Morning came quietly to the Blackthorn Pack, as if the world itself were pretending nothing had happened the night before.
Sunlight filtered through the tall pines, casting soft gold across the pack grounds. Wolves moved about their routines—training, patrols, chores—with the same practiced efficiency they always had. Laughter echoed faintly from the younger members near the river. Life went on.
For Elara Moonvale, it felt unreal.
She stood at the edge of the pack's residential quarters, clutching the strap of the small leather bag slung over her shoulder. Everything she owned was inside it. Clothes folded too tightly. A small vial of healing herbs she'd gathered herself. A simple silver charm shaped like a crescent moon—her mother's.
That was all.
Her chest ached, a dull, constant pain that refused to fade. The mate bond still burned beneath her skin, an invisible wound that throbbed with every heartbeat. She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face.
Cold. Unyielding.
"I reject you."
The words replayed in her mind like a curse.
Elara pressed her fingers against her sternum, breathing slowly until the tightness eased just enough for her to move. She refused to cry again. She had done enough of that beneath the trees last night, her tears soaking into soil that had never offered her comfort.
She stepped forward.
The first wolf she passed—a woman she had trained beside for years—paused mid-step. Their eyes met. The woman hesitated, then looked away, quickening her pace.
Elara swallowed.
Whispers followed her.
"She really thought she'd be Luna…"
"Did you see the Alpha's face? Ice."
"Rejected. In front of everyone."
"Pathetic."
Each word slid beneath her skin like a blade. None of them were loud. None of them needed to be.
She kept walking.
At the central square, two guards stood watch near the Alpha's hall. They stiffened when they saw her approach. One of them, a young warrior with a scar along his jaw, shifted uncomfortably.
"Elara," he said, uncertain.
She stopped a few feet away. "I'm leaving."
Silence.
The other guard glanced toward the Alpha's hall, then back at her. "You… you didn't receive permission."
Elara let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Permission?"
The guard didn't answer.
She straightened her shoulders. "I was rejected. I have no rank. No claim. I don't belong here."
The words tasted bitter, but they were true.
After a tense moment, the guards stepped aside.
Elara passed through the gates without looking back.
---
The forest welcomed her with cool shade and birdsong, but the sense of relief she expected never came. Instead, the bond tugged at her relentlessly, pulling her heart backward even as her feet carried her forward.
Kael.
She hated that his name still echoed inside her.
Each step away from the pack felt heavier than the last. Her wolf stirred restlessly within her, confused and aching. It didn't understand rejection. It only understood the pull—the ancient, undeniable call of a mate.
"Quiet," Elara whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. "Please."
The wolf whimpered, then retreated, leaving behind a hollow ache.
By the time the sun climbed higher, Elara reached a clearing near the river. She dropped her bag and sank onto a fallen log, exhaustion crashing over her all at once. Her body trembled—not from weakness, but from everything she'd been holding back.
She closed her eyes.
Images flickered behind her lids: Kael standing tall beneath the moon. His voice cutting through the night. The way he never once hesitated.
Her fingers curled into fists.
"I won't beg," she murmured to the empty forest. "I won't break."
The wind stirred, brushing through her hair like a gentle touch. For a fleeting moment, she felt… watched. Not in the way she had last night, not threatening or invasive—but ancient. Patient.
The feeling faded as quickly as it came.
Elara stood.
If she stayed here, she would rot in her own pain. She needed distance. Space. Somewhere the bond wouldn't scream at her with every breath.
She followed the river downstream.
---
Back at the Blackthorn Pack, Alpha Kael Blackthorn stood in the training yard, unmoving.
The early morning sun glinted off his dark hair, highlighting the sharp lines of his face. Warriors sparred nearby, the clang of metal and the thud of bodies hitting the ground filling the air—but Kael heard none of it.
His chest burned.
The bond pulsed beneath his ribs, furious and unrelenting. It had not weakened overnight. If anything, it had grown stronger, angrier, as if punishing him for his choice.
He clenched his jaw.
Control.
That was all that mattered.
"Alpha."
Beta Rowan approached, his expression cautious. "The patrols report that Elara has left pack territory."
Kael's hands tightened at his sides.
"Good," he said curtly.
Rowan studied him for a moment. "She left alone."
Kael turned, golden eyes flashing. "I said good."
Rowan said nothing, but the silence spoke volumes.
Kael forced himself to turn back toward the training yard. The warriors froze the moment his gaze swept over them.
"Continue," he ordered.
They obeyed instantly.
Still, the bond burned.
He could feel her absence like a missing limb. The air itself felt wrong without her scent woven through it. He had expected relief—expected the bond to weaken once she was gone.
Instead, it clawed at him.
She is weak, he reminded himself. Unfit to stand beside an Alpha. The pack would never accept her.
And yet…
Last night, when he had spoken the rejection, something in her eyes had shattered. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Quietly.
That look haunted him now.
"Focus," he growled under his breath.
His wolf snarled in response.
---
By nightfall, Elara collapsed.
She didn't remember when her legs gave out—only that one moment she was walking, and the next she was on her knees, breath coming in sharp gasps. The forest around her blurred, moonlight filtering through the canopy in fractured silver.
Her vision swam.
The bond flared violently, pain radiating outward from her chest. She cried out, clutching at the earth, fingers digging into soil and roots.
"Please," she whispered. "Stop…"
Her wolf screamed.
Silver light flickered around her, faint at first, then stronger. The crescent charm at her neck grew warm, almost hot, against her skin.
The ground beneath her seemed to hum.
Elara gasped as energy surged through her veins—not painful, but overwhelming. Images flooded her mind: ancient wolves bathed in moonlight, silver markings etched into their skin; a woman standing beneath a full moon, eyes glowing with divine power.
A voice echoed—not spoken, but felt.
[You have been wounded.]
Elara's eyes snapped open.
[But you are not broken.]
The silver light dimmed, leaving her trembling and breathless. She collapsed forward, consciousness slipping away.
---
When she woke, the first thing she noticed was warmth.
A blanket covered her shoulders. A fire crackled nearby. The scent of unfamiliar wolves filled the air—strong, but not threatening.
She sat up slowly, heart racing.
"You're awake."
A man stood across the fire, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair the color of midnight and eyes a deep, steady gray. Power rolled off him—not oppressive, but controlled.
An Alpha.
Elara stiffened instinctively.
"Easy," he said calmly. "You're safe."
Her fingers curled into the blanket. "Where am I?"
"Nightfall territory," he replied. "I'm Alpha Lucien."
Her breath caught.
Another Alpha.
Lucien studied her quietly, his gaze lingering on the faint silver markings still glowing beneath her skin. Something like surprise—and recognition—flickered across his expression.
"You carry the Moon's mark," he said softly.
Elara swallowed.
"I was rejected," she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "By my mate. I don't belong anywhere."
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"Then Blackthorn is a fool," he said simply.
The bond in her chest stirred—confused, restless.
Lucien met her gaze, unflinching.
"You can stay here," he said. "As long as you need."
Outside, the moon rose higher, silver and watchful.
And far away, Alpha Kael Blackthorn woke with a snarl, his bond burning like fire in his veins.
Something had changed.
And he could feel it.