The one million moon-credits from the Blackspire Matriarch arrived sooner than expected.

I clutched the stamped lunar seal so tightly my fingers trembled as I sprinted toward the healer-sanctum, desperate to pay the deposit for my father’s moon-mending ritual. His shattered leg couldn’t wait any longer.

But moments after I handed the payment to the registrar and prepared to confirm the ritual time with the High Moon-Healer, a young maid stepped in front of me.

“All the bone-menders… every last one,” she whispered, eyes wide with fear, “have been reassigned.”

I blinked at her, stunned, thinking it must have been a clerical shift or ritual scheduling error.

When I asked for an explanation, she leaned in, voice barely above a breath.

“It was Alpha Draven’s command. The specialists were summoned to tend to Lady Molthaven.”

Myrielle Molthaven. The name hit me like a blow.

“Lady Molthaven hasn’t eaten in days,” the maid went on nervously. “She fainted this morning… and twisted her ankle when she fell. The Alpha was worried about long-term damage, so he ordered the entire bone-menders circle to examine her.”

A piercing ring filled my ears. The hallway warped and tilted.

I seized the girl’s wrist. “Please—my father can’t wait! His leg won’t heal on its own. He needs the ritual now!”

The maid swallowed, but her gaze slid away.

No one in the healer-sanctum dared defy an Alpha’s directive.

Half out of my mind with panic, I ran toward Myrielle’s recovery chamber, only to have two pack sentinels block my way.

From inside, I heard her fragile, airy voice.

“Draven… is that Lunessa outside?”

The door slid open.

Alpha Draven stood framed in the light—tall, composed, his aura cold enough to frost the stone floors. His dark eyes swept over my disheveled face and for a heartbeat, his brows drew together.

Then his voice struck like a blade.

“Lunessa, how could you be so heartless? Myrielle hasn’t eaten because she feels guilty about you. Now she’s hurt herself and you dare question me for calling healers? You’re behaving like a pup.”

Something inside me cracked. “He’s tended our pack’s far fields since before I took my first breath! If that leg gives out—his whole world crumbles! You know what this means for him!”

He exhaled sharply, dismissive. “It’s only a few days’ delay. He’s not dying. Stop causing a scene.”

My blood turned to ice.

Inside, Myrielle sat on her bed, wrapped in pale furs, her figure trembling just enough to seem delicate. She lifted her shimmering eyes toward him.

“Draven… don’t scold her. It’s my fault. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be so upset. Maybe you should just let the healers—”

“Don’t worry about her,” Draven interrupted softly, adjusting her blanket with tender care. “She’s being unreasonable.”

Something in me shattered beyond repair.

Tears blurred my vision as my hand swung on instinct.

Crack.

My palm met his cheek with a sharp, echoing slap.

“If the healer-sanctum won’t treat my father,” I choked out, chest heaving, “then I’ll take him elsewhere.”

Draven’s expression iced over, fury flickering in his eyes. But before he could speak, Myrielle laughed—a quiet, mocking trill.

“Transfer him?” she echoed sweetly.

“You think moving a patient in his condition is easy? What if something goes wrong during carriage? Can you afford another setback?”

Her gaze drifted lazily toward me, a poisonous glimmer lighting her eyes.

“But…” she added, voice dripping honey, “I might be willing to help. If you kneel. Beg me properly. Press your forehead to the ground and apologize.”

My body stiffened.

Draven—The man who once swore to protect me—didn’t even flinch.

He simply nodded and said, calm and cold,

“She’s offering you mercy, Lunessa. Stop being stubborn. And now you’re striking people? Really?”

He touched his cheek, unreadable. “Do as she asks. Myrielle deserves to be happy.”

I looked between them—the Alpha I had trusted with my heart and the woman who now smiled at my father’s suffering.

My vision blurred until both of them became distorted shapes. But my father… my father was still waiting.

Biting back a sob, I lowered myself to my knees.

Bang!

My forehead struck the stone tiles, pain exploding through my skull.

Blood trickled down my temple. I bowed again.

And again.

My voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and broken. “Please… I’m begging you… let my father have his ritual…”

The world dimmed at the edges.

From the bed, Myrielle’s lilting voice drifted out. “Draven, my ankle really hurts… will you massage it?”

Without looking at me—not even once—Draven knelt beside her and began to gently rub her foot.

Something inside me went utterly, completely silent.

Time passed in a blur.

Eventually, Draven finally lifted his head, frowning slightly as though annoyed by the sight of me bleeding on the floor.

