The days after the Festival of Moons were nothing short of chaos. Every hallway, every courtyard, every corner of the palace hummed with whispers. The Heiress of Lycanthria is blessed or cursed with two mates. That was all anyone could talk about. Servants murmured it behind bowed heads, noble daughters gossiped about it over tea, and guards traded glances every time Aveloria walked past.
For years, she'd been pitied as the wolf who never shifted. Now, she was the talk of every clan in the realm, their curiosity slicing into her like blades.
Aveloria hadn't stayed long after the revelation. The weight of too many eyes and voices calling her name had been too much. The way Marek's expression flickered with confusion and desire, and Theron's calm, piercing eyes locked on hers with recognition, which made her chest tighten painfully.
So she had done what she'd always done when the world felt too heavy. She ran.
She remembered the feel of the cold air cutting across her face as she sprinted through the forest beyond the palace walls, barefoot and gasping. Her silk gown had torn against the brambles, her hair tangled in the wind. The moonlight painted silver on her skin, almost urging her to shift, to let go. But when she tried, nothing happened.
The sensation had come halfway, the pull of her wolf stirring inside her bones, the prickling under her skin as if her body was about to crack open and reform. But it never completed. Her claws started to form, then retreated. Her vision sharpened, then dimmed again. The wolf in her howled in frustration, trapped in limbo.
She fell to her knees in the dirt, shaking. In her first life, she had shifted when she and Marek accepted to be mates on the same night of her coming of age. They had run in the woods together, in their wolf forms, to bond. It had been a beautiful moment, at least until betrayal poisoned it. But now, she was reliving the same path, and everything was happening differently.
Maybe this was what rebirth felt like: confusion, disorientation, and the sense that time was looping around her in circles.
Aveloria didn't return to the palace that night. Instead, she stumbled through the woods until she reached the small clearing she and Galen had once claimed as their secret hideout, a simple stone hut hidden beneath layers of vine and moss.
She pushed open the door and collapsed against the wooden table, tears stinging her eyes.
The scent of pine, damp soil, and faint lavender filled the air, and memories flooded her.
This was where she and Galen used to sneak to as children, play cards, share stories, and sometimes sit silently when the palace felt too suffocating. Galen had always been there, steady and kind, but she'd never truly seen him before.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, snapping Aveloria from her train of thought.
"Aveloria?" a familiar voice called softly.
She turned, startled. Galen stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with concern and relief. He looked younger, stronger, and more grounded than she remembered. His sandy hair was rough showing that his hands had possibly ran through it a couple of times, and his brown eyes searched her face like they were trying to piece her back together.
"Everyone was worried about where you would be. You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, stepping in. "Half the guards are looking for you."
"I couldn't stay," she murmured. "I just…needed air."
"I figured you'd come here." He set down a small lantern, the light flickering across the walls. "You always do when things get too much."
She managed a small smile. "Still think you know me so well?"
He chuckled softly. "Better than most."
He moved closer and knelt in front of her. "You look shaken. What happened out here?"
Aveloria hesitated. She didn't know where to start. How could she explain the memories of another life, the pain of betrayal that hadn't even happened yet?
"Everything's changing," she whispered instead. "And I don't know how to stop it."
Galen frowned. "Is it about the festival?"
They haven't spoken since the festival. She nodded. "I felt it, the bond. Both of them."
He was silent for a long time. "Two mates," he said finally, his tone unreadable. "That's unheard of."
"I know."
She rubbed her hands together, trying to keep them from trembling. "In my dreams, I saw what happens when I choose wrong. I saw death, Galen. Mine."
He blinked, startled. "Dreams?"
She looked away. "Forget I said that. Everything feels like it's already written, like I'm walking a path I've been forced down once."
He reached out, placing his hand gently over hers. "Then maybe it's time to change the path."
Aveloria's eyes flickered up to meet his.
He let out a small huff.. "You're not the same girl you were before the festival. I can see it. You've got something burning in your eyes, like you're ready to fight."
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I am."
"Then stay here tonight," he said. "You'll be safe. No one knows this place exists anymore except us. I'll try to distract the guards lurking around."
The hideout was simple, with wooden walls, a small bed made from hay and cloth, and a table covered with old maps and hunting knives. But it felt safe. Safer than the palace full of secrets and lies.
