I didn’t pack.

There was no point pretending this was a departure I’d chosen. Anything I took would only be proof I still believed I was allowed to leave like a person instead of being erased like a mistake.

By nightfall, the estate felt hostile in a way it never had before. Doors that once opened at my approach remained shut. Servants avoided my eyes. Wolves I’d dined with, fought beside, negotiated for—every one of them suddenly remembered something important on the opposite side of the corridor when they saw me coming.

Isolation wasn’t loud. It didn’t announce itself.

It settled.

I went to the armory first. The door was locked.

That alone told me everything I needed to know.

The Alpha’s private wing was sealed as well, guarded by two enforcers whose hands never strayed far from their weapons. They didn’t challenge me. They didn’t need to. The message was clear: whatever I did next, I would be doing it without protection.

Without witnesses.

I turned away and headed toward the old training grounds, the part of the estate closest to the northern forest. The air grew colder with every step, the moon already high enough to cast silver veins through the trees beyond the boundary stones.

The forest loomed like a living thing—ancient, dense, unforgiving. Wolves respected it for a reason. Too many had gone in chasing prey or pride and never come back.

That was where Corvin had said they would take me.

I heard footsteps behind me before I reached the edge of the clearing.

Three sets.

Measured. Deliberate.

I didn’t turn immediately. “You don’t need to pretend this is protocol,” I said quietly. “I know what this is.”

The footsteps stopped.

Then one of them spoke. “Alpha’s orders.”

I faced them at last.

Three enforcers stood in a loose line, their expressions unreadable. I recognized all of them. One had trained under my supervision. Another had been present when I’d negotiated peace with the Stoneclaw Pack. The third—young, tense—couldn’t meet my eyes.

“Escort,” I said flatly.

The first man nodded once. “Beyond the boundary.”

“And then?”

Silence.

The youngest swallowed. “We… wait.”

I let out a slow breath. The night air tasted sharp, metallic, like rain before a storm.

“Does Seraphyne know?” I asked.

The oldest answered. “She didn’t need to.”

That hurt more than if she had ordered it herself.

I stepped forward without resistance.

They led me along the narrow path that cut toward the forest’s mouth, the moonlight thinning as branches swallowed the sky. The deeper we went, the quieter the world became. No birds. No insects. Just the soft crunch of boots and the distant, restless shifting of unseen animals.

At the boundary stone, they stopped.

Ancient runes marked the slab, warnings carved deep into its surface. Beyond this point, the pack’s protection ended. Whatever happened past the stone was considered the will of the land.

One of the men cleared his throat. “You should remove your shoes.”

I stared at him. “Why?”

“Less noise,” he said. “And… better chance, if you run.”

Run.

So there it was.

I bent down slowly and slipped off my boots, setting them neatly beside the stone. The earth beneath my feet was cold and damp, needles biting into my skin.

I straightened. “You can tell Corvin something for me.”

The oldest enforcer met my gaze, jaw tight. “What?”

I smiled faintly. “That the Moon remembers who was honest.”

His expression flickered—confusion, maybe fear.

Then they stepped back.

No shove. No dramatic farewell.

Just three men retreating into the shadows, leaving me standing alone at the edge of the forest.

I waited until their footsteps faded completely before moving.

I didn’t run.

Running made noise. Panic. Easy mistakes.

Instead, I walked into the trees, placing each step carefully, listening to the forest breathe around me. The moonlight fractured through the canopy, painting the ground in shifting patterns that made distance hard to judge.

Minutes passed. Or hours.

Time dissolved into sensation—the scrape of bark against my arm, the ache creeping into my bare feet, the slow, steady thud of my heart.

Then I heard it.

A low growl, close enough that the sound vibrated through my bones.

I froze.

Another answered from deeper in the forest.

Rogues.

Drawn by unfamiliar scent. By weakness. By blood.

I backed away slowly, breath shallow, but a snapped branch betrayed me. The growl deepened, closer now, hunger unmistakable.

Movement flickered between the trees.

I turned and ran.

Branches tore at my skin as I bolted through the undergrowth, lungs burning, feet slipping on damp earth. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I could hear them—heavy bodies crashing through brush, their snarls sharp with anticipation.

A root caught my ankle.

I went down hard, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. Pain flared up my leg, hot and blinding. I scrambled, dragging myself upright just as a dark shape lunged from the shadows.

Claws raked my shoulder. Fire exploded across my back.

I screamed, the sound tearing out of me raw and broken, and stumbled forward again, vision blurring. Another blow sent me sprawling, my cheek hitting the ground, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

They circled.

I pushed myself up on shaking arms, every breath agony, my body already betraying me. My wolf—silent, distant—refused to rise. Whatever dormant thing lived inside me had never learned to fight.

So this was how it ended.

Alone. Unmarked. Forgotten.

A figure stepped from the trees.

For a heartbeat, I thought I was hallucinating.

He moved with predatory calm, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence cutting through the chaos like a blade. His eyes caught the moonlight, storm-gray and sharp, locking onto the rogues with lethal focus.

They hesitated.

That alone told me who he was.

An Alpha.

The first rogue lunged.

The man shifted mid-stride, bones snapping, fur rippling across his skin in a blur of motion. A massive wolf burst forward, larger than the others, his snarl echoing through the forest as he slammed into the attacker with brutal force.

The fight was over almost as soon as it began.

When it ended, the forest was silent again.

