After being framed by her half-sister Liora Sterling, Narissa Sterling was thrown into the Moon Dungeon by her doting brother and the mate who had once vowed to guard her with his life, Drake Kingsley.

In that cold, stone belly beneath the main fortress, among iron bars and silver chains, she endured seven moons of humiliation from guards and vicious she-wolves who believed every rumor whispered through the packs.

When she was finally released, she tried to explain herself again and again, but her brother Evan merely looked down at her with eyes as cold as winter frost.

“Liora is pure-hearted,” he said flatly. “How could she ever frame you?”

Her fiancé, Drake, only gave his judgment like an Alpha passing sentence.

“Narissa, no matter how much you’ve changed, I will still complete our bonding ceremony,” he said. “But Liora is innocent.”

And so they let Liora take her den, seize all her possessions, and even burn the last spirit-etched portrait of Narissa’s mother.

Heartbroken and disillusioned, Narissa made up her mind. When this was over, she would leave the Sterling Packlands and cross the distant ranges, never to look back.

Not long after she was gone from their sight, Drake and Evan would tear the territory apart searching for her like mad wolves, but by then it would be too late.

——

“Your sentence is complete. You may leave the Moon Dungeon now. With your bloodline, you would do well to live decently from now on and stop harming others.”

At the iron gate beneath the fortress, the warden escorted Narissa to the threshold, his expression carved from disappointment.

Narissa Sterling, eldest daughter of the prestigious Sterling bloodline, reared beneath banners and moon-silver chandeliers—reduced now to a prisoner in shackles. Rumor throughout the packs said she was cruel and venomous, that she had tried to drive her own blood sister to death.

What a waste, many said, of such a beautiful face.

Narissa stood on the damp stone steps, the chill night wind tugging at her thin cloak. A shadow of sorrow flashed through her clear eyes as she let the warden’s words wash over her and fall away.

A year ago, her father had returned from a journey to the outer clans with a girl at his side—Liora—who had been living beyond the borders. Only then did Narissa learn the truth:

The father who had always claimed to love her mother with unshakable devotion had, long ago, betrayed her.

He had taken another woman to his bed and sired a child.

That woman, Wilde, had finally been brought into the Sterling fortress and installed where Narissa’s mother should have stood. Wilde sat at Father’s left, accepted his affection openly, and her daughter Liora not only took everything that had once belonged to Narissa, but even falsely accused her of hiring rogues to have her killed.

Her father’s rage had been like thunder.

“Even if you cannot accept Liora, she is your sister,” he had roared, slamming his fist upon the council table. “She is Wilde’s only child! How could you treat her like this?”

But Narissa had done nothing.

Her answer had been drowned out by the crack of his fury. He had hurled a scrying crystal at her feet, the glow inside it pulsing harshly.

“See for yourself,” he had snarled. “The wolves you hired have already confessed, and still you refuse to admit it.”

Hands shaking, Narissa had picked up the crystal from the stone floor. Inside the swirling light, a man’s fear-twisted face appeared. He pointed at her, trembling.

“It wasn’t my idea,” he stammered. “Everything was done because Lady Narissa ordered it.”

Not only that—there were spirit-etched ledgers of moonstones, charts showing payments marked with her soul-seal. But Narissa had never touched those ledgers. She had intended to investigate, to find who had forged her mark, but before she could take even a step, her father had her dragged away to the Moon Dungeon.

She still remembered the look in his eyes as they shackled her wrists with silver.

“I’ve spoiled you for too many years,” he had said, gaze full of disgust. “Go in there and reflect on yourself.”

Now, thinking back, her heart felt as if invisible claws were raking it open.

Outside the dungeon, the night air parted and a group of wolves in cloaks were already waiting beneath the slope. The instant they saw her, they straightened, eyes gleaming with curiosity and sharpened malice.

“Lady Sterling,” one of them called, the scent of ink and parchment clinging to his clothes. These were the chroniclers and rumor-mongers of the pack, those who spread news between clans. “Word in the territories says you were eaten up by jealousy and tried to murder your own sister. Is that true?”

