Draven woke choking.
His hand flew to his chest as pain ripped through him—sudden, vicious, unfamiliar. It felt as if something had wrapped around his heart and squeezed without mercy.
He staggered out of bed, boots hitting the stone floor hard.
"What—" His breath came uneven. "What is this?"
The bond pulsed.
Not faintly.
Not distantly.
Violently.
Draven bent forward, bracing a hand against the wall as a wave of nausea hit. His wolf snarled inside him, restless, furious, confused.
She lives, it growled.
Draven clenched his jaw. "Impossible."
He had banished her.
Left her bleeding.
Sent her into a forest no omega survived.
And yet—
Pain flared again, sharper this time, dragging a hoarse sound from his throat. Images slammed into his mind without warning—blood-soaked white fabric, trembling hands clawing at the earth, a broken whisper carried on the wind.
Please… just stop.
Draven recoiled as if struck.
He straightened slowly, dread creeping in where certainty had once lived. His chest burned, the ache settling deep, refusing to fade.
The bond was not broken.
It was screaming.
Elara surfaced slowly, fear waking before she did.
Her first thought was pain.
Her second was run.
Her eyes snapped open.
Dark wood beams stretched above her, not branches. Firelight flickered softly, warm and steady, casting long shadows across the room. The air smelled of herbs, smoke, and something unfamiliar—clean, but not comforting.
She froze.
Her body felt… wrong.
Not numb. Not broken.
Wrapped.
Bandages hugged her side tightly, clean and expertly done. A dull ache lingered beneath them, but it was manageable. Her chest still hurt—deep, aching—but the agony had receded into something quieter, more watchful.
Elara tried to move.
The mattress shifted beneath her, and panic surged instantly. She scrambled back with a sharp gasp, heart racing, until her back hit the headboard.
"Don't move."
The voice came from the shadows near the fire.
Elara's breath hitched.
A man stepped into the light.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with silver threaded through dark hair that fell loose around his face. His eyes were an unsettling shade of pale gray—sharp, observant, far too calm.
Not pack.
Not rogue.
Something else.
She curled inward defensively, fingers digging into the blanket. "Where am I?" Her voice came out hoarse, fragile.
"Safe," he said simply.
She shook her head violently. "That's not an answer."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, brief and gone. "You're in my territory. Far from the eastern border."
Fear crawled up her spine. "Why?"
"Because the forest didn't kill you," he replied. "And I wasn't going to let it finish the job."
Elara swallowed hard. "Who are you?"
The man studied her for a long moment, as if weighing how much truth she could survive.
"Call me Rowan," he said at last. "I lead those who don't belong anywhere else."
Rogues.
Her heart stuttered.
He seemed to sense it. "Not the kind that hunt omegas," Rowan added calmly. "The kind that protect what the packs throw away."
Her breath trembled.
"You were marked," he continued, eyes dropping briefly to her collarbone. "Moon-marked. Bleeding. And still breathing."
His gaze sharpened. "That interested me."
Elara flinched as heat stirred suddenly beneath her skin.
A faint glow shimmered over her bandaged chest—silver-white, fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared.
Rowan's eyes narrowed.
"Well," he murmured. "That answers that."
"Answers what?" she demanded weakly.
"That the Moon Goddess isn't finished with you."
Elara's chest tightened painfully. "She already chose," she whispered. "And then she took it back."
"No," Rowan said softly. "She didn't."
A tremor ran through Elara's body. She pressed a hand to her chest, breath coming shallow as something deep inside her stirred—quiet, coiled, unfamiliar.
Her wolf shifted.
Not wounded.
Awake.
Fear flooded her eyes. "I don't want this," she whispered. "Whatever it is."
Rowan took a careful step back, giving her space. "Power rarely asks permission," he said. "Especially when it's born from pain."
Tears burned behind her eyes. "I don't trust you."
"That's good," he replied. "It means you'll survive."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not threatening.
Far away, Draven staggered again as the bond surged—stronger now, clearer, laced with something new.
Power.
His wolf snarled, excited and afraid.
She's changing.
Draven's fists clenched at his sides.
For the first time since the blood moon, fear crept into his chest—not of losing her…
But of what she might become without him.