Aveline’s POV

I first encountered Alaric years ago—long before he became Alpha, when he was still merely the successor waiting in the shadows of the throne. It was during a formal banquet, a night heavy with power and pretense. Jewels glimmered beneath torchlight, crowns weighed down proud heads, and the air smelled of ambition.

Yet somehow, among all that splendor, my eyes found him.

He stood apart, calm and magnetic, like moonlight cutting through darkness. He wasn’t my destined mate—my wolf gave no cry, no pull, no instinctive recognition the stories always promised. But the way he looked at me made it feel as though fate had already chosen.

When he approached me, when his voice slipped around my senses like silk, I believed every promise he breathed.

“You may not be bound to me by destiny, Aveline,” he murmured that night, his fingers brushing mine beneath the linen-draped table. “But I will choose you every day. I’ll swear vows stronger than fate itself. I won’t deceive you. I won’t hurt you. You will stand beside me as my Luna—no one else.”

Those vows once felt sacred.

Now, they were nothing but dust.

That morning, I woke with nausea curling in my stomach. My head throbbed relentlessly, my limbs heavy, my wolf withdrawn deep inside me as if she refused to wake. Only three weeks had passed since conception, yet my body already felt different—strained, altered, preparing itself to protect the fragile life growing within.

I had a hospital appointment scheduled. I couldn’t put it off.

When Alaric—no, Theo—came to my room, concern softened his features. He crouched beside the bed, lowering himself to my level.

“How’s the little one?” he asked gently. Too gently.

“I don’t feel right,” I confessed, resting my palm against my abdomen. “I need to see a doctor.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said immediately, his response almost too quick. His hand closed over mine. “You’re carrying my brother’s child—the future Alpha. I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

For one brief second, my wolf stirred.

For one fragile moment, hope flickered.

Then the door opened.

Elowen stepped inside, cloaked in pale fabrics that made her appear delicate, almost otherworldly. She moved as if unsteady, fingers pressed to her temple, lips trembling with practiced weakness.

“Alpha…” she breathed softly.

My muscles locked.

Alaric’s attention snapped to her as if pulled by instinct. Whatever warmth he had shown me vanished instantly. He crossed the room, gripping her arm as though she might crumble without his support.

“Elowen,” he said urgently. “What’s wrong?”

She lifted her gaze to his, cheeks faintly flushed. “I don’t feel well. I think I might faint.”

His eyes flicked toward me for the briefest moment—hesitation, guilt, something unreadable flashing there.

Then it disappeared.

Elowen sagged against him, clutching his chest. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Something feels… wrong.”

He wrapped an arm around her, shielding her as though she were the one in danger.

“I’ll take Elowen to the hospital first,” he said, his tone suddenly firm, detached. “You can attend your appointment alone. You understand.”

I did not argue.

I went by myself.

The hospital corridors felt endless, sterile, cold. My legs trembled with every step. My wolf prowled restlessly inside me, furious and wounded by his abandonment. When the nurse guided me into the ultrasound room and the screen flickered to life, tears spilled freely.

There it was.

Tiny. Fragile. Alive.

A heartbeat no bigger than a whisper.

Love flooded me so fiercely it hurt.

Later, I sat alone in the waiting lounge, staring blankly at the television. A concert filled the screen—music loud, vibrant. I hummed quietly, trying to distract myself, trying to soothe the ache clawing at my chest.

Then the camera shifted.

It scanned the audience—laughing couples, hands entwined, faces glowing.

My breath stopped.

There they were.

Alaric and Elowen.

The spotlight lingered on them. The camera framed them as a pair.

They tried to hide their faces, but I saw everything—the way his hand rested possessively against her back, the way she leaned into him like she belonged there.

Elowen wasn’t sick.

She was dancing. Smiling. Alive.

While I sat alone in a hospital chair carrying his child.

My stomach twisted violently. Rage and grief collided inside me until I could hardly breathe.

Hours later, as I rode back toward the packhouse, my phone vibrated.

A message—from Elowen.

Against my better judgment, I opened it.

A photo.

She was sprawled across the backseat of a car, Alaric’s arm wrapped around her waist, her head resting comfortably in his lap. They looked flushed, radiant, satisfied.

Something inside me shattered.

My wolf screamed, her pain splintering through my bones.

I covered my mouth to keep from crying out.

When I reached the packhouse, desperation took over. I called him. Again and again. My hands shook violently.

Answer me. Please. I’ll forgive you. Just tell me it’s not real. Tell me I’m still yours. I’ll give you another chance—any number of chances—if you just come back.

