Adanna woke before dawn, as she always did.
The Scarlet Moon Pack compound was quiet at that hour, a hush that came just before the day's first stirrings. Her small attic room creaked with the shifting of the old beams, a faint draft curling through the cracks in the window. She wrapped her mother's worn shawl around her shoulders and sat on the edge of the narrow cot, staring at the dark ceiling.
Another day. Another battle to simply exist.
The silence should've been peaceful, but inside her chest was the familiar knot—a mix of restlessness and dread. She'd grown used to it, the way one grows used to an ache that never heals. Being the Omega with no wolf meant she was never allowed to forget her place. She carried it in every stare, every whispered insult when she passed by.
Her wolf had never come. Not on her first full moon, not on any moon after that. At eighteen, the elders had muttered that it was a delay. At twenty, they said perhaps the bond was weak. By twenty-two, they stopped pretending. She was broken. Cursed.
And Tristan, the Alpha, had ensured no one forgot it.
Adanna rose, bare feet padding across the wooden floor. She pulled her hair into a messy knot, not caring that strands fell loose around her face. She couldn't afford vanity, not here. Grabbing the basket by the door, she descended the narrow staircase into the chill of the morning.
The kitchen was already busy. Women stirred pots, boys carried trays, and the scent of baking bread filled the air. Her job was clear—fetch water, scrub, serve, repeat. Always the tasks no one else wanted.
"Move faster, cursed one," hissed Mara, one of the kitchen matrons, as Adanna passed. "We don't need your shadow lingering over the food."
Adanna bit the inside of her cheek and kept walking. She had long since learned silence was the sharpest weapon she had. Words only gave them more to mock.
She pushed open the back door and stepped into the frosty morning. The compound sprawled across Hyde Park, a maze of old stone halls and newer glass-fronted extensions, their mix of tradition and wealth flaunted for anyone who came near. It was strange, she often thought, how they built their homes over ancient roots—roots watered by blood and cruelty.
She walked the path toward the well, the basket bumping against her hip. Two young wolves lounged nearby, shoulders broad, confidence oozing from them. They looked up as she passed.
"No wolf, no worth," one muttered.
"Careful," the other smirked, "she'll curse your pups."
They laughed, loud and sharp, and Adanna's shoulders stiffened. She didn't turn, didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. She kept walking, breath steaming in the morning air.
At the well, she dropped the bucket down, listening to the hollow splash as it met the water below. Her reflection rippled on the surface—dark eyes too serious for her age, hair a wild mess, lips pressed thin. She barely recognized the girl staring back.
Her mother's shawl hung heavy around her shoulders. A pang hit her chest at the thought. If her mother were alive, things would've been different. She would've had someone to stand beside her when the pack spat their venom. Someone to remind her she wasn't just… nothing.
But her mother was gone. Slain in that raid years ago, when Alpha Tristan had ordered his warriors to "purify" the cursed outskirts. And Adanna, barely fifteen then, had watched her mother's last breath fade into the dirt.
She hauled the bucket up, arms straining, and filled her basket's jars one by one.
As she worked, voices drifted from the main hall, louder than usual. There was a buzz in the air—excitement, sharp and electric. She didn't need to ask why. Tonight was the full moon ceremony.
Her stomach twisted.
Every full moon, the pack gathered under the open sky, shifting together, celebrating the bond that made them strong. For Adanna, it was always the longest night of the month. Watching them transform while she remained flesh and bone, human and hollow—it was agony dressed as ritual.
This time would be worse.
This ceremony was special, a fated mate recognition. Alexander, the Alpha's heir, would be announcing his bond. Everyone whispered about it. Everyone anticipated it.
Adanna knew why.
She had felt it months ago, the pull deep in her chest. The spark in her veins when Alexander touched her wrist at the training grounds. The way her breath caught, her wolfless soul aching for something it couldn't explain. It had to be him. Her fated mate.
It should've been her salvation.
Instead, she knew it would be her ruin.
Alexander had made no secret of his disdain for her. He, more than anyone, reveled in her humiliation. He wouldn't want her as his mate. If the bond was real—and her gut told her it was—then tonight, before the whole pack, he would reject her.
The thought curdled in her stomach like poison.
"Adanna!" a voice snapped. She turned to see Mara storming down the path, hands on her hips. "Do you plan to daydream all morning? Move, girl! The Alpha's hall must be spotless for tonight!"
Adanna swallowed her retort and lifted the basket. Her arms trembled under the weight, but she straightened her spine and walked past Mara without a word.
Back inside, she scrubbed floors until her knees ached, polished silver until her hands stung. The hours crawled, the buzz of anticipation growing louder with every passing moment. Wolves moved through the halls in fine clothes, whispers trailing behind them like smoke.
By evening, the pack would gather in Hyde Park's sacred clearing, beneath the ancient oaks that had seen centuries of moonlight. By evening, her fate would be sealed.