“That’s enough,” he said flatly.

He turned to his beta-maid.

“Arrange the moon-menders. Her father will have his ritual.”

My entire body trembled as I pushed myself upright, using the wall for support. My legs felt like lead, as if bound in chains.

Draven stepped toward me, hand outstretched—almost gentle.

I flinched back violently.

For a split second, shock flickered in his eyes.

As if he truly couldn’t comprehend why I would recoil from his touch.

But I didn’t wait.

Ignoring the agony ripping through my skull and chest, I turned and staggered down the stone passageway—toward my father’s chamber.

After my father’s moon-mending ritual, the Senior Bone-Mender told me that although the procedure had technically succeeded, the delay had weakened the bone’s lunar fusion. There would be lasting consequences.

My legs buckled and I collapsed onto the cold stone floor of the healer-sanctum. Tears poured down my face, unstoppable.

If Alpha Draven hadn’t commanded the entire Bone-Mender Circle to tend to Myrielle’s twisted ankle, my father wouldn’t have suffered like this.

When my sobs finally quieted, I sensed another presence in the stone passageway.

Calder—true heir of the Blackspire Pack, the Alpha-born son. My former neighbor.

He had always been aloof. As pups, every time I tried to approach him, he pushed me away. Even after he returned from warrior training at the Capital Moonscourt, he stayed distant. We were never close.

Now, his expression remained unreadable, but he extended a clean handkerchief without a word.

I blinked, dazed, before accepting it.

“I know you swore to my mother that you would sever your bond with Draven,” he said calmly. “But understand this—leaving him without endangering your pack won’t be simple.”

My fingers tightened around the cloth, but my voice held steady. “I know. But I’m still leaving.”

Calder’s dark wolf-eyes lingered on me for a long moment before he spoke again. “If you’ve truly decided, I can assist you. Dissolving the mate-mark, relocating your kin to another territory—even a new life beyond the borders. I can arrange all of it.”

My heartbeat stuttered. My throat tightened. I wanted to ask why he would help me, but I feared the question would make the fragile offer vanish. So I simply nodded.

He paused, then said casually, almost lazily, “When the time comes, all I’ll need in return… is Draven’s weakness.”

He turned and strode away. I clutched the handkerchief, the pain inside me slowly crystallizing into numbness.

The Blackspire Pack—once you entered, escaping was harder than getting in.

When Draven and I had just come of age, he had dragged me—almost desperately—to the Pack Bonding Shrine.

“Lunessa, I’m too weak right now,” he had whispered, eyes red, arms trembling as he held me close. “If we bind early, I can protect you. I swear I’ll give you a real mating ceremony later—grand and radiant—so no one dares disrespect you.”

I believed him. I never imagined that “later” would never come, that the ceremony he promised was never even planned.

And once the mate-mark was etched, escaping became almost impossible.

Leaving Draven wasn’t just ending a bond—it meant breaking the web of power and pack politics ensnaring me.

If I sought separation, the Elder Alpha would rage. Draven himself would never release me—unless I walked away with nothing and he willingly signed the unbinding rites.

But why should I leave with nothing?

I was the one who saved his life when he was bleeding out under the Blood Moon. I was the one who gave up my scholarship at Moonscourt Academy to remain by his side.

Why should the one to walk away empty-handed… be me?

Still, I knew Draven. He couldn’t distinguish love from guilt—he was addicted to repaying kindness.

Thankfully, Calder had promised to handle the rituals and parchments. All I needed was Draven’s alpha mark.

That night, I returned home with a basket of ingredients to brew moon-herb broth for my father.

The moment the broth finished simmering, I heard footsteps.

Draven entered—carrying Myrielle in his arms.

Her ankle was wrapped in glowing lunar gauze. She leaned into him, pale and delicate, as though the slightest breeze could shatter her.

“Lunessa, you’re home?” Draven frowned, worry flashing through his eyes. “You’re still not fully healed. You should be resting in the healer-sanctum. Let the house maid handle the cooking.”

I met his gaze evenly. “You sent all the maids to Myrielle’s manor to make her moon-desserts. Remember?”

It had been an offhand remark—Myrielle claiming she preferred my maid’s food over hers. The next day, Draven sent every maid we had to her estate, leaving me feverish, cooking alone.

He froze, realization flickering in his eyes. His expression tightened before he smoothly shifted the subject.

“Regardless… Myrielle didn’t want to remain in the healer-sanctum. She’ll stay here for a few days—until her injury recovers.”