Then the call connected.

Relief surged through me—

Only to be destroyed.

Soft moans. A woman’s breathless laughter. A man’s low groan.

“Alaric,” Elowen gasped.

The line went dead.

So did my world.

That night, I didn’t change my clothes. I didn’t think. I walked back to the hospital in a numb haze, my wolf utterly silent.

At the desk, my voice came out broken.

“I want to terminate the pregnancy,” I whispered. “It’s three weeks.”

---

By morning, I returned to the packhouse empty, exhausted beyond words.

Alaric—Theo—was seated at the table, breakfast prepared neatly.

“Aveline,” he greeted me with a smile. “I made what you like. You need to eat—for the baby.”

I walked past him.

His hand grabbed my arm.

The same hand that had touched her.

“You have to look after yourself,” he said softly. “You’re carrying my brother’s heir.”

“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, wrenching free.

I climbed the stairs—and stopped.

Elowen stood there.

Radiant. Perfect. Glowing with health and triumph. She looked like a Luna already, basking in something stolen.

She smiled.

“I sent you that photo on purpose,” she said calmly. “And I answered Alaric’s phone. I wanted you to hear.”

My wolf snarled, but my body wouldn’t move.

She leaned close, her perfume suffocating. “I was never sick, Aveline. I pretended. I needed time with him. And now I’ll use every month I have to make him mine again—to mark him, bind him.”

“You’re lying,” I whispered.

She laughed. “Am I?”

She lifted her hand.

A moonstone ring gleamed on her finger—larger, brighter, far more extravagant than mine.

“Better suited for me, don’t you think?” she murmured. “Alaric was always mine. And he always will be.”

Aveline’s POV

The summons arrived on thick parchment, its surface rough beneath my fingertips, sealed with silver wax impressed with the ancient Lycan crest. My hands shook as I broke the seal. The Lycans were legends among our kind—rare, old beyond memory, powerful enough that even Alphas spoke their name with caution. They did not attend gatherings. They did not entertain outsiders. For generations, they had remained distant observers, watching the rest of us from the shadows.

And yet, they had called for us.

I understood why well enough. My father’s pack—Thorndike—had always maintained a measured alliance with them. Respectful. Careful. As his daughter, my presence was expected, whether I welcomed it or not.

Still, my wolf shifted uneasily at the thought.

Because I knew he would be there.

Alaric—Theo, as he now called himself—could never ignore a Lycan summons. And he would undoubtedly arrive with Elowen clinging to his arm, playing the devoted husband, basking in stolen legitimacy.

My wolf growled low in my chest.

That evening, I dressed in something I hadn’t dared wear since the night Alaric “died.” Midnight-colored silk flowed over my skin like liquid shadow, molding to my body, the back cut daringly low, baring skin that caught the moonlight with every step. It felt like armor and defiance woven into one.

The Lycan gathering took place inside a vast stone hall, its walls carved directly from the mountain itself. Torches burned with pale, silvery flames, casting shifting shadows. Their presence filled the space—ancient, overwhelming, pressing down on every wolf who dared breathe too loudly. When the Lycans moved among us, even in human form, conversations died. Their eyes glowed faintly, watching everything.

As I entered, attention followed.

My wolf lifted her head proudly. So did I.

I felt his stare before I saw him.

Alaric froze when his gaze landed on me. His expression cracked—just briefly—his breath hitching as though I had knocked the wind from him. For one fleeting moment, the false skin of “Theo” peeled away, and there he was. My Alpha. The man who once swore he would love me harder than fate ever could.

Then Elowen latched onto his arm.

She leaned into him, trembling theatrically, fingers clutching his sleeve as though she might collapse without his support. It was repulsive. And he let her hold him there. He didn’t take a step toward me.

I looked away.

The evening unfolded as tradition demanded—formal greetings, respectful bows, careful words exchanged with beings who rarely showed themselves. But no wolf gathering ended with courtesy alone.

Two Alphas stepped forward to challenge one another. Clothes were discarded. Bones snapped. Massive wolves emerged, snarls reverberating against stone. The hall came alive with excitement.

The wagering began.

Gold changed hands. Furs were thrown onto tables. Warriors offered blades, Betas prized heirlooms. Shouts rang out, fevered and hungry.

Then I spoke.

“I will place a wager.”

The room stilled.

Every gaze turned toward me.

From my grasp, I withdrew the moonstone ring—the one smeared with blood, the one I had clutched while screaming beneath the moon. The ring Alaric had meant to give me on the cliff.

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the crowd.

