"You were late last night."
My mother's voice was calm, but sharp. Like a blade resting flat against skin—gentle, but dangerous if you moved too fast.
I stood at the counter, halfway through an apple, watching her stir tea like the weight of tomorrow wasn't hanging over our heads like a stormcloud.
"I was training," I said.
"With your father?"
I nodded.
She paused, spoon still in her cup. I saw her jaw tighten, but she said nothing more. She rarely did when it came to my father. Words had long since failed between them.
"He thinks pushing you makes you stronger," she said finally. "But sometimes I wonder if it's just his fear dressed as preparation."
I blinked. That wasn't like her. My mother didn't question the Alpha. Not out loud.
"I'm not going to break," I said, quieter now.
"I know," she whispered. "But you shouldn't have to prove that every day."
We stood there for a few seconds—two women tied to the same pack, the same rules, the same legacy. One had learned to survive in silence. The other… still deciding how she wanted to fight.
Later that morning, the training field buzzed with young wolves sparring and shifting. The smell of sweat and dust filled the air, but all I could think about was tomorrow.
"You're brooding again," Kye said, tossing me a water bottle.
I caught it and shot him a glare. "Not brooding. Thinking."
"Same thing in your case," he smirked, grabbing a dagger from the weapons rack. "Let me guess—you're wondering what your mate will look like. Tall? Dark? Mysterious? One of those poetic warrior types?"
I rolled my eyes. "I want no one."
He chuckled, spinning the blade. "You don't mean that."
"I do," I snapped—sharper than I intended.
Kye paused. For a second, the smile slipped from his face. "You really hate the idea of being chosen, don't you?"
I looked away. "I hate not choosing."
He said nothing, just nodded. He knew me better than anyone. He knew I didn't want to be someone's destiny. I wanted to be someone's equal.
Then his expression changed. "I heard something last night. A Bloodfang scout crossed Ember Ridge."
I froze. "Where exactly?"
"South border. Past the riverbank. He was spotted by one of our night patrols."
That was too close. Too bold. The Bloodfang wolves hadn't dared cross that line in years.
"They're testing us," I muttered.
"They're taunting us," Kye said darkly. "Same thing they always do."
I nodded slowly, remembering what I wasn't supposed to.
I was ten the first time I saw the aftermath of a Bloodfang raid. A healer's hut burned to ash. A nursery half-collapsed. Blood staining the soil like spilled ink. My uncle was one of the missing.
My mother told me once, back when I still asked questions, that Bloodfang didn't attack like wolves. They attacked like ghosts. Precise. Cruel. Clean in execution, but messy in the way they left you broken.
And at the center of that pack was Ronan.
Alpha Ronan was young—only in his mid-twenties—but feared by every pack within ten territories. He'd ascended the Alpha seat after his father's suspicious death, and from that moment, Bloodfang became more brutal, more calculated.
Stories whispered of him tearing through enemies without shifting back for days. They said he trained his wolves like assassins. They said his eyes—silver, not gold—were cold even when he smiled.
But what haunted me most was the rumor he hated us—Silvermoon—more than any other.
No one knew why.
And my father never spoke of it.
But that hatred pulsed at our borders like a wound that never healed.
"We should've wiped them out by now," I said quietly.
Kye's jaw clenched. "And we will. One day."
I looked at him then, really looked. He believed it. He wanted it.
And maybe… I did too.
That night, I sat on the roof of the packhouse, knees pulled to my chest, the wind tugging at my hair.
The moon was almost full. Glowing. Waiting.
Tomorrow night, I'd shift for the first time. Tomorrow night, I might feel the mate bond snap into place.
What if I rejected it?
What if I couldn't?
What if the Moon Goddess tied me to someone like Ronan?
I clutched the charm Kye gave me. It had grown warm against my skin, like it had soaked in my dread.
"Moon Goddess," I whispered, barely louder than the wind. "Don't tie me to weakness. Don't tie me to Bloodfang."
A howl rose in the distance.
Low. Sharp.
Wrong.
Not one of ours.
My breath caught.
Bloodfang.
They were closer than we thought.
And something deep in my chest—something old and restless—stirred.
Not with fear.
With warning