Elara POV

A soft knock came at my door.

"Elara, we're heading to the premium restaurant to celebrate! Come down!" Seraphina called out cheerfully.

I opened the door.

I saw Thorne standing right beside her in the hallway.

His large hands were gently adjusting the fall of the collar on Seraphina's elegant dress.

The tenderness in his eyes was a thing I had begged for in the dream—an entire lifetime spent craving a look he had never once given me.

Now, seeing it bestowed upon another, I felt nothing but a hollow calm.

I followed them outside into the cool evening air.

Seraphina linked her arm through Thorne's, walking proudly at the front.

My parents followed closely behind them, laughing and discussing the details of the mating ceremony.

I walked far behind, a silent ghost trailing the procession of a happy family.

We arrived at the restaurant, a lavish wooden building reserved only for the Alpha's inner circle.

We sat down at a large round table.

My father grabbed the menu and immediately ordered the grand feast.

"Bring out the roasted elk," he told the waiter. "And load it up with the mountain spices."

A muscle in my heart skipped its beat.

The mountain spices contained traces of Wolfsbane.

Wolfsbane was a toxic purple flower that acted like a virulent poison to our kind.

Strong Alphas could tolerate tiny amounts of it for the spicy flavor, but for an Omega like me, it was deadly.

My father knew I was severely allergic to it.

He just did not care.

My mother leaned over and patted Seraphina's hand, asking if she wanted extra sweet wine.

No one looked at me.

Twenty minutes later, the waiter placed a massive platter of roasted elk in the center of the table.

The pungent, burning smell of the Wolfsbane hit my nose instantly.

My blood seemed to roil, a violent rejection of the toxin that went beyond mere allergy; a tide of acid rose in my throat, and my canine teeth ached in their sockets, every cell in my body recoiling from the impurity.

I pushed my chair back slightly, trying to get away from the fumes.

Seraphina picked up a piece of the meat with her fork and held it up to Thorne's lips.

"Try it, Alpha," she giggled.

Thorne leaned forward, but before he could take the bite, he suddenly froze.

His eyes darted across the table and landed on my pale face.

"Get that out of here," Thorne commanded, his voice rumbling with a sudden, dark authority.

The entire table went silent.

"Get what out?" my father asked, confused.

"The meat," Thorne snapped, glaring at my father. "Elara is deathly allergic to Wolfsbane. Are you trying to kill her at the dinner table?"

My parents stared at him in pure shock.

My mother quickly tried to smooth things over.

"Oh, Alpha, don't worry about her," she laughed nervously. "Omegas are just dramatic. She's fine."

Thorne ignored my mother completely.

He raised his hand and signaled the waiter.

"Take this away now," Thorne ordered. "Bring pure, unseasoned meat."

The waiter scrambled to remove the platter.

I sat frozen in my chair, staring at Thorne.

He was carefully cutting a piece of bread for Seraphina, acting as if his sudden outburst had never happened.

But I understood the truth. He was not protecting me. He was protecting his reputation. An Omega convulsing and coughing up blood at his dinner table, on the night he proposed to her sister—that would be a stain on his Alpha name. His intervention had nothing to do with concern, and everything to do with appearances.

The dream had taught me to recognize the difference.

I looked down at my empty plate.

When I was eight years old, during a terrible winter, I saw a young boy fall into a frozen lake.

I jumped into the freezing water, dragged him out, and peeled off my own thickest outer layer—not dry, but drier than his soaked clothes, the best I could offer—and wrapped it around him.

That boy was Thorne.

While he was burning with fever in the snow, he held my hand and promised to make me his Luna one day.

But when the pack healers found us, I had passed out from the cold.

When Thorne woke up, Seraphina was sitting next to his bed.

She had already discarded my coat, wrapping him instead in the folds of her own. The scent he woke to was hers, not mine.

He assumed she was the one who saved him.

He never bothered to ask the truth, and my parents forbade me from ever speaking of it so Seraphina could have the glory.

After dinner, we walked back to the Pack House under the moonlight.

As we approached the gates, Thorne suddenly slowed his pace.

He let Seraphina and my parents walk ahead, and he stepped directly into my path.

He grabbed my wrist.

His grip was tight, a brand against my cold skin.

"You've been different lately," he whispered, his voice low and raspy. "Ever since yesterday. The way you look at me—it's changed."

I looked up into his dark eyes.

"I nearly drowned," I said calmly. "Perhaps that changes a person."