Narissa flinched back under the barrage of questions, her mind still fogged from months in darkness. She shook her head, voice rough.

“No. I didn’t do anything. It’s not true.”

Before she could draw another breath, the chroniclers surged closer.

“Lady Sterling, you say you did nothing, yet you were locked in the Moon Dungeon,” another pressed. “And now, upon your release, not a single member of your family has come to fetch you. What does that say?”

Her lips trembled, but she could not shape an answer fast enough.

“Your mother was a famed Moon-Stage dancer of the eastern courts,” a third said, voice dripping with false sympathy. “Are you not worried your actions will stain her legacy?”

Their words pierced Narissa like knives, each question finding some tender part of her and twisting deep. They crowded her, blocking out moonlight and air, their quills and memory stones pushed into her face. She tried to edge away, but their boots shifted, closing her in tighter.

Just when she felt suffocated, a strong hand seized her wrist and hauled her out of the circle.

Narissa stumbled and looked up, heart stuttering.

Drake Kingsley.

Her childhood friend. Her betrothed. The one who should have been her future Alpha.

Drake’s fair and striking features were as familiar as her own reflection, but now his eyes were frosted steel. He cast a cold, sweeping gaze over the chroniclers, his voice carrying the oppressive weight of a battle-hardened wolf.

“This matter has not ended,” he said, every syllable like a threat.

The chroniclers stirred, anger flashing—but they quickly fell silent as a line of black-clad enforcers stepped forward from behind Drake, their presence a wall of muscle and silver armor. Rough hands snatched the memory stones and rune slates from the chroniclers, who seethed with resentment but dared not protest.

This was the only heir of the Kingsley war-pack, whose influence in the outer territories had grown like a storm in recent months. No one wished to provoke him openly.

Drake did not spare them another glance. He dragged Narissa toward a waiting carriage, its frame reinforced with old iron and dark wood strengthened by wolfcraft.

Inside, silence pressed between them like another set of bars.

Narissa’s fingers curled into the rough fabric of her skirt. Today was the day she walked out of the Moon Dungeon. The only wolf who had come to meet her was Drake.

For a moment, the irony was sharper than her grief.

Drake tugged at the leather thong at his throat, loosening it slightly, then turned his face toward her. His expression was icy, his voice colder still.

“Were you just going to stand there and let them surround you?” he asked. “Or were you planning to cry and pretend to be wronged—say something to smear Liora again?”

Narissa’s heart clenched so hard she almost doubled over. His words hurt more than anything the chroniclers had said.

“I didn’t… I didn’t say anything,” she whispered. “I wasn’t trying to frame her.”

Drake’s lips curled in a humorless snort. He turned a small communication stone between his fingers, the runes on it faintly glowing.

“If I had come any later,” he said lazily, “who knows what you might have said.”

Narissa stared at him. The man beside her—this was the same Drake who once skipped lessons at the war-hall to sneak her out of the fortress, to watch fireflies in the valley. The same Drake who had held her in silence when her mother’s funeral pyre burned all night under the moon.

What had twisted him into this?

Before Liora had stepped into their lives, she and Drake had been bound so closely it hurt to be apart. They had grown up together, two pups forever under the same sky. In their youth, he would climb over the fortress wall just to take her to see the sea of clouds from the cliff. When grief hollowed her after her mother’s passing, he had been the one constant warmth.

After they came of age, their packs had celebrated their betrothal. Everyone said they were fated.

And then—Liora arrived.

Drake, who had always shielded her from every slight, “learned the truth” and, swayed by his father and the Sterling elders, chose to stand on the opposite side of the line.

“Liora is kind,” he had said then, eyes hard. “How could you do something so cruel to her?”

No matter how she tried to explain—how she presented every question and doubt—no one believed her. She had clung to Drake’s sleeve, begging him not to let them drag her away.

But he had stood beside Liora, his face as unreadable as stone.

“When you hired others to harm her,” he’d said, “did you think of the consequences? By law, it should be life for a life. You should be grateful it is only the Moon Dungeon, and only seven months. Compared to what Liora suffered, how is this unfair?”

Narissa’s eyes had stung then, but she had held his gaze, each word torn from her chest.