Adanna stole a moment to herself in her room as dusk settled. She sat on her bed, staring at the bundle of clothes laid out for her. Plain, simple. She was expected to attend, not as a wolf, not as a warrior's mate-to-be, but as a shadow—there to witness, not belong.
Her heart pounded.
She touched her mother's shawl, clutching it tight. The fabric was frayed, but it smelled faintly of lavender, of safety.
"Give me strength," she whispered, though she no longer knew who she was asking—her mother, the moon, or the silent wolf buried inside her.
Downstairs, the horns sounded, calling the pack to gather.
Adanna rose, each step heavy as stone. Tonight, she would walk into the fire.
The sacred clearing in Hyde Park was alive with firelight and the restless energy of hundreds of wolves. Torches lined the circle, flames licking the night air, casting flickering shadows across the ancient oaks. The full moon was a pale, swollen orb above, its pull thick in the air.
Adanna stood at the edge of the gathering, shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She didn't need to move closer—she was already visible enough, her presence like a blemish against the shining spectacle of the pack. Heads turned, whispers spreading like wildfire.
"Why is she even here?"
"Cursed blood shouldn't be allowed at a ceremony."
"She'll sour the bond."
She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. Her breath came slow, controlled. If she reacted, they'd win. If she broke, they'd revel in it. So she stood, spine straight, chin high, as though she were not drowning inside.
The Alpha, Tristan, stepped into the circle. His presence was commanding, his tall frame radiating authority. His dark eyes swept the crowd with calculated weight, silencing every whisper. He raised his hands, and the pack bowed their heads.
"Tonight," he declared, his voice a deep boom that carried through the trees, "we honor the sacred bond of the Moon. Tonight, my son, Alexander, announces his mate. The one destined for him by fate itself."
The crowd erupted in cheers, stomping feet, howls rising to the sky. Adanna's stomach turned. Her pulse hammered in her throat.
Alexander stepped forward, pride etched into every line of his sharp features. He was handsome—strikingly so, with raven-black hair and eyes that gleamed like obsidian. Wolves adored him. Warriors followed him. And yet, Adanna saw only the cruelty beneath his polished smile.
He looked around the crowd, drawing out the suspense. Her chest tightened when his gaze landed on her. For a split second, it was just them. Her breath caught, her body thrumming with the invisible pull of the bond.
Yes. It was real. He felt it too—he had to.
But his smile curved, cruel and mocking.
He strode toward her, and the crowd parted in stunned silence. Gasps echoed, murmurs racing. Adanna's throat closed as he stopped before her. Her heart screamed against her ribs.
He reached out, brushing her cheek with his knuckles, a mockery of tenderness. The bond surged, white-hot and undeniable. Her knees nearly buckled under the weight of it.
"This…" he said loudly, for all to hear, "…this cursed thing dares to believe she is my mate."
Laughter exploded around them, sharp and brutal. Adanna's chest burned, humiliation searing her skin. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Alexander's voice rose, every word slicing into her. "The Moon must be mocking me, to tie my fate to an Omega with no wolf. A pathetic shadow of what a mate should be."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some looked shocked, others delighted. Tristan stood tall, unflinching, his approval silent in the set of his jaw.
Adanna's lips trembled. "Alexander…"
"Don't," he spat, his voice dripping venom. "You are nothing. You will never stand beside me. I reject you, Adanna of cursed blood, before the Moon and before this pack."
The bond inside her snapped, a searing pain that tore through her chest like claws. She stumbled, clutching her shawl as if it could hold her together. A strangled sound escaped her throat, half sob, half gasp.
The crowd roared. Some cheered his strength, others whispered about the shame. Adanna barely heard them. Her world was breaking, every piece of her unraveling in the firelight.
Her knees buckled, and she fell onto the cold earth. Laughter rang in her ears, the voices of her pack rising in cruel harmony.
Alexander stepped back, smirking, victorious in his humiliation of her. "Go crawl in the shadows where you belong," he sneered.
Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not before them. She forced her body up, every muscle screaming. She stood, shaking but tall, and lifted her chin.
The firelight painted her face in gold and shadow. Her voice was hoarse, but it carried. "You think you've broken me," she whispered, low enough that only those closest heard. "But this… this is only the beginning."
For the first time, Alexander faltered, his smirk flickering.
Adanna turned, pushing through the crowd, ignoring their jeers and taunts. Her shawl trailed behind her like a tattered banner of defiance.
The night swallowed her as she left the clearing, the sound of celebration echoing behind her. Every step was agony, but she didn't stop.
Because deep inside, beneath the shattered pieces of her heart, something stirred. A whisper she had never felt before.
Not her wolf—no, that silence remained. But something darker, colder, older. A shadow curling at the edges of her soul, waiting.
Waiting for the moment she would finally set it free.