Thorne's jaw clenched, his eyes searching my face for something he couldn't name.

He leaned in closer, his scent of wet earth and smoke coiling around me not like an embrace, but like a restraint.

"Listen to me," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're going to the border. You'll pack your bags and leave quietly."

He pointed a finger at my chest.

"Don't try to cause trouble at my mating ceremony. I won't tolerate it."

I held his gaze, and for one fleeting moment, the dream flickered behind my eyes—his face in another life, whispering his final wish over my bleeding body. The same face. The same coldness. Only the context had changed.

I said nothing.

He released my wrist, seemingly unsettled by my silence, and strode away to rejoin Seraphina.

I watched him go, rubbing the red marks his fingers had left on my skin, and felt something shift deep in my chest—not fear, but the cold, quiet crystallization of resolve. The dream had shown me the ending. It was up to me to change the path.

Elara POV

The next morning, the guttural roar of an engine woke me up.

I looked out my small attic window.

Thorne was parked in the driveway in a brand-new, gleaming black SUV.

Seraphina ran out the front door, wearing a beautiful silk dress.

Thorne opened the car door for her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before they drove off to buy supplies for the mating ceremony.

My mother stood on the porch, waving at them with a massive, greedy smile on her face.

"Elara! Get down here!" my father's voice boomed from the living room.

I walked downstairs.

My father was sitting in his heavy leather armchair.

My mother was standing next to the wooden coffee table.

Right in the center of the table sat an old, rusted iron box.

It was the box that held our family's most valuable possessions.

My mother popped the latch and opened the lid.

Inside rested five shimmering, milky-white stones.

Moonstones.

In our world, Moonstones were incredibly rare. They held pure lunar energy and were used as high-level currency and power sources for pack wards.

These five stones were the life savings of our ancestors.

"Since you're heading to the border tomorrow," my mother started, her tone completely casual, "it's not safe for you to carry valuables."

She reached into the box and scooped up all five stones.

"We're giving these to Seraphina for her dowry," she announced. "She needs to look the part of a Luna."

I stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring at them.

"No," I said.

The word hung in the air, sharp and clear.

My father's head snapped up.

"Excuse me?" he growled.

I stepped fully into the living room.

"I'm not going to the border," I said, keeping my voice perfectly steady. "And I'm not giving up my cut."

My mother's face turned red with fury.

"You selfish brat!" she yelled. "You're a disgrace! You owe us your life!"

"I want my share," I continued, ignoring her insults. "I'm leaving this pack to find my own Mate. I need travel funds. Two and a half stones are mine."

My father stood up.

He was a Beta, a high-ranking warrior, and his physical presence was intimidating.

He slammed his heavy fist onto the wooden table; the iron box jumped with a dull, rattling clang.

"Are you out of my mind?" he roared. "An Omega demanding an inheritance? Defying the Alpha's orders?"

My mother stepped forward, her eyes narrowing into vicious slits.

"Find a Mate?" she mocked, laughing cruelly. "Who would want a pathetic, magicless thing like you?"

She crossed her arms, a dark suspicion crossing her face.

"Or is this about Thorne?" she hissed.

My father froze.

"Are you jealous?" my mother accused, stepping closer to me. "Are you staying just to steal him from your sister?"

I looked at the woman who gave birth to me.

There was no love in her eyes, only a desperate need to protect her favorite child's status.

"I couldn't care less about Thorne," I said smoothly. "They deserve each other."

My father pointed a thick, shaking finger at my face.

"If you pull a stunt to ruin her ceremony, I'll kill you myself," he threatened.

Before I could answer, the sound of heavy tires crunching on the gravel driveway interrupted us.

The front door burst open.

Seraphina walked in, her arms full of shopping bags.

Behind her, Thorne and two pack warriors were carrying boxes upon boxes of expensive gifts.

The dowry had arrived.

Seraphina practically danced into the living room.

"Mom, look!" she squealed, dropping her bags onto the sofa. "Look what Thorne brought!"

My mother's eyes widened with pure greed.

She rushed over to the boxes the warriors had set down.

She pulled out gleaming weapons forged from pure silver—incredibly rare and deadly in the werewolf world.

She unveiled rolls of imported silk and certificates for brand-new modern appliances.

Then, Seraphina reached into her purse and pulled out a thick white envelope.

She handed it to my mother.

My mother opened it, and I saw her gasp.