“I didn’t do it,” she had said. “By the Moon, I swear I didn’t.”

He had only frowned deeper, as if her denial was the most irritating thing about her.

Now, in the carriage, Drake’s jaw tightened. He flicked the reins, guiding the horses down the forest road.

“It seems,” he said, “that even after seven months, you still have not learned your lesson.”

A sharp unease stabbed through Narissa as she realized the path they took did not lead to the Sterling fortress. She swallowed, fingers digging into her palms.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Drake’s expression did not soften, but something complicated flickered in his eyes.

“Today,” he said, “Liora is holding a feast to celebrate Lord Sterling’s name-day.”

At the mention of her father, Narissa’s pupils tightened. She pressed her lips together, saying nothing. The air inside the carriage grew heavy.

When Liora had first been brought into the pack, Narissa had not even known she was her father’s blood. She had treated the girl as a guest, offering her fine cloaks and moon-thread jewelry, sharing things she had treasured for years.

Yet Liora’s eyes always held a shadowed hostility when they met Narissa’s.

Later, when their father strode proudly into the hall and announced that Liora was his daughter, Liora had clung to his arm, chin lifted high, looking at Narissa with smug triumph.

Narissa had stood there, stunned and numb, until her father pulled her aside.

“Liora grew up without a father’s protection,” he had chided. “She’s suffered more than you can imagine. As her elder sister, you must be understanding.”

Narissa had always been uneasy around Liora, but after hearing those words, her heart had softened. She had tried—truly tried—to bridge the gulf between them.

But no matter how she reached out, Liora remained distant, almost hostile.

Seven months ago, that hidden hostility had finally taken form, sharp and deadly. Liora had been the one to kneel at Father’s feet, tears streaming, accusing Narissa of ordering wolves to push her off the cliff path. She had been the one to whisper into Father’s ear, urging him to send Narissa to the Moon Dungeon “just for a while.”

Narissa still remembered her father’s voice in the last messenger stone she received in her cell.

“This was only a lesson for you,” he had said, coldly. “You should be grateful that Liora is kind enough to forgive you.”

“She grew up wandering without a pack,” he went on. “You’ve had everything. I hope you can learn to get along with her.”

His words twisted the truth so thoroughly it was almost impressive. To him, Narissa was the one who refused peace. To him, Narissa was the problem.

In truth, once Narissa had understood Liora’s past, she had tried to let go of the resentment. She wanted to be a good sister.

But Liora had not wanted peace. She had framed Narissa for a blood crime and played the helpless victim so perfectly that even the pack’s elders were moved.

The Moon Dungeon had stripped Narissa of strength and hope. Now, all she desired was to leave this world of theirs behind—to cut the bond and vanish into some far-off land where no one knew her name.

Beside her, Drake must have felt the way her shoulders stiffened. He glanced at her, and there was a brief hesitation before he spoke.

“Liora has been waiting to see you,” he said, voice stiff. “Your father wishes the same. She truly wants to mend your bond. That’s why I hurried to fetch you… Besides, you were the one in the wrong. You—”

“I understand,” Narissa cut in quietly, not allowing him to finish.

Drake fell silent.

Narissa turned her face toward the carriage window. Outside, dark pines flowed past like shadows; above, the moon watched, cold and distant. Her fingers curled into fists in her lap as she forced herself to steady her breathing.

She had once believed that she and Drake shared a single heartbeat. That he knew her better than anyone.

But ever since Liora walked into their lives, everything had shifted. No matter how many times Narissa swore her innocence, Drake chose to believe Liora. He believed Narissa was capable of malice, of hiring strangers to spill blood.

There was nothing left to say.

Her father had cast her aside. Her fiancé had condemned her. The pack had branded her.

Her chest ached sharply, but she pressed the pain down, smoothing her expression until it was as calm as still water. Her lips curved in a faint, brittle smile.

It didn’t matter anymore.

After this feast—after Liora’s celebration beneath the Sterling banners—Narissa would disappear from their world.

For good.

It was her father’s name-day festival, the annual celebration held beneath the high banners of the Sterling Moon-Claw Clan.

