her hand trembling. The wind howled through the narrow windows, stirring the torches that lined the stone passage. Shadows danced like spirits come to laugh at her, too.
The Matron's voice barked from behind them. "Get on with it, girls! And Raventhorn—when you're done with the floor, tend to the garden. You'll earn your supper tonight or not eat at all."
There hadn't been supper in two days.
Selene's body burned with fatigue, her stomach twisted in hunger, but she bowed her head and rose, dragging her bruised feet toward the overgrown courtyard. The sky above Nightfang was cloaked in gray, clouds swirling like storms that had lost their home. Thunder rumbled somewhere far off—soft, but menacing.
She dug her fingers into the cold earth, pulling weeds beside the sacred moonbloom flowers. Their silver petals shimmered faintly in the dim light, glowing with the blessing of the Lunar Queen. Legend said the flowers bloomed only in places where destiny had touched the ground.
She didn't believe it.
She didn't believe in blessings.
Not when she was cursed.
---
By nightfall, her fingers were numb, and her legs barely held her weight. She snuck into the back of the temple, hoping to find a crust of bread left behind in the storeroom. The temple's kitchen had long since become her battleground—a place to steal or starve.
But she never made it.
Pain struck her chest like lightning.
She gasped, falling to her knees, clutching her heart. The air around her thickened. Her bones cracked—no, snapped—like firewood being broken apart. Her skin burned from within, like flame was spreading through her blood.
"No…" she whispered, choking on the agony. "Not now…"
Her vision blurred, darkness seeping into the edges.
And then—a voice. Deep. Ancient. Not hers.
"Finally… I found you."
---
Miles away, in the heart of the Nightfang Palace, the Alpha stirred from his throne, a low growl vibrating in his chest.
Alpha Darius Stormbane, ruler of the werewolf kingdoms, descended from the royal line of Stormbane warriors, clenched the arms of his obsidian throne. His golden eyes flashed with power, his aura rippling through the chamber like thunder.
"Alpha?" his Beta asked, alarmed.
But Darius didn't speak.
He stood, slowly. "She's awakened."
The court fell into stunned silence.
"You don't mean—" the High Priest whispered.
Darius turned his gaze toward the ancient window carved into the moonstone walls. The full moon rose above the mountains, bathing the palace in silver light.
"Yes," he said. "The one I've seen in visions. The girl with no wolf. The one who dies and returns. She's alive."
---
Selene lay on the ground outside the temple, her body twisting, bones breaking and reforming. Her mouth was open in a silent scream as her spine cracked, and her skin rippled like something beneath it was trying to escape.
The pain was unbearable—worse than any beating she'd ever endured. Worse than hunger. Worse than loneliness.
She wanted to die.
And then—
Her eyes opened. Glowing white. Silver.
The world fell silent.
She rose slowly, shakily, her body changed. Taller. Stronger. Her senses exploding all at once. She could hear the wind brushing across a bird's wings. Smell the iron inside the stone walls. Feel the heartbeat of a rabbit hiding beneath a tree.
And in her mind—a presence.
> "I am Aeria," the voice said.
"I have always been within you. Bound by curse. But tonight… we are free."
Selene staggered back, falling to her knees.
"I have… a wolf," she breathed.
She didn't see the dark figure emerge from the shadows of the trees.
Didn't feel the eyes watching her from the treetops, glowing like embers.
But he saw her.
Darius stepped closer, silent as a shadow, his wolf on edge. The moment he laid eyes on her, a jolt slammed through his spine.
"Mate."
The bond struck like a thunderclap—uninvited and unrelenting. He nearly dropped to his knees as the pull hit him with centuries of longing and pain. His wolf howled in his mind, pacing, frantic.
But something was wrong.
She looked… broken.
Her wolf was only barely awakened, her scent was faint. Her aura was fragile. Her soul was scarred.
Still, he moved closer.
Selene turned, her new silver eyes meeting his gold.
The world tilted.
Time bent.
Her vision blurred with fragments—of other lives. Other deaths. A burning battlefield. A pair of hands letting go. A kiss in the rain. A promise at the edge of a cliff.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"I've waited for you," Darius murmured. "Through lifetimes."
---
He carried her gently to the Healing Temple of Raventhorn, summoning the High Priestess of the Moon to tend to her. The priestess paled when she saw Selene's mark—a crescent scar just above her heart. It shimmered like moonlight and pulsed with ancient power.
"This is the Mark of the Eternal Bond," the priestess whispered. "She is the one from the prophecy."
Darius sat beside her bedside, watching the rise and fall of her chest.
His mind warred with itself. The girl was fragile, cursed, unloved. And yet—his soul had belonged to her long before this life began.
His hand reached toward hers, trembling.
"Even if it kills me again," he murmured, "I will love you."