The whispers clung to her like burrs on a cloak. No matter where Elara turned, they followed.
"Elara? The Omega?"
"They said the Alpha King claimed her. It's impossible."
"She doesn't even have a scent. How could fate bind him to her?"
"Maybe she tricked him. Used her herbs and witchcraft."
Elara kept her eyes fixed on the path as she walked through the pack courtyard, her basket of herbs pressed tightly against her chest. She could feel every gaze on her, sharp as daggers. Her steps quickened. The sun had already dipped, leaving long shadows stretching across the ground, and the evening air buzzed with gossip thicker than the hum of crickets.
Her heart pounded. The Alpha King's words still echoed in her mind—deep, commanding, undeniable.
"Mine."
She had heard them only once before, years ago, from a different man. The man who had broken her. The man who had rejected her and shattered her scent, leaving her to wander half-alive.
She could still hear him. "You're too weak for me. You'll never stand beside an Alpha."
Her breath hitched, and she tightened her grip on the basket until the wicker bit into her palms. No. She would not relive that night. She had built walls around herself since then. She had carved out a life where no one could touch her heart again. She was a healer, nothing more.
And yet… in a single night, the Alpha King had threatened to tear those walls down.
"Elara."
The sound of her name froze her steps. She turned slowly.
Corin stood by the well, his tall frame outlined against the twilight. His green eyes glittered, unreadable, as they fixed on her. He had been her friend once, back when laughter had come easily and the world had seemed kind. But now, there was something sharp in him, something that cut when he spoke.
"You should be careful," he said softly, though his voice carried. "The others won't take kindly to this."
"I didn't ask for it," she whispered back, her throat tight.
He walked closer, his gaze sweeping over her, assessing, calculating. "But you didn't refuse him either, did you?"
Her breath caught. "How could I refuse the Alpha King?"
A shadow flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it came. "You could have told him no," Corin said quietly, though there was an edge beneath his words. "You could have made it clear you're not his to claim."
"I did," she snapped, her voice breaking. "I told him I wasn't his. That I couldn't be his."
Corin studied her for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then he gave a small, humorless smile. "Be careful, Elara. The King doesn't hear 'no' often."
Before she could answer, the air shifted. Heavy. Thick.
Her wolf stirred uneasily inside her, sensing power before her mind caught up. The ground itself seemed to hum beneath her feet, and every whisper in the courtyard died at once.
He was here.
The Alpha King.
Elara's breath hitched as Darius Blackthorn stepped into view, his tall frame cutting through the crowd with the ease of a predator among prey. His black coat swept behind him, and his golden eyes burned in the growing dusk. Every wolf bent their heads as he passed, the sheer force of his dominance pressing down like a storm.
Except for her.
She stood frozen, unable to move, her heart thundering in her chest as his gaze locked on her.
"Elara," he said, his deep voice rolling across the courtyard like thunder.
The whispers began again, hushed, frantic.
"He knows her name—"
"It's true then—"
"The King has chosen her—"
Her knees weakened, but she forced herself to straighten. "Your Majesty," she managed, her voice shaking.
He didn't stop until he stood before her, towering, his presence filling her vision. The pack seemed to disappear, the world narrowing to just the two of them.
"You left before I finished," he said, his tone calm but carrying a weight that silenced everything around them.
"I—" Her mouth went dry. "I had no reason to stay."
His eyes glowed faintly, catching the last of the light. "You are my reason."
Her breath caught. Heat rushed to her face, though her chest ached with denial. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "You're mistaken. I have no scent. I was rejected. I cannot be your mate."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Wolves shifted uneasily, glancing between their King and the healer who dared defy him.
Darius tilted his head, studying her as though she were a puzzle only he could solve. "And yet," he said slowly, "when I stand near you, my wolf knows. Fate does not care for your fears, healer. It has bound us."
Elara's legs trembled. She wanted to scream at him, to demand why he was doing this, why he wouldn't let her be. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that she wasn't worth claiming, that she couldn't survive being broken again.
But her body betrayed her. Her wolf stirred, restless, drawn to his presence. Her pulse quickened, her breath came short, and deep inside, a warmth she thought had died long ago flickered to life.
"No," she said firmly, forcing steel into her voice. "I will not be bound again."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched. Then, instead of anger, Darius's lips curved into a faint smile. It wasn't kind—it was dangerous. A smile that promised he would not let her go.
"Defiant," he murmured. "Good. A Luna should have fire."
Her heart pounded. "I am no Luna!"
"You will be," he said simply, as if it were fact.
The world tilted. Elara stumbled back, but before she could fall, his hand shot out, catching her wrist. The warmth of his touch spread through her skin, sending sparks racing up her arm. Her wolf howled inside her, recognizing something she refused to name.
She yanked her hand free, glaring at him with all the strength she had left. "I belong to no one."
For a long moment, he said nothing. His golden eyes burned into hers, unflinching, relentless. Then he leaned closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"We'll see, healer. The Moon does not make mistakes."
And with that, he turned and walked away, his presence lingering like the echo of a storm.
The pack stared after him, stunned into silence. Corin's jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides, his eyes dark with something Elara could not name.
She stood trembling in the center of it all, clutching her basket of herbs to her chest.
Her life had ended once, with rejection.
Now it was beginning again—with a claim she could not escape.