Midway through their ride, as the carriage rumbled over the moonlit forest path, Narissa softly asked,

“May we stop for a moment? I… wish to offer a gift for my father.”

Drake’s expression remained carved from cold stone.

“There is no time. A gift is not what matters right now.”

With that, he flicked the reins, giving her no further chance to speak.

When they arrived before the carved stone steps of the Great Hall, Drake leapt down to tend the horses himself. He sent her a rune-etched message stone moments later, instructing her to enter alone.

Narissa stepped through the towering doors of the banquet hall, where silver wolf-flutes played slow, soothing melodies. Torches flickered against the stone walls, illuminating carved family crests and the moon sigil of the Sterling line.

But she barely made it two steps inside before Bella appeared—Bella, the daughter of a rival noble den, who had always been openly hostile toward her. Bella approached with several clan-born maidens behind her, forming a loose circle that trapped Narissa in place.

Bella pinched her nose with exaggerated disgust.

“Narissa, how shameful. Did the Sterling Clan run out of moon-silver? You dare come to the Alpha’s feast wearing nothing—no adornments, no clan jewelry? You disgrace all noble daughters.”

The maidens behind her broke into derisive giggles.

“She calls herself the first daughter of the Sterling line? She isn’t even fit to be compared to her sister.”

Bella sneered and leaned closer, voice dripping with venom.

“It’s truly funny. You’re the daughter of Astrid, the famed Moon-Dancer beloved by the entire territory. Yet look at you—you turned out worse than the daughter of a mistress. No wonder your father strayed.”

Narissa’s chest tightened painfully.

Her mother, Astrid, had been the most celebrated wolf-dancer of the southern courts, blessed with grace and adored by the packs. When Narissa’s father first met her, he had pursued her tirelessly until she agreed to become his mate.

Astrid had given up her entire career to bear Narissa and join the Sterling Clan.

But when Narissa was sixteen, her mother died in a tragic cliff-fall.

And later—when Narissa was framed—her father had been seen in intimate situations with several women. One of them turned out to be Wilde, Liora’s mother.

Narissa once asked him, voice trembling,

“Why are you doing this? Can you face Mother?”

His reply had been ice and poison.

“If I ever owed your mother anything, I should never have raised you. I should have let you die the night you were born. If not for you, how would she have perished?”

That sentence still sliced her heart open whenever she remembered it.

Her father blamed her for her mother’s death. Everyone did.

And Narissa carried the guilt silently, a wound that never healed.

To the world, she would endure anything—humiliation, hatred, exile.

But her mother was the one person she would never allow anyone to insult.

So even though she knew Bella meant to provoke her, Narissa could not stop herself.

Her palm cracked across Bella’s cheek in a sharp, echoing slap.

“Silence. I will not allow you to speak of my mother that way. And whether or not I remain a Sterling, I still hold a seat on the Council. You have no right to address me like this.”

Bella’s eyes instantly filled with tears of rage.

“You filthy half-beast—how dare you strike me! My father will not forgive this!”

Narissa’s gaze turned ice-cold, a dangerous smile lifting her lip.

“I will be waiting for him.”

At that moment, a gentle voice floated from behind—elegant and soft, yet poised like a dagger under silk.

“Narissa… what are you doing here?”

Narissa froze mid-breath.

Her pulse faltered.

Her throat tightened painfully.

Her eyes stung.

Slowly, she turned around.

And in the very moment her gaze landed on the newcomer, her blood ran cold, seizing her heart in a grip of ice.

The one who appeared was dressed in a moon-white ceremonial mantle, woven with silver threads that shimmered like frost. His features were carved with the noble sharpness of their bloodline, his eyes soft as drifting snow when they landed upon Narissa.

It was her elder brother—Evan Sterling, heir of the Moon-Claw Alpha line.

Behind him stood a group of pack youths, among them Liora, clad in a flowing white gown embroidered with star-petals. Her delicate posture and sweet, gentle expression made it easy to believe she was soft-hearted and pure.

But Narissa’s gaze drifted further—

to Drake, the male who had once vowed to be hers, now standing protectively beside Liora.

