Mira didn't sleep.
The cold of the night seeped deeper than her bones—it curled around her heart, settling like a sickness. She lay still on the edge of the bed, facing the wall, her eyes wide open, lashes wet from the silent tears that kept falling.
Ash didn't touch her.
He sat on the windowsill, back straight, eyes trained on the forest beyond the cliffs. He hadn't moved since he told her those words.
"If you cannot give me an heir, I will end this myself."
She hated him.
She hated that he still carried the cruelty of his bloodline. That somewhere beneath that protective exterior, the beast within him had not died—it had simply learned to speak softer.
But it still threatened. It still destroyed.
She bit her lip to keep from sobbing louder. The pain in her chest was unbearable. It wasn't just Ash—it was everything. The elders. Athena. The looming expectations. Her pack, lost. Her family, murdered.
And now, the one man who said she was his... was threatening to use her womb as a test.
She curled her arms around herself.
When dawn broke, a weak light slipped through the curtains. Mira sat up slowly, her limbs heavy. Ash was gone. His scent remained in the air—woodsmoke and cold air.
But he'd left without a word.
Again.
She dressed slowly, numb. The night replayed in her mind like a cruel memory: Ash's words, her defiance, the unbearable silence between them. She'd stripped for him out of despair, willing to give up everything—but when he leaned down to kiss her, she had cried, turned her head.
"I can't love the blood that killed my family."
She remembered the way his face changed when she said that. Not in anger, but something worse—resignation.
He didn't try to touch her again.
Just whispered, "I'll wait. But you must give me an heir if you want to be free."
And now… freedom had a price.
The corridors of the fortress were hushed when Mira walked through them, but the air felt different. Heavy. Tense. She passed by warriors speaking in hushed tones, their gazes flicking to her with something unreadable.
Fear? Respect? Pity?
Outside, the wind carried a strange scent. Burnt wood. Blood.
At the training grounds, she saw Ash standing with Elias and two other warriors. Their faces were drawn, their expressions grim.
When Elias saw Mira, his jaw tightened, but he nodded once.
Ash didn't look at her.
He was barking orders.
"Double the patrols. Check the wards near the western ridge. If there's movement again—"
"Alpha," Elias interrupted gently, "she's here."
Ash finally turned. His eyes—those cursed silver eyes—met hers.
And they were empty.
"We'll speak later," he told the others.
The moment they were alone, Mira felt her chest tighten.
"Something happened?" she asked, voice low.
Ash nodded. "A body was found. Near the old burial grounds. It wasn't one of ours."
Mira paled. "Rival pack?"
"Not just any pack." His voice dropped. "The Varulven."
Her blood ran cold. The name was spoken like a curse.
"I thought they were wiped out."
"They were… until last week." Ash looked at her then, and for the first time in days, his expression softened—just slightly. "That's why the Venari came. They sensed them stirring. They want to make sure the Bloodmoon line doesn't fall again."
"Why do they care so much about me?"
Ash didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "Because you're not just part of the Bloodmoon. There's something else in your blood. Something they fear."
Mira shook her head. "I don't understand."
Ash's gaze drifted toward the woods. "Neither do I. But the Elders think your blood could wake something old. Either for good… or for ruin."
That evening, the Council summoned both of them again. The stone chamber was colder than ever. Elder Corvus stood, a scroll in hand.
"The Varulven have risen. Our old enemies. They seek to claim the girl's bloodline to bind their dark pact. If they succeed, the chaos they unleash will be worse than the last war."
Elder Nyra's eyes glinted. "The only solution is to complete the union. The bond is not sealed until the Luna bears the heir. The prophecy cannot be broken if the line continues under our watch."
Mira's heart thudded.
Ash's jaw flexed. "I said she is mine. I'll handle it my way."
Corvus sneered. "Your way is too slow. The Varulven have already moved. You'll lose her. We'll all lose."
Nyra stepped forward. "There is another way—Athena is still willing. If the girl falters, we must not wait."
Ash took a step forward, voice sharp as a blade.
"She will not falter."
The room fell silent.
And then Corvus muttered, "Then prove it. Let her carry the line."
That night, Mira found herself alone in their chamber again.
Her head swam. Her chest ached.
When the door opened, she didn't turn. Ash stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the torchlight.
"You didn't come for me," she said without looking.
"I needed to make them believe you're not weak."
She scoffed bitterly. "And am I?"
Ash stepped closer. "No. But they don't see it. They only see what you haven't given them yet."
"An heir."
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Silence stretched between them like a blade.
"I don't hate you, Mira," he said quietly. "But I don't know how to protect you without becoming the thing you fear."
She turned then. Her eyes were red. "Then stop trying to own me."
He closed his eyes. "It's not about owning you. It's about keeping you alive."
"So I'll breed and be free?" she hissed. "Like cattle?"
"No." His voice cracked. "Like a queen who survived hell and built something stronger from it."
She laughed bitterly. "There's no strength in chains."
He looked at her, really looked. And this time, there was no Alpha in his eyes. Only a man. Tired. Bleeding. Afraid.
"Then tell me what to do."
Her voice trembled. "Let me choose. Let me stay because I want to. Not because I'm bound by some curse or prophecy or bloodline."
He nodded slowly. And then he reached for her, not with command. But with a plea.
He pulled her close, cradled her to his chest. She didn't resist this time. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt, holding on like he was the last solid thing in her crumbling world.
He pressed his lips to her forehead.
"You'll never be a prisoner," he whispered. "Not while I still breathe."