“Do as you wish,” I whispered, turning back to the simmering pot. I refused to dwell on why Myrielle had abandoned her mansion full of servants just to be coddled by him.

My words made him stiffen. His brows pinched and he kept watching me, as though trying to decode what had changed.

Then Myrielle’s voice—soft as dew—broke the silence.

“Draven… I’m a little hungry. Lunessa’s broth smells wonderful. Do you think… I might have a taste?”

He immediately turned. “Lunessa, serve her a bowl. She ensured the healers tended to your father today. She wanted to make amends.”

Make amends?

The very wolf who delayed his ritual until he nearly ended up lame—now wanted to “make amends for it” by sipping my broth?

But refusing her would endanger my father.

So I lowered my head and ladled the broth.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Myrielle murmured, feigning distress. “This must be for Elder Silverhaze. I’ve caused so many troubles—I shouldn’t take a drop…”

“It’s fine,” Draven said quickly, soothing. “Lunessa doesn’t blame you. Right, Lunessa?”

His sharp gaze pinned me like a command.

My throat closed. No words came out.

Seeing my silence, Myrielle’s eyes gleamed with victory. She stepped forward, pretending to reach for the bowl.

“Lunessa, you’re so kind,” she cooed. “Draven and I grew up together. You’re his mate—I truly hope we can get along.”

Her hand brushed mine—soft, fragile.

Then, hidden from Draven’s line of sight, she pressed my wrist onto the scorching rim of the moon-forged pot.

“Ah—!” White-hot agony shot up my arm. My knees almost gave way.

“What happened?!” Draven rushed toward us.

In that split second, Myrielle released me—and knocked the bowl over.

Scalding broth splashed across my arms and chest. I screamed. A few drops hit her skin, leaving tiny red marks.

“Ah!” she cried dramatically, collapsing into his arms. “Draven, I only wanted to apologize… but Lunessa grew angry—she said she’d rather spill the broth than let me taste it! If I hadn’t moved, I would’ve been burned much worse…”

She showed him her faintly reddened skin, trembling like a frightened pup.

Draven’s face hardened.

“It wasn’t me!” I cried, showing my blistered hand. “She grabbed me—she pushed my hand onto the pot!”

But he didn’t even look.

“Lunessa,” he said coldly, “how could you be so vicious? Do you understand how important her hands are? Are you trying to ruin Myrielle’s healer training?”

“Draven!” I choked, tears blurring my vision. “Look at me! I’m the one burned—far worse than she is! Why won’t you believe me?!”

His glare turned sharp with disgust. “If she hadn’t dodged, she’d be the one burned. How could you stoop so low? It’s sickening.”

His words struck harder than any blow.

He turned away and cradled Myrielle protectively. “Don’t fear. I’ll take you back to the healer-sanctum.”

As I watched them, something inside me tore open.

Then Draven barked an order that shattered whatever strength I had left.

“Someone lock Lunessa in the cold cavern. Let her reflect on her behavior.”

The breath left my lungs.

He knew—he knew I feared the cold. He knew the cavern was kept eighteen degrees below freezing by lunar crystals.

And yet, he still chose to cast me into it.

So this was his love—the love he once swore would protect me.

The enforcers seized me by the arms.

“It wasn’t me! Moon above—open your eyes! She set this up! Myrielle baited the trap, not me!” I thrashed against their grip, my voice cracking.

“Draven!” I cried, desperate. “Weren’t you the one who swore to shield me? Look at me—look at my hands!”

But no one listened. Not the enforcers. Not him.

The only reply was the echoing thud of an iron cell door slamming shut.

Shadow swallowed me whole.

The burn on my palm mingled with the freezing bite of the cold cavern—heat and ice tearing at me in cruel waves.

As I shivered, memories clawed back through the dark.

cycles ago, in the outer farmlands of Silverhaze Territory, Draven’s drunken sire had nearly beaten him to death.

I could still see the terror in Draven’s young wolf-eyes.

Without thinking, I stepped between them. The strike meant for him crashed across my cheek, stars exploding in my vision.

Something inside Draven snapped. He went feral—cornered, wild—lashing out at the Alpha he feared. When the older wolf staggered, Draven grabbed my hand and dragged me into the storm.

We hid in my small den while the rain hammered the roof. I trembled as I held his hand; he clutched mine just as tightly, eyes fierce yet soft.

“Lunessa,” he whispered, “I’ll never let fear touch you again.”

Back then, he had been my refuge.

Now, he was the nightmare standing on the other side of the door.