“This,” I said, lifting it high, my voice calm despite the ache tearing through my chest, “was the engagement ring of my late fiancé. The Alpha who was meant to be my mate. I stake it on this duel.”

The silence that followed was heavy, stunned.

I felt Alaric’s stare like fire against my skin—rage, disbelief, something raw vibrating through the remnants of a bond I no longer acknowledged.

I didn’t flinch.

I placed the ring before the weaker Alpha. Murmurs erupted into shocked exclamations. To wager something so irreplaceable on a likely loss was insanity.

That was precisely the point.

The fight erupted—claws tearing, bodies slamming into stone.

As expected, the weaker Alpha fell.

The victor claimed my ring amid roaring cheers.

I smiled—sharp, brittle—lifted my chin, and walked away with my heart bleeding quietly inside my chest.

The air shifted.

He stood directly in my path.

Alaric—Theo—blocking me, his expression dark, his eyes burning with emotion he could no longer mask.

“What was that?” he demanded, his voice tight with restrained fury. “That ring belonged to my brother. It symbolized his promise to you. How could you discard it so carelessly?”

I met his gaze without warmth. My wolf stood steady beside me.

“Because that chapter is finished,” I replied evenly. “Your brother is dead. Whatever he promised died with him. The ring holds no value anymore.”

His mouth parted, but nothing came out. For once, Alaric Vandolph—the Alpha who always controlled the room—had nothing to say.

I walked past him.

But Elowen stopped me.

She ambushed me in a corridor, rage twisting her flawless face. “You pathetic bitch,” she spat, slamming me into the wall. “You think you’re clever? Parading your grief to steal attention? Feeding on everyone’s sympathy?”

Her nails bit into my arm as she shoved me into a side room. The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

Darkness swallowed me.

No windows. No light. No escape.

My chest seized as panic surged upward, old memories crashing in—being ten years old, trapped in a cellar, scratching at the door until my fingers bled, screaming for help that never came.

“No—please—no,” I gasped, pounding at the door.

My wolf bucked wildly, but the walls felt like they were closing in. Air vanished. Darkness pressed in.

I crumpled to the floor.

When they found me nearly an hour later, my body was slack, breath shallow, sweat soaking my gown.

And Alaric?

Not one call. Not one message.

Later, I learned Elowen had told him I’d gone off alone to mourn—and he believed her without question.

---

When I returned to the packhouse, the scene waiting for me made my stomach twist violently.

They were all there—Alaric, Elowen, his parents. A small crowd had gathered. Alaric stood at the center, gripping a stack of papers.

My wolf bristled.

Then I saw what they were.

Termination forms.

My body locked in place.

“How dare you,” Alaric roared, his eyes blazing. “How could you destroy my brother’s heir?”

A hollow laugh bubbled up inside me. Even now—he was still pretending. Still hiding behind that miserable lie.

Elowen stepped forward, her voice dripping venom. “You’re disgusting. You slaughtered an innocent life. You never wanted that pup. You only wanted the drama of being a widow.”

His mother struck me hard across the face. “Murderer,” she hissed.

The room spun.

Then Alaric hit me.

The sound cracked through the silence, my head snapping sideways. Pain flared—but my wolf did not whine.

Slowly, I straightened, blood metallic on my tongue.

“Why does this concern you so deeply, Theo?” I asked quietly. “Why grieve a child that was never yours? You are not my Alpha. Not my fiancé. You’re nothing more than his so-called twin.”

His eyes flared—denial, fury, agony all tangled together.

I didn’t wait for his answer.

I turned to all of them.

“I’m finished,” I said coldly. “I sever every tie to Vandolph Pack. Whatever love I had died tonight—along with the moonstone ring I gave away. And with it, my heart followed.”

No one spoke.

I walked out.

Aveline’s POV

A knock echoed through my room that night, dragging me out of a thin, restless half-sleep. My eyes burned, swollen from crying until the sky had lightened, but I forced myself upright anyway. Somewhere deep inside, my wolf shifted uneasily, unsettled and alert.

The door opened before I could even answer.

“Aveline,” a familiar voice murmured.

Theo.

Or rather, the man everyone insisted was Theo.

But every time I looked at him, something inside me recoiled. His stare wasn’t distant or subdued like a grieving twin’s should be. It was sharp—too intense, too alive. It was Alaric’s gaze wearing another name.

He stepped fully into the room, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway. He looked exhausted, hair slightly disordered, face shadowed—as if he were the one crushed beneath sorrow.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the floor. His jaw tightened, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. “I never should’ve raised my hand against you. I lost control.”

