The rain didn't wash away the shame; it only made it stick to my skin like a second, filthier pelt.
I stood in the center of the Sacred Circle, my knees sinking into the churning mud of the Silvermoon ritual grounds. Above me, the Blood Moon was a bruised, angry crimson, veiled by the weeping clouds. To any other wolf, this night was supposed to be a coronation,the moment the Fated Bond was sealed and a new era began.
To me, it was a slaughterhouse.
The snap of the bond breaking felt like a silver blade through my chest. It wasn't a clean cut; it was a jagged, agonizing tear that ripped through my soul, leaving my internal wolf howling in a vacuum of sudden, freezing emptiness.
"I, Jace of Silvermoon, future Alpha and heir to the Great Fang, reject you, Elara Vance, as my mate and my Luna."
Jace's voice didn't tremble. It was clear, resonant, and carried the weight of a physical blow. He stood on the raised dais, his golden hair plastered to his forehead, looking every bit the hero the pack expected him to be. Beside him, Selene,her silk dress clinging to her curves, her eyes gleaming with a triumph she didn't bother to hide,rested a manicured hand on his forearm.
I waited for the gasp. I waited for the Elders to cry out in protest at the sacrilege of breaking a fated match.
The pack circle didn't gasp; they laughed.
It started with a snicker from the front row,Jace's inner circle of Enforcers,and spread like a wildfire. The sound was more piercing than the thunder overhead.
"Look at her," Selene's voice hissed through the rain, pitched just loud enough for the front rows to hear. "An Omega who can't even shift properly, thinking she could lead the Silvermoon. The Moon Mother must have been drunk when she picked that stringy little thing for our Alpha."
I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, coated in the grey silt of the ritual pit. For years, I had endured. I had endured the scraps of food, the cold attic of the pack house, and the "accidental" bruises from training sessions where I was used as a glorified punching bag. I had endured it all because of the promise of this night. Because Jace, the boy who used to share his cloak with me when we were children, was my North Star.
But the boy was gone. In his place was a man who looked at me with nothing but disgusted pity.
"You are a blight on our lineage, Elara," Jace said, stepping down from the dais until he stood at the edge of the pit, looking down at me. "A mistake of the blood. By my authority, you are stripped of your rank. You are Packless. You have until the moon sets to leave our borders. If you are found on Silvermoon land by dawn, you will be hunted as a rogue."
My breath hitched. To be Packless was a death sentence. To be a rogue was to be fair game for any predator,wolf or otherwise,that haunted the Shadow-Vale.
"Jace, please," I whispered, my voice cracking. The "Show, Don't Tell" advice of my father echoed in my mind,*never beg for what is rightfully yours*,but the agony of the severed bond was making me delirious. "The Moon Mother joined us. You can't just,"
"The Moon Mother doesn't make mistakes, but she does give us tests," Jace countered, his eyes hardening into flint. "And my test was seeing if I was strong enough to cut away the rot. You are the rot, Elara."
He turned his back on me. That was the final blow. The ultimate dismissal.
As the rain turned the ritual grounds to mud, I realized my greatest strength,the ability to endure,had just become my death sentence. If I stayed, I would be hunted. If I left, I would starve or be torn apart.
I forced myself to stand. My legs felt like lead, and the hole in my chest where the bond had lived pulsed with a dull, rhythmic ache. I didn't look at the laughing faces. I didn't look at Selene, who was now pressing her lips to Jace's cheek in a public claim that violated every ancient law of our kind.
I turned and walked.
I walked past the Elders who looked away. I walked past the siblings I had served and the friends who had suddenly forgotten my name. Every step away from the center of the pack was a step into the mouth of a different kind of darkness.
The border of the Silvermoon territory was marked by Whispering Creek. Beyond it lay the Neutral Zone,a dense, suffocating stretch of ancient forest where the trees grew too close together and the shadows seemed to have teeth. It was the territory of the Obsidian Pack, led by the man they called the Savage King.