The cold gnawed into my bones. I clenched my teeth, refusing to collapse.

My grandmother and father were still waiting for me to come home—waiting for me to keep our fragile lives from falling apart.

“Draven! Let me out!” I kicked the iron door again and again until my toes went numb and my knuckles bloodied. It didn’t move.

I didn’t know how long I lay there before the hinges finally groaned open.

Draven stepped inside with several warriors behind him, his expression unsettlingly gentle. “Lunessa,” he murmured, “are you cold?”

He reached toward me. My pupils trembled. My throat was so dry no words came out.

Then I saw the warrior holding a metal kettle, steam rising from the spout. My pulse lurched.

“Draven… what are you doing?” I forced my voice steady, terrified of the answers forming in my mind.

He didn’t reply. Only looked at me with a cold, unfamiliar gleam.

“Your greatest mistake,” he said softly, “was harming Myrielle.”

“I didn’t spill that broth!” I choked. “Check the scry-stones—check the hall runes—it wasn’t me! I swear on the Moon, it wasn’t me!”

He didn’t flinch.

He lifted a hand. The warriors pinned me to the freezing floor. I kicked, clawed, pleaded—but it didn’t matter.

A hiss split the air. An instant later, blistering agony ripped across my back as boiling water hit my skin.

I screamed, my throat tearing raw. My healing wounds burst open, flesh searing, blood sizzling where it met the heat.

I thought I knew pain before. I hadn’t. Not until now.

And through the agony, one regret echoed over and over.

I regretted following Draven. I regretted loving him. I regretted shielding him that night from his father. I regretted believing every promise he ever whispered.

Because loving him had ruined not just me—but my pack.

Draven watched in silence. His eyes were dark, endless, unreadable. He looked like he wanted to speak, but he stayed silent.

When it ended, he stepped close and draped his cloak over my shoulders.

“Lunessa,” he murmured, voice trembling, “be good. As long as you obey, I’ll treat you well.”

His gentleness was venom.

The world spun. Darkness swept in. I fainted.

***

I woke under a blindingly white healer-sanctum ceiling. The scent of herbs stung my nose. My back burned with every breath, pain sharp enough to steal sound from my throat.

The door slid open.

Calder’s attendant stepped inside, expression composed. “Luna Lunessa,” he said evenly, “the separation pact has been drafted.”

He continued, “Master Calder wished to deliver it himself, but he was summoned to another territory. He asked me to remind you—you have five days. If you secure Alpha Draven’s mark within that time, he’ll handle the rest. You’ll have a way out.”

My gaze was empty. Lifeless. I took the parchments and clutched them to my chest.

During the following days, while waiting for the pact’s progress, I quietly arranged for my father and grandmother to be transferred to healing dens outside the kingdom.

But Myrielle kept them under tight watch, refusing any relocation—she wanted control.

Three days later would be her birthday gathering. My one chance.

“Lunessa, you will attend Myrielle’s celebration.

Draven’s tone was cold, commanding. “Your father’s recovery depends entirely on her. At the gathering, you will declare that your grandmother’s Moon-healing was done with your consent.”

He added, voice like ice, “Your father’s outburst at the Hall has already embarrassed the Blackspire name. Myrielle suffered humiliation because of you. You will correct it.”

My heart pounded, fury and despair twisting inside me.

“Draven, have you lost your mind?! Myrielle is the reason my grandmother still lies in the Healing Den—what she did was a crime! And you want me to lie for her?!”

He stepped close, his breath brushing my ear, too gentle to be anything but cruel.

“Lunessa… this is truly the last time. Myrielle’s father hasn’t acted yet. If he does… I don’t want you hurt. Just behave. Don’t provoke her.”

A tremor ran through me. Humiliation and pain tangled until breathing became a struggle.

“As long as you agree,” he said, “I’ll ensure your father walks again. If you refuse…”

The rest carved through my chest like a blade.

I lifted my hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist. “Lunessa,” he murmured, almost tender, “don’t make this difficult.”

The man before me was a stranger. The same wolf who once sheltered me was now my captor, weighing my obedience like a verdict.

Disgust. Rage. Revulsion. All of it boiled until only hatred remained—deep and relentless.

I steadied my voice. “Fine. I’ll go. But you’ll secure a den for my father and grandmother to live in.”

I turned to the last page of the supposed den agreement—secretly the unmating parchment—and handed it to him.

Once he placed his mark, our unmating would take effect immediately.

And two days later, I would take what remained of my pack…and leave him forever.