I didn’t respond. My throat felt scorched, packed tight with words I refused to give him.

He came closer, his tone firm but carefully restrained. “I’m grieving the child in my brother’s place,” he continued. “You know Alaric would never have wanted that pup gone. And as his twin, it’s my responsibility to guard what belonged to him.”

My wolf bristled violently at the word guard.

Protect? No. This was nothing but another lie, delivered straight to my face.

I said nothing. I simply pulled the blanket closer and turned toward the wall, cutting him out of my sight.

“Aveline,” he tried again, softer now, coaxing. “You need to rest. You’ve been through too much.”

Before I could stop him, his hands lifted the blanket higher, tucking it around my shoulders as if I were something fragile, breakable. His fingers lingered at the edge of the fabric.

“I heard this helps you sleep,” he added quietly.

I bit into my tongue until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

He was still pretending. Still playing the role. Still hiding behind a dead man’s name—all for her.

When he finally left, the click of the door closing felt like a weight settling on my chest. I stared into the darkness until morning, numb, unmoving, unable even to cry.

---

I woke the next day to chaos.

Shouting rattled the walls. Feet thundered down the corridors. Elowen’s sobs echoed through the packhouse like a siren.

When I opened my door, I was met with hostile stares. Servants. Warriors. Elder maidens. All gathered, whispering with sharp mouths and sharpened eyes.

“She destroyed them.”

“Burned everything.”

“Even the rare ones we nearly died collecting.”

My stomach dropped.

Elowen appeared moments later, wrapped in a pale robe, tears streaking her cheeks. She looked pitiful—small, broken, clinging to sympathy like a lifeline. But when her gaze met mine, I saw it.

Triumph.

She buried her face against the Alpha’s chest.

“I saw her,” she sobbed loudly. “I watched Aveline burn my medicine. Every last bit.”

My breath caught. “That’s not true!” I shouted, but my words were swallowed by gasps and angry murmurs.

The Luna mother spun toward me, horror twisting her face. “How could you do something so cruel? You tried to kill her by destroying her treatment? Haven’t you caused enough harm already?”

The word murderer drifted through the room like poison smoke.

I wanted to tear the truth from Elowen’s mouth. To scream until the walls cracked. But before I could move, the Alpha raised his hand.

Silence fell instantly.

His expression was cold, merciless. “Confine her to her room. No meals. No water.”

My wolf roared inside me, but my body froze. Two servants seized my arms before I could react, their grips brutal.

Elowen’s crying intensified. She clutched him tighter, shaking her head weakly. “Please, Alpha… don’t punish her. She’s grieving. She lost her mate. She didn’t mean it. I’m fine—we’ll replace the herbs. Let her go.”

Her voice was gentle. Virtuous. Convincing.

But Alaric’s jaw hardened. He looked at her with false concern, then turned to me with eyes like stone. “No. Aveline’s actions are dangerous. She intended to worsen your condition by destroying your medicine.”

“You know that’s a lie!” I screamed. “I never touched them!”

“Take her away,” he said flatly.

They dragged me down the corridor as I kicked and fought, but the warriors were stronger. They threw me into my room, locked the door, and left.

For two days, no one came.

No food.

No water.

The first night, I clawed at the door until my nails split. By the second, my throat was so dry I couldn’t scream anymore. My wolf whimpered faintly, weakened by hunger.

I curled on the floor, shaking, fury burning hotter than the tears streaming down my face.

I will make him suffer.

I will make him feel every shred of this hunger, this rage, this helplessness.

That promise kept me breathing.

On the second night, the lock turned.

The door opened.

Two servants stood there, faces unreadable. “Stand up.”

I blinked at them, dizzy. “What…?”

“Orders from the Alpha,” one replied. “Elowen wants you to prepare dinner.”

My body shook as they hauled me through the halls. My legs felt hollow, barely holding me upright.

The kitchen stank of firewood and raw meat. They shoved me toward the counter. “Cook.”

My stomach twisted violently at the sight of food. My knees nearly buckled. But the warriors hovered close, daring me to refuse.

My hands trembled as I took the knife, slicing, stirring, moving through the motions. I cooked the same meals I once made for Alaric—dishes he used to praise with a smile that once meant everything.

Now, they tasted like ash.

When the stew finished simmering, I caught my reflection in the polished metal of the pot.

Sunken cheeks. Red-rimmed eyes. A stranger staring back.

And in that moment, I swore silently:

This was not how my story ended.

They could starve me. Strike me. Lock me away.

But they would not break me.

And one day—

he would understand what it meant to be trapped in hunger.