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.

As long as he placed his alpha mark on this parchment, our severe bond would take effect immediately.

And two nights later, under the waning moon, I would finally be able to take my small pack and walk away from him forever.

Relief softened his features. He pressed his mark seal down without hesitation.

“It’s just a small denstead,” he said lightly. “You could’ve asked for it anytime.”

His indifference cut deeper than any fang. My suffering, my fury—none of it mattered to him.

I slipped the marked scroll into my bag. My last fragile hope.

The Moonrise banquet was held in the grandest Howlcrest Hall at the center of the city territory. Moonlit marble gleamed under the enchanted chandeliers and my stomach twisted as I crossed the threshold.

Before entering, Draven leaned close, voice low and warning. “Once we’re inside, don’t speak unless spoken to. The Molthaven wolves dislike loudness.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. Before I could answer, he had already donned his charming alpha smile and strode ahead, greeting Myrielle’s parents with a raised goblet.

I lifted the hem of my gown and walked alone toward Myrielle’s private moon-lounge.

The moment I pushed open the door, the chamber fell silent. Nearly two dozen she-wolves stared at me.

Myrielle lounged lazily on a velvet couch, her moon-silk dress nearly identical to mine. Her gaze skimmed over me, lips curling in a soft, mocking smile.

“Oh my, what a coincidence,” she purred. “Your dress mirrors mine, Lunessa.”

Her friends burst into shrill laughter.

“Wearing the same gown to the Alpha’s daughter’s moon celebration? How shameful.”

“Why don’t we rip hers off? That’ll solve it.”

“Yes—can’t have her stealing the moonlight from the birthday star.”

Their laughter sliced like claws.

I clenched my fists. “I’ll change. I’ll go to the wash chamber.”

Before I could move, a sharp slap cracked across my cheek.

Heat flashed through my skin.

“Who told you to speak?” one she-wolf sneered. “Myrielle hasn’t given permission. Know your place, den-born mutt.”

Their laughter swelled again, echoing around me.

I trembled, rage shaking my bones.

Then Myrielle rose with false grace, her tone dripping honey.

“Don’t be upset, Lunessa. They’re only teasing.”

But she lifted her moon-crystal communicator, pressing record, her voice turning sweet and venomous.

“You don’t mind if I take a little record, right? Last time you nearly accused me of trying to kill you and that really harmed my standing. I think it’s only fair to clear things up.”

Her eyes gleamed coldly. “The healing ritual wasn’t my fault. But your father’s outburst—and your behavior—that’s what caused trouble for me.”

My blood turned to ice. To her, my grandmother’s life, my father’s broken leg—meant nothing. Only her reputation mattered.

Her friends stepped closer, laughter curling like smoke.

“How can a denborn wear the same gown as Myrielle? Let’s help her remove it.”

“I don’t need your help!” I screamed, clutching the fabric, but they were stronger.

The gown tore. Cold air hit my bare skin.

Then the chamber went dead silent.

“Oh gods—what’s on her back?”

“Those look like burn scars… and blade marks.”

“No wonder Draven doesn’t want her. Look at that ruined body.”

Humiliation scorched me raw. My breath shook; my blood roared in my ears.

To them, I wasn’t a wolf. Just something to mock.

I was about to snap when the door burst open. Draven strode in.

Myrielle’s eyes flickered. She hurried to me, draping a coat over my shoulders, her tone syrup-sweet.

“Lunessa, don’t hurt yourself, alright? If you want to apologize, say it properly.”

I was too shocked, too exposed, too raw to shove her away.

Draven’s brow furrowed. His voice turned sharp.

“What happened?”

Myrielle lowered her gaze, feigning innocence. “She came in crying, saying she wanted to tear off her gown to make it up to me. We all tried to stop her… but she wouldn’t listen.”

“That’s a lie!” I choked. “You forced them! Draven, check the scry-stones—there are runes in here!”

I knew there were. Every elite lounge had moon-etched recording sigils.

Draven didn’t even look at me. His lip curled.

“Lunessa, don’t sink this low. Stop framing Myrielle.”

My knees buckled. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Myrielle sighed sweetly. “She probably didn’t mean it…”

Draven cut her off coldly. “Don’t blame her. She grew up feral—it made her cunning.”

I collapsed, fingers digging so hard into my palms that blood trickled onto the marble floor.

In that moment, something worse than Myrielle’s cruelty became clear.

It was Draven’s blindness.

His devotion to her.

His betrayal of me.