Elara's POV
The branch snapped under my foot, and I knew I was going to die.
I froze in the dark forest, clutching my single bag to my chest. My heart hammered so loud I was sure everything in these woods could hear it. One hour. Dante had given me one hour to leave pack territory, and I'd barely made it past the border before my legs gave out.
Six years of marriage. Six years of trying to be good enough, strong enough, wolf enough for an Alpha who looked at me like I was dirt on his expensive shoes. And this is how it ended—alone in a forest with nothing but a bag of clothes and a heart so broken I could barely breathe.
A growl rumbled through the trees behind me.
I spun around, my wolf senses—weak as they were—screaming danger. Yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. Then more eyes. And more.
Rogues.
"No," I whispered, backing away. "Please, no."
The largest one stepped into the moonlight, and my stomach dropped. He was massive, scarred, with foam dripping from his jaws. Rogue wolves lost their humanity over time, becoming more beast than person. This one looked like he'd been rogue for years.
"Pretty little wolf," he snarled, his voice barely human. "All alone. Smells like... pack rejection." He laughed, the sound making my skin crawl. "Even better. Nobody will miss you."
"I—I don't want trouble." My voice shook. I hated how weak I sounded, but I was weak. The difficult pregnancy with Kieran had left me fragile. Five years later, I still hadn't fully recovered. Dante used to complain about it, how I couldn't even shift properly anymore without getting exhausted.
More rogues circled around me. I counted six. No, seven. Too many.
"Just let me pass," I tried again, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I'm leaving the territory. I'm nobody. I'm not worth—"
The leader lunged.
I dove sideways, my bag flying from my hands. His claws missed my throat by inches. Training I'd almost forgotten kicked in—my father had taught me to fight before he died, before I was old enough to shift. I grabbed a fallen branch and swung hard, catching another rogue across the face.
He yelped and stumbled back.
"She's got fight!" one of them laughed. "This'll be fun."
They attacked together.
I fought like a wild animal, using the branch as a weapon, kicking and clawing. But I was so tired. My muscles screamed. My wolf tried to surface to help, but she was as weak as I was, damaged from years of Dante's emotional cruelty and whatever sickness had plagued me during pregnancy.
A rogue's teeth sank into my shoulder. I screamed and slammed my elbow into his face. He released me, but blood poured down my arm.
"Stop fighting," the leader growled, stalking closer. "Make this easy."
"Never." I spat blood at his feet. If I was going to die out here, rejected and alone, I'd die fighting. At least then I could face whatever came next with some dignity.
Kieran's face flashed in my mind. My baby boy who didn't even recognize me as his mother anymore. Who called Selena "Mommy" while I watched my heart shatter into pieces.
Maybe this was better. Maybe dying was easier than living with that pain.
The leader's claws came at my face. I ducked, but another rogue grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms. I struggled, but he was too strong.
"Say goodbye, little wolf," the leader whispered, raising his claws for the killing blow.
I closed my eyes and thought of Kieran one last time. I'm sorry I couldn't be strong enough for you, baby. I'm sorry I wasn't the mother you needed.
The claws tore into my chest.
Pain exploded through me—white-hot and terrible. I felt ribs crack. Felt something vital tear. The rogue holding me dropped me, and I crumpled to the forest floor.
Blood pooled beneath me, dark and warm. I couldn't breathe. Each attempt sent fire through my lungs.
This was it. I was dying. Rejected, broken, forgotten. Nobody would even know I was gone. Dante wouldn't care. Kieran wouldn't remember me. Selena had won everything.
The rogues circled my dying body, laughing.
"Weak," one spat. "Not even worth eating."
My vision blurred. Darkness crept in from the edges. I felt my heart struggling, slowing, preparing to stop.
But then—something else.
Deep in my chest, where the rogue's claws had torn through flesh and bone, I felt warmth. Not the warmth of blood, but something different. Something ancient.
It started as a tiny spark, like a candle flame in a dark room.
Then it grew.
The warmth spread through my veins like liquid starlight. Power I'd never felt before—power I didn't know existed—surged up from somewhere deep inside me. It felt like waking up after sleeping my entire life.
"What—" the rogue leader started to say.
The warmth in my chest exploded.
Silver light erupted from my body, so bright the rogues screamed and scattered. It poured from my wounds, from my eyes, from my mouth. I tried to scream but the light was too powerful, too overwhelming.
My broken ribs knitted back together. The gashes on my shoulder sealed shut. The darkness eating at my vision vanished.
And something else changed too.
I felt strong. Not just healed—strong. Like someone had been holding me underwater my whole life and I'd finally broken the surface. My wolf surged forward, no longer weak and damaged, but fierce and powerful and absolutely furious.
The silver light intensified until it was blinding.
Somewhere in the chaos, I heard the rogues fleeing, heard them crashing through the forest in terror. But I couldn't focus on them. I couldn't focus on anything except the power tearing through me, remaking me, transforming me into something I didn't understand.
My body lifted off the ground, suspended in the silver light.
My honey-blonde hair whipped around my face, and when I caught sight of it, I gasped—silver streaks ran through it now, glowing like moonlight.
What's happening to me?
The light reached a crescendo, so intense I thought I'd burn up from the inside. Then, just as suddenly as it started, it collapsed inward.
I fell.
Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.
"Easy," a deep voice said. Male. Unfamiliar. "I've got you."
I forced my eyes open—when had they turned silver?—and found myself staring up at the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. Silver hair, storm-gray eyes, elegant features that belonged on a movie star.
He looked down at me with awe and something else. Recognition.
"You're real," he whispered. "After all these years of searching... you're actually real."
"Who..." I tried to speak, but my voice came out weak. "Who are you?"
"Caelan Nightshade. Alpha King of the Northern Territories." His arms tightened around me protectively. "And you, little silver wolf, are the answer to a three-thousand-year-old mystery."
My vision swam. The power was fading now, leaving me exhausted.
"I don't... understand..."
"The Silvermoon bloodline," Caelan said softly, brushing hair from my face with gentle fingers. "The original wolf royalty. Everyone thought they were extinct. But they're not, are they?" His storm-gray eyes met mine. "Because you're one of them. You're the last Silvermoon heir."
The words didn't make sense. Royalty? Silvermoon? I was just Elara, the rejected mate, the forgotten mother, the weak wolf nobody wanted.
Wasn't I?
"That's... impossible," I managed.
Caelan smiled, sad and knowing. "Look at your hands."
I lifted my trembling hand and gasped. Silver light still danced across my skin like living starlight. Power hummed beneath my flesh—power I'd never felt before.
Power that felt like it had always been there, just waiting to wake up.
"What am I?" I whispered.
But before Caelan could answer, my body gave out completely. The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was his concerned face and the silver light finally fading from my skin.
And the last thing I heard was his voice, fierce and protective:
"Don't worry, little queen. You're safe now. I'll protect you from everyone who tried to break you—including yourself."