It was a massive bank check.

"Thorne, this is too much," my mother said, her voice shaking with fake emotion. "We're so blessed."

I stood silently by the stairs.

The dream had shown me this scene too, though in a different form. In the dream, Thorne had given my parents a single basket of basic winter supplies. No silver. No silk. No money. The contrast made my stomach turn with disgust—not at the disparity, but at the realization that even in the dream, I had been worth so little to him.

Seraphina slipped a sparkling new diamond watch onto her wrist.

She looked up and finally noticed the tense atmosphere in the room.

"Why is everyone glaring?" Seraphina asked, tilting her head.

My mother sneered and pointed a finger at me.

"Your sister lost her mind," my mother announced loudly. "She's refusing the border and claims she's leaving to find a Mate!"

Seraphina's mouth dropped open in shock.

"A Mate?" Seraphina asked. "Elara, who on earth is going to claim you?"

The temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

Thorne stepped out from behind the pile of gifts.

His face was dark, like a storm cloud ready to burst.

His eyes locked onto mine, burning with a furious, possessive rage.

He walked slowly toward me.

With every step he took, his Alpha aura leaked out, making the air heavy and hard to breathe.

He used his massive height to back me up until my shoulders hit the wooden doorframe.

"Who?" Thorne demanded, his voice dropping to a terrifying growl.

He leaned in, and I felt the crushing weight of the Alpha's Command.

The Command was a biological weapon. It was an invisible pressure that forced lower-ranking wolves to submit, breaking their bones if they resisted.

My knees trembled, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stand straight.

"Who are you running off with?" Thorne interrogated, his breath hot against my cheek.

I glared back at him.

"None of your business," I choked out against the heavy pressure of his Command.

Thorne's eyes flashed with a dangerous yellow light.

"Stop playing games," he whispered viciously. "I know you're trying to make me jealous so I'll stop the ceremony. It won't work."

I almost laughed. Even now, even after everything, he believed the entire world revolved around him. The dream had shown me this too—his bottomless arrogance, his inability to imagine that I might want something other than him.

But the dream had not shown me what happened next.

Suddenly, a deafening roar did not shatter the tension but pulverized it. It was not an animal. It was the sound of a monstrous, heavy-duty engine outside, and the floorboards vibrated with its power.

Everyone turned their heads toward the open front door.

A massive, military-grade black vehicle tore into our driveway, its tires grinding the gravel to dust. Painted on its door in a stark, blood-red script was the crest of the Blood Eclipse Pack—the most ruthless, globally dominant werewolf syndicate in North America. A second, plainer vehicle followed, parking silently behind it.

The driver's door of the first vehicle opened.

A man stepped out.

The moment his boot hit the ground, the entire world stopped spinning.

A scent did not hit my nose; it was an atmospheric change, a sudden prickle of static in the air, the kind that precedes a lightning strike. It was the smell of ozone and damp earth, of high-voltage arcs and ancient, rain-soaked cedar.

It was the most intoxicating thing I had ever breathed in.

My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a war drum.

My blood boiled in my veins, a scorching heat spreading through my limbs.

Deep inside my mind, a chaotic storm of anxiety and fear simply vanished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of absolute peace.

My wandering soul had found its home.

And then, my Inner Wolf, who had been quiet and beaten down since the dream had awakened me, clawed her way to the surface of my mind and let out a deafening, possessive roar that was felt, not heard.

Mine!

The man ascended the porch steps. Black, tailored broadcloth stretched taut across his shoulders with the movement, pulling into sharp, severe creases. My parents' terrified gazes, Thorne's rigid stance of defense—all became insignificant obstacles in his path, crushed like dry leaves as he walked directly to me.

He was breathtakingly handsome, with sharp jawlines, dark hair, and eyes like liquid silver.

He reached out and gently brushed a strand of damp hair away from my face.

The moment his skin made contact with mine, a violent jolt, not of electricity, but of pure recognition, shot straight down my spine. The soft cartilage deep in my throat contracted, strangling a gasp before it could form.

"I'm Kael," he said. His voice was a deep, velvet rumble that vibrated in my chest.

He looked deep into my eyes, completely ignoring the rest of the room.

"Elara," he declared. "I've come to take my Mate home."

The dream had shown me a lifetime of suffering, a death in a pool of my own blood, and a final wish whispered over my body. But it had never shown me this.

The Moon Goddess, it seemed, had kept one secret for herself.