He handed her a warm cloak and a cup of water as night deepened.
"You haven't changed much," she said, her voice low.
He raised an eyebrow. "That's a lie, and you know it."
She laughed softly. "Maybe a little broader."
He grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment. You should rest now. I'll be outside, watching." He turned around and left.
The tension lifted briefly, but the peace didn't last long.
The alarm bells from the city walls began to ring, waking Aveloria from her deep sleep. She saw Galen standing near the makeshift window.
"You did have a good sleep. I'm glad." He smiled heartily.
"Yeah. We should head back to the palace before my father brings hell on earth."
Galen chuckled. "He already did." He reached into his pocket and placed something in her hand. "Here."
It was a small pendant carved from black onyx, their childhood token, shaped like a crescent moon.
"I kept it," he said quietly. "Thought it might bring you luck one day."
She stared at it, her chest tightening. "You shouldn't have."
"Too late," he smiled. "Now it's yours again."
She looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet loyalty that had always been there. She wondered how she had never noticed before, how she had let someone like Marek cloud her vision so completely.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Always."
When Aveloria and Galen reached the nearest watchtower, they noticed the guards whispered in panic.
"They came out of nowhere," one stammered. "Four hunters, gone. Torn apart like…like animals."
"What kind of animal?" another demanded.
"Not a rogue," the first replied, shaking his head. "Too fast. Too strong. It looked…wrong. Its eyes glowed red. Skin pale as ash. The wolves were strong enough to bring them down!"
Aveloria froze, the word she didn't want to say pressed against her lips. "Wanderers."
Galen glanced at her, concern darkening his features. "Wanderers? You know something, don't you?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she stared toward the smoke rising from beyond the city gates, her pulse pounding.
"They aren't supposed to come this close," she whispered. "Not this soon."
"This soon? What do you mean?"
She caught herself, realizing how strange that sounded. "Oh! Nothing."
Galen didn't press her, but the look in his eyes said he noticed she was hiding something.
The last time the wanderers attacked this close, it was decades ago.
Aveloria went straight to the Throne Hall to see her father, but the Royal Council was in a meeting with him. For some reason unknown to her, she wasn't permitted inside, but she overheard fragments of conversation from behind the grand doors.
"Four young wolves made a report about spotting a dark shadow," Elder Cedric said. "But it could have been a rogue using dark magic to disguise himself as one of them."
"Or it could be a warning," came her father's voice, heavy with fatigue.
"Your Majesty," another elder replied smoothly, "rumors of Wanderers only stir panic. We must not act on unverified claims."
Her father sighed. "Fine. But double the patrols."
When the doors opened, Aveloria slipped away before anyone could see her.
She rushed back to her room, sat on the bed, and got lost in thought. The world felt like a loop she couldn't escape, every whisper of gossip, every shift in the wind reminding her of how the past had once destroyed her.
She thought about everything: her strange rebirth, the two mate bonds, the failed shift, and the return of the Wanderers. It all pointed to something bigger, something wrong with the flow of fate. Her rebirth wasn't just about saving herself. It was about rewriting the course of everything that went wrong.
Rowena had started her schemes even now. She'd been all smiles since the festival, pretending to be the caring sister, while her eyes flickered with calculation. Aveloria could already see how it would all unfold if she didn't intervene, how Marek would fall into Rowena's trap, how trust would twist into betrayal, and how her death would follow.
But this time, she wasn't going to let it happen. For too long, she had allowed others to decide for her: her father's counsel, her sister's schemes, her mate's betrayal. Not this time.
She felt something strange move all over her. Aveloria stood up and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were glowing faintly gold, and her wolf flickered within her like a shadow trying to break free.
Aveloria's heart thudded hard. The world around her felt charged, the air almost humming. She moved away from the mirror slowly, her body trembling as the faint shimmer of her wolf form rippled beneath her skin again.
This time, she didn't resist it. This time, she welcomed it.
The shift didn't complete, but it came closer, bones tightening, vision sharpening, heartbeat syncing to the rhythm of wolves. It was enough to make her feel her wolf stir and remind her that she was alive.
When it faded, she was left breathless but smiling.