The rooster crowed long before the sun's first rays crested the eastern ridge, but Selene Blackwood was already awake.
She lay on her narrow bed beneath the slanted beams of her attic ceiling, staring at the familiar knots of the old wood as the packhouse shifted and groaned around her. The kitchens below clattered with life—pots banging, cooks shouting orders, the smell of baking bread wafting upward.
Her wolf stirred, restless.
It's today, Lyra whispered inside her. Her voice was velvet, sharp with anticipation. We'll find him.
Selene pressed the heel of her hand against her chest as if she could quiet both wolf and heart. She wasn't ready to think about mates or bonds or whatever fate the Moon Goddess had carved for her. Not yet. Not until she had to.
Sliding from bed, she dressed in her simple training clothes—black leggings, a loose tunic, boots worn soft with years of sparring. She braided her dark hair quickly, tugging the plait over her shoulder. At the window, she paused.
Mist still clung low across the valley, the first light of dawn turning it silver. Beyond the trees, the river ran dark and quiet. On the training field below, shadowy figures of warriors were already jogging their warm-up laps. Selene's pulse quickened at the sight, her wolf perking up. Sparring would help keep her grounded.
By the time she descended into the main hall, the packhouse was buzzing. Long wooden tables were crowded with warriors and pack members sharing breakfast. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and porridge, smoke from the hearth curling through the rafters. Laughter rang from one corner, the clash of mugs from another.
Selene slipped through, reaching for a slice of bread, when a familiar voice called out.
"There you are!"
Mira darted toward her, curls bouncing, her grin as bright as morning sunlight. She was a year younger than Selene, wild at heart, reckless in ways Selene secretly admired. Mira linked her arm through Selene's with no hesitation.
"You weren't hiding upstairs, were you? Don't pretend you weren't," Mira teased.
"I wasn't hiding," Selene muttered around a mouthful of bread.
"You were hiding," Mira insisted, smirking. "Because tonight you turn eighteen. Tonight, you might just end up mated to some terrifying old warrior with no teeth."
Selene rolled her eyes, but a laugh slipped out despite the nerves prickling in her stomach. "If the Moon Goddess pairs me with anyone toothless, I'm blaming you."
From the far table, a deep, mocking voice interrupted.
"Don't worry, Blackwood. Maybe the Goddess will bless you with me instead."
It was Jax, one of the Gamma's sons, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that always made Selene itch to punch him. His brother Leon snickered beside him, nudging his elbow.
Mira snapped her head around. "Careful what you wish for, Jax. Imagine Selene stuck with you—forced to endure your idiotic jokes until she dies. That's torture, not fate."
The table roared with laughter. Even Selene found herself smiling faintly. Jax grinned wider, unbothered.
But then the noise stilled, as though someone had thrown a cloak over the hall.
Alpha Damien had entered.
He didn't need to speak; his presence alone was enough to straighten spines and silence mouths. He crossed the hall like a storm cloud, tall and broad, dressed in black, his gray eyes sweeping over the crowd with practiced indifference. His dark hair brushed his forehead, but nothing about him was careless. Every line of his body carried the weight of command.
Selene's gaze followed him before she could stop herself. Her pulse stumbled, her wolf pricked its ears.
Him, Lyra whispered.
Selene forced her eyes down, heat creeping into her cheeks. He would never notice her. He was Alpha. Untouchable.
Beside Damien came Beta Elias, his expression softer, his greetings warm as he clasped hands and exchanged smiles. When his gaze found Selene, there was kindness there—something almost paternal. Elias had known her father, the late Beta Blackwood, and though he had carried the title since his death, he never treated Selene like a shadow. He had always seen her.
"Training in ten," Elias called, his voice carrying easily. "I expect no one to hold back today."
Groans rose from the tables, but the warriors began scraping back benches, Mira dragging Selene toward the doors.
The cool air outside swept against her skin, carrying scents of pine, damp earth, and faint woodsmoke from the chimneys. On the packed-dirt training field, warriors were already clashing with practice swords, the sound of wood striking wood ringing through the crisp morning.
Selene picked up a staff from the rack, testing the weight in her hands. Mira grinned at her from across the circle.
"You're going down, birthday girl," she taunted.
Selene smirked faintly, raising her weapon. "You always say that."
Their staffs cracked together, the vibration singing down Selene's arms. They moved in rhythm—strike, block, pivot, strike again. Sweat prickled at her hairline, her muscles burning, but the familiar dance calmed her. It was grounding, comforting, a reminder of who she was when gossip and destiny weren't pressing in.
But even as she fought, whispers gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. Tonight.
Tonight, everything would change.
When she lowered her staff at last, chest heaving, she noticed Damien across the field. He wasn't sparring. He was watching—assessing the warriors with cool detachment, giving orders to those who faltered. His gaze passed over her briefly, unreadable, before moving on.
Still, her pulse jumped, her wolf shifting uneasily inside her.
Mira nudged her shoulder, following her gaze. "Careful, Selene," she murmured under her breath. "You're staring again."
"I'm not," Selene muttered quickly, turning away.
But she had been.
And she knew, no matter how much she tried to bury it, that tonight would answer questions she had spent years trying not to ask.