He leaned toward Liora, whispering something that made her lips curve in shy sweetness.

Narissa’s mind turned blank. Her breath caught in her throat.

Before she could speak, Bella—the she-wolf she had just slapped—rushed dramatically to Liora’s side, tears brimming.

“Liora, your sister is vicious!” Bella wailed.

“I merely asked why she wore no clan jewels to the Moon Feast, and she struck me! And she… she called me the daughter of a mistress. Does my mother’s blood make me deserving of violence?”

Narissa inhaled sharply.

She opened her mouth—

But Liora spoke first, eyes turning red with wounded innocence.

“Narissa… even if Bella spoke wrongly, you cannot hit people.”

Bella spoke wrongly?

Narissa’s nails dug into her palm.

She stepped forward and said coldly,

“If she had not insulted my mother, I would not have touched her.”

At Narissa’s words, Drake’s brows drew together, irritation flickering across his handsome features.

“Narissa,” he said, voice low with disapproval,

“Bella is Liora’s companion—and the daughter of the Thorne Elders. Even if she was at fault, you should not strike her before the entire clan.”

The hall was full of watching eyes—curious, condemning, whispering.

Narissa’s chest tightened as loneliness washed over her.

Just as she was about to respond, a shadow stepped before her.

Evan.

His expression was warm, smile gentle—yet it felt like a blade wrapped in silk.

He bowed his head slightly toward Bella.

“Narissa has been pampered since she was small. I apologize on her behalf.”

Narissa froze, disbelief sweeping through her.

Then anger.

“Evan,” she hissed, “I did nothing wrong. She spoke filth.”

Evan’s smile didn’t fade—but his eyes turned cold as winter stone.

Narissa’s breath hitched. She recognized that look.

Her brother was displeased.

But why?

He turned toward her, voice mild—yet every word cut like a dull blade.

“Narissa… it’s all the same.”

All the same.

Hurt or not hurt, right or wrong—it made no difference to him anymore?

Bella’s cheeks flushed, emboldened by Evan’s stance.

“For your sake, I’ll let this foul-mouthed woman go,” she said sweetly.

Then Liora stepped forward, her voice trembling like a helpless doe.

“I know you’ve always disliked me,” she whispered,

“and you despise my mother for being a mistress… but Narissa, we never chose how we were born.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“If I could choose, I would wish to be Father’s legitimate daughter, with a brother who loves me too.”

She choked, covering her face, and fled the hall in tears.

Drake instinctively moved to follow, but paused—

his dark gaze settling on Narissa instead.

Disappointment. Annoyance. Blame.

“Narissa,” he said sharply,

“Liora was overjoyed that you were allowed to leave confinement today. Yet you greet her like this. I’ve indulged you too much… that’s why you’ve become like this.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode out after Liora, cloak billowing behind him.

A wave of whispers swept through the hall like rustling leaves.

Narissa felt her fury surge hot in her throat.

Liora’s mother was the one who had seduced her father—

yet Liora dared to play the victim, as if Narissa were the intruder in her own family.

She turned to Evan, her voice trembling.

“Evan… do you also believe I’m at fault?”

Evan sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, fatigue clouding his expression.

When he looked at her, it was with a familiar softness that hurt more than cruelty.

“Narissa,” he said gently,

“we were choosing a moon-gift for you earlier. That’s why we didn’t greet you sooner.”

The tone…

The dismissal…

It felt exactly like how he used to deal with she-wolves who tried to court him—

soft rejection, polite distance.

But now that same tone was directed

at her.

Narissa’s breath hitched.

Her brother had not always been like this.

Once, he had adored her.

When they were young, his favorite wolf carved toys were off-limits to everyone—yet if she so much as looked at one, he would place it in her hands.

When he went to the Northern Academy, he returned every month just to bring her small gifts and spend time with her.

And after the accident—

when their mother threw herself over Narissa to shield her—

Evan became almost obsessively protective.

He hired guards, trained personally with her, refused to leave her side for long.

But everything changed the day Liora and her mother walked into their den.

And now…

He stood before her, looking at her not with love—

but with disappointment.

Distance.

And a coldness that chilled her to her bones.