By the time I reached the creek, the rain had slowed to a miserable drizzle. My thin tunic was soaked through, sticking to my ribs. I paused at the water's edge, looking back at the distant glow of the Silvermoon torches. They were already celebrating. The music of the post-ceremony feast drifted on the wind.
They weren't mourning a lost mate. They were celebrating a cleansing.
I stepped into the freezing water. The current tugged at my ankles, trying to pull me down, but I scrambled up the muddy bank on the other side.
I was officially a rogue.
The forest here was different. It didn't smell of pine and home; it smelled of damp earth, iron, and something primal. Something old.
I hadn't gone more than a mile when the silence of the woods changed. The birds had stopped chirping. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. A low, vibrating hum began to resonate in the soles of my feet. It wasn't thunder.
It was a growl.
I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. From the darkness of a thicket of hemlocks, two eyes ignited. Not the golden-yellow of a standard wolf, nor the blue of an Omega.
These eyes were a searing, molten gold, burning with an intensity that felt like it was peeling back the layers of my skin.
Then came the scent. It hit me like a physical wave: cedarwood, rain-drenched earth, and a sharp, metallic tang of blood. It was an Alpha's scent, but it was heavier,thicker,than Jace could ever dream of being.
The wolf stepped into the faint, red light of the Blood Moon.
He was massive. His fur was the color of midnight, absorbing what little light remained. He didn't look like a wolf; he looked like a prehistoric nightmare made of muscle and malice. The scars across his muzzle spoke of a hundred battles he hadn't just survived, but won.
My inner wolf, usually silent and suppressed, suddenly shivered. But it wasn't a shiver of fear. It was a strange, frantic vibration of recognition.
The great black wolf didn't lunge. He lowered his head, sniffing the air, his nostrils flaring. He walked a slow, predatory circle around me, his paws making no sound on the forest floor.
I should have run. I should have screamed. But the rejection had left me hollowed out, and there was a strange peace in the idea of the end coming at the teeth of a King rather than the betrayal of a coward.
The wolf stopped directly in front of me. He huffed, a hot cloud of breath hitting my face, smelling of winter. Then, in a blur of shadow and bone-cracking shifts, the wolf was gone.
Standing in his place was a man who seemed to dwarf the very trees around him. He was naked to the waist despite the cold, his skin bronze and mapped with silver scars. His hair was a dark mane, and those golden eyes remained fixed on mine, unblinking.
Kaelen. The Savage King of the Obsidian Pack.
He stepped into my personal space, his heat radiating off him in waves. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gripping my chin, forcing me to look up. His touch didn't burn like Jace's; it grounded me.
He leaned down, his nose brushing the hollow of my throat,the exact spot where Jace's mark should have been. He inhaled deeply, a low, rumbling sound vibrating in his chest.
"You smell of Silvermoon," he rasped, his voice like grinding stones. "And you smell of a broken bond."
I couldn't find my voice. I could only stare into the gold of his eyes.
"They threw away a miracle," he whispered, his grip tightening just enough to be a claim, not a hurt. His eyes shifted, the gold bleeding into a glowing white that matched the moon. "They call you an Omega. They call you broken."
He leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over my ear.
"But your blood... your blood sings a different song, little wolf. A song of thrones and ancient fires."
He pulled back, his gaze raking over my bedraggled form. A dark, predatory smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Jace of Silvermoon is a fool. He didn't just reject a mate. He gave me the key to my kingdom."
Before I could move, he reached for my hand. He didn't ask. He didn't beg. He took his thumb, tipped with a claw that had stayed shifted, and sliced a thin line across his own palm, then mine.
He pressed our bleeding palms together.
The world exploded.
The silver blade that had pierced my heart earlier didn't just vanish,it turned into liquid fire. A new bond, thicker and darker than anything I had ever felt, slammed into my soul. It wasn't the polite, tethered bond of the Silvermoon; it was a heavy, iron chain that anchored me to the man standing before me.
The Blood-Bond.
My knees gave out, but Kaelen caught me, pulling my small frame flush against his massive chest.
"Welcome home, Elara," he growled into my hair. "Let them have their feast. Tomorrow, we will give them a war."