The city never slept. Not really.
Even when the pack gatherings faded into silence, London's heartbeat thrummed in neon lights and the hum of traffic.
Adanna walked aimlessly, her shawl pulled tight, hair damp with mist. Her body ached, but the pain in her chest dwarfed it all. She had left Hyde Park hours ago, yet the Alpha's words, Alexander's rejection, still clung to her like smoke.
You are nothing.
The words replayed with every step, echoing until she wanted to claw them out of her head.
She found herself in Soho, where music spilled from clubs and drunken laughter rattled down alleys. The smell of beer, smoke, and cheap perfume clung to the air. No one here cared who she was. No one whispered about cursed blood. She was invisible, and for a fleeting moment, that anonymity felt like mercy.
She ducked into a small pub, one tucked between a tattoo parlor and a shuttered bookstore. The place was dim, noisy but not full. She slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered the cheapest pint she could afford.
The glass trembled slightly in her hands as she lifted it. She hated beer, hated the bitter taste, but she welcomed the burn down her throat. Anything to silence the bond that still throbbed faintly, mocking her even after being shattered.
At the far corner, a group of men shouted at a football match on the TV. A woman laughed too loudly at some joke from her companion. The bartender wiped down the counter with bored efficiency. Life went on. The world spun.
But Adanna felt like she'd been hollowed out.
She stared at the bubbles rising in her glass. Why am I still here? she thought. What's left? No pack. No wolf. No mate. Nothing.
Her grip tightened until her knuckles whitened. A bitter laugh slipped past her lips, startling herself. The bartender glanced at her but said nothing.
Hours blurred. Pints emptied. She didn't remember standing, only that her legs were unsteady as she stumbled out into the cool night.
The fog rolled low in the alley, curling around the yellow glow of street lamps. Her boots echoed against the wet pavement.
That's when she collided with something—no, someone.
A wall of muscle. Solid, unmoving.
She staggered back, muttering, "Sorry."
Her eyes lifted, and the apology died in her throat.
He was tall, broader than most men she'd ever seen, with shoulders that seemed made to bear the weight of the world. His hair caught the light—a pale, startling white that looked almost silver. His eyes, stormy grey, pinned her in place. For a breathless moment, it was as if he looked right through her.
The world fell silent.
Her stomach twisted, not with the familiar pull of a mate bond—thank the Moon, she couldn't survive that again—but with something else. A raw, unsettling awareness that set her nerves alight.
He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just studied her, his gaze dark and unreadable.
Adanna's heart raced. "What?" she snapped, defensive.
Still, he said nothing. His expression was carved from stone, save for the faintest flicker of… recognition?
Then, just as abruptly, he stepped back. Without a word, he melted into the fog, his tall figure vanishing into shadow as if he had never been there.
Adanna stood frozen, breath sharp in her lungs. Her skin prickled where his arm had brushed hers.
"Who the hell…" she whispered, but the night offered no answer.
Shaking, she pulled her shawl tighter and stumbled onward, her chest tight.
She didn't know it yet.
Didn't know that she had just collided with the exiled son of the Alpha.
Didn't know that her life had just shifted, irreversibly, onto a darker, deadlier path
********************************** Adanna didn't sleep.
She tried—she curled up on the lumpy mattress in her small rented room above the laundromat, pressed her face into the thin pillow, wrapped herself in her shawl as if it could keep the ache out. But every time her eyes closed, the stranger's face flashed in the dark.
Those silver eyes. The way he didn't flinch, didn't ask, didn't apologize. Just looked.
Like he knew her.
Like he recognized something she didn't.
By morning, her body felt heavy, her thoughts hazy. She dragged herself downstairs, bought a stale pastry from the corner shop, and forced herself onto the busy pavement. London was awake, bustling. Taxis honked, vendors shouted, cyclists cursed. But Adanna moved like a ghost among them.
She wandered until her feet carried her to Camden Market. Here, among the patchwork of vintage stalls and smoky food stands, she could almost forget. Almost.
She ducked into a tea shop, ordering the cheapest brew, and sat by the window. The warmth of the cup against her palms steadied her—barely.
Two tables away, voices drifted over. Two men, hunched close, speaking low.
"…Crescent Moon pack's not what it used to be," one said, voice rough with age. "After the wars, after the exile, they turned soft. Started sheltering rogues."
The other snorted. "Fools. Rogues bring trouble."
"Maybe," the older one said, leaning in, "but if you're desperate—if you've nowhere else—they'll take you. No questions asked. They've got healers, food, safety. In Hampstead Heath, of all places."
Adanna's heart thudded painfully. Her cup clinked against the saucer, hands trembling.
Crescent Moon.
She'd heard whispers before, dismissed them as rumors. A sanctuary pack? One that took in the broken, the unwanted?
For the first time in weeks, something flickered in her chest. Not hope—not yet—but a direction.
She rose quickly, nearly knocking her chair over, and tossed a few coins on the table. The men barely noticed as she slipped out into the market crowd.
Her steps carried her north, toward Hampstead, though the city seemed endless, the walk unforgiving. Hours passed. She was hungry, tired, but the thought of Crescent Moon tugged her forward.
By late afternoon, the city shifted. The tall buildings thinned into quieter streets, lined with old brick homes and ivy. Hampstead Heath stretched wide and green, fog rolling across the open fields.
Adanna paused at the edge of the park. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
What if it was a lie? What if Crescent Moon was nothing more than another cruel rumor? She couldn't survive another rejection.
But she couldn't turn back either.
She stepped into the grass. The trees loomed, their branches clawing at the grey sky.
She hadn't walked far when the air shifted.
A presence. Heavy. Watchful.
Her pulse spiked. She spun, scanning the mist.
And there, between the trees, a silhouette. Broad shoulders. Pale hair catching what little light broke through the fog.
Her breath caught.
Him.
The stranger from Soho.
He stood still, silent, as though he'd been waiting.
Adanna's throat went dry. "You…"
The word barely left her lips before he stepped forward, and the fog seemed to close around them both.