The Ghost of Ashwood
The trees blurred past, moonlight flickering like blades as Ciaran carried me higher into the mountains. His stride never faltered, not once, as if the rough earth, the steep climb, even my weight meant nothing to him. His heartbeat pounded steady against my cheek, a rhythm I couldn't ignore no matter how I tried.
I stopped fighting.
My fists unclenched, falling limp against his chest. Not because I had surrendered. Never that. But because the fight inside me had twisted into something darker, heavier. It wasn't just fear anymore it was memory.
Ashwood.
The pack I once called home, though it was never truly mine.
The smell of pine brought it back to me the scent of the forests that ringed the packhouse, the crackle of bonfires, the sharp sting of smoke that clung to my clothes for days. I had been sixteen the night my step-sister burned away my last thread of hope.
Selene.
She had always been the light of Ashwood. Her beauty wasn't just admired it was worshipped. Golden hair like spun sunlight, eyes that gleamed with cruel delight whenever they found me, and a smile that could twist from angel to serpent in a heartbeat. She was the perfect daughter of our Alpha household. Perfect blood. Perfect future. Perfect lies.
And me?
I was the mistake they kept around to polish her shine brighter.
That night, the pack had gathered to celebrate the Blood Moon. The clearing blazed with firelight, music, and voices raised in triumph. Wolves whirled in dances, men and women drank deep from goblets of spiced wine, and laughter soared high into the smoke-filled sky.
I had stood at the edge of it all, clutching a wicker basket of herbs I'd spent days gathering. Every stem carefully chosen, every leaf meant for healing. An offering for the Healer, a peace token. My desperate chance to belong.
For once, I had hoped to be seen not as half-blood, not as unwanted, but as useful.
Then Selene's laugh had cut through the music.
I can still hear it light, melodic, cruel. She wove through the crowd in a dress of white silk that clung to her like the moon's own blessing. Her arm looped through Gabriel's, the Alpha's heir. The boy I had once thought looked at me with something like kindness.
"Half-blood," Selene called, her voice sugar-wrapped venom. The crowd hushed at once. Even the drums faltered. Her smile gleamed as she tugged Gabriel closer, his smirk echoing hers. "Come closer. Gabriel wants to thank you."
My heart had stumbled in my chest. My feet obeyed before my brain could scream not to. I stepped forward, clutching the basket tighter, breath catching at the thought maybe, finally, I was being accepted.
Selene's hand shot out.
In one sharp motion, she tipped the basket from my hands.
The herbs spilled into the bonfire, sparks spitting high into the night like the stars themselves were mocking me. A wave of laughter erupted around the clearing, sharp and merciless. Gabriel's smirk deepened as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. She laughed again, a knife's edge of sound.
"Did you think these weeds would make us see you as one of us?" Selene's voice rang clear, carrying over the crowd. Her eyes cut through me like glass. "You'll never be wolf, Elara. You'll never be anything."
The flames devoured my offering in seconds, crackling louder than my own heartbeat. My throat burned with unshed tears. Every pair of eyes in the pack burned with mockery. Gabriel's gaze was the cruelest of all pity twisted into disdain.
That was the night I stopped trying to belong.
And the night Selene stole the only boy who'd ever pretended to care.
I had turned away from the fire with nothing left but ashes clinging to my palms.
"Why are you shaking?"
The deep rumble of Ciaran's voice pulled me back into the present like cold water thrown on embers. His silver gaze flicked down to where my fists were clenched against him, trembling. My nails had cut crescents into my palms without me noticing.
"Because I don't want this," I snapped. My voice was sharper than I meant, but the words had festered too long to be soft. "I don't want you. I don't want fate deciding my life."
His eyes studied me, unblinking, molten silver that seemed to pierce straight through bone. "You carry the past like chains."
"Don't pretend to understand me."
He didn't argue. He didn't soften. He simply climbed higher, step after relentless step, the fortress mountains looming above. The air thinned, the scent of pine thickened, and still his silence pressed heavier than any words could have.
My chest ached, not just from the bond burning between us, but from the weight of memory. Selene had carved herself into me that night at the bonfire, branding me with the knowledge that I would never be free of her shadow. She had taught me to hate cages. To hate bonds. To hate anyone who thought they could own me.
And now fate had shackled me with the cruelest irony of all.
A mate bond with the on
e man in the world no one could escape.
The Lycan King.