I sagged against a tree, my strength gone, blood soaking into the earth beneath me. The Alpha shifted back, human once more, his movements efficient, controlled.

He approached slowly, carefully, like I might disappear if he moved too fast.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low and rough.

I laughed weakly. “Funny. I was told the same thing.”

He knelt beside me, eyes scanning my injuries, his expression darkening. “Who did this?”

I swallowed, my vision dimming. “My pack.”

Something dangerous flickered across his face.

“Blackthorn,” he said, not asking.

I nodded.

He exhaled through his teeth. “They don’t throw away what’s still breathing unless they’re afraid of it.”

“I’m not worth being afraid of,” I murmured.

His gaze snapped to mine. “You survived the boundary. That alone makes you interesting.”

My strength gave out then. The world tilted, darkness creeping in from the edges.

The last thing I felt was his arms lifting me with surprising gentleness, his voice cutting through the fog as he spoke to someone I couldn’t see.

“Get her to the safe house,” he ordered. “Now.”

As consciousness slipped away, one thought anchored itself in my mind, sharp and unyielding.

They thought the forest would erase me.

They were wrong.

I drifted in and out of consciousness for days.

At least, I thought it was days. Time lost its edges when pain became the only reliable measure of reality. Sometimes I woke to the crackle of fire. Sometimes to the murmur of voices I couldn’t quite grasp. Sometimes to nothing at all—just darkness pressing in, heavy and warm, like the forest still had me in its grip.

When I finally stayed awake long enough to understand where I was, the first thing I noticed was the ceiling.

Wooden beams. Rough-hewn, old. Not pack architecture. No sigils. No polished stone floors or ceremonial carvings. Just a low roof, a faint smell of pine smoke, and the soft glow of moonlight filtering through a narrow window.

I turned my head and regretted it immediately.

Pain flared along my shoulder and ribs, sharp enough to steal my breath. I bit down on a cry and stared at my arm, wrapped in clean linen, faintly stained with blood.

“You’re awake,” a voice said calmly.

I looked toward the sound.

The Alpha from the forest leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, posture relaxed in a way that only truly dangerous men ever mastered. He had changed clothes since the fight—dark fabric, simple cut, nothing ornamental—but his presence filled the room regardless.

“You don’t look surprised,” I managed, my voice hoarse.

He tilted his head slightly. “You don’t look like someone who scares easily.”

I almost laughed. It came out more like a breath. “You saved me.”

“I intervened,” he corrected. “Saving implies intention.”

I studied him more closely then. Storm-gray eyes. Scar along his jaw, half-hidden in shadow. The faint hum of power beneath his skin, steady and restrained.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Aleth,” he said after a moment. “Alpha of the Ashen Ridge.”

Ashen Ridge.

A rival pack. Exiled by the Council generations ago for refusing to bend to lunar law. Wolves whispered their name with equal parts fear and respect.

“And you?” he asked.

“Elowen,” I said. “Former Luna of Blackthorn.”

His eyes sharpened. “Former.”

“They never bonded me,” I added quietly. “I was never recognized.”

Something in his expression shifted—interest, maybe. Or calculation.

He pushed off the wall and crossed the room, stopping beside the bed. “You crossed the northern boundary unmarked,” he said. “Survived a rogue attack without a wolf. And Blackthorn chose to discard you.”

“That about sums it up.”

He studied me in silence for a long moment. “You know what that looks like from the outside.”

I swallowed. “Enlighten me.”

“It looks like fear,” he said simply.

I closed my eyes, exhaustion pulling at me again. “They had no reason to be afraid.”

Aleth snorted softly. “They always do.”

When I slept again, the dreams were different.

No screaming. No claws.

Just the Moon.

She hung low and impossibly close, silver light pouring down over a forest that felt alive in a way it never had before. I stood barefoot in the clearing, unbroken, unbleeding, my skin humming with something I didn’t recognize.

You are late, the Moon seemed to whisper.

“I wasn’t invited,” I replied in the dream.

A pause. Then—

You were hidden.

I woke with my heart racing, my skin warm, my blood humming faintly beneath it.

Days passed.

My wounds closed faster than they should have. The gashes along my shoulder knit cleanly, leaving thin, pale scars. The ache in my ribs dulled to something manageable. Aleth’s healers said little, but their glances lingered on me longer each time they changed my bandages.

“You’re not fragile,” one of them muttered once, half to herself.

On the seventh night, Aleth returned with news.

He didn’t sit this time. He stood at the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable.

“Blackthorn announced your death,” he said.

The words didn’t land all at once. They scattered, sharp and cold.

“Death?” I echoed.

“Rogue attack beyond the northern forest,” he continued. “Your body was never recovered.”

I closed my eyes, a strange, hollow laugh bubbling up in my chest. “Efficient.”

“They held a Moon Burial Rite,” Aleth added. “An empty grave. Your name carved into stone.”

Something twisted inside me—not pain, not quite grief. More like… disbelief.

“They didn’t even pretend to look for me.”

Aleth’s gaze held mine. “They mourned convincingly.”

I laughed then. Really laughed. It cracked out of me, ugly and raw, startling even myself. Tears slid down my temples, but I didn’t wipe them away.

“So that’s it,” I said softly. “I’m dead.”

“As far as the packs are concerned,” he agreed. “Yes.”

Silence stretched between us.

Finally, he asked, “Do you want them to know you’re alive?”

I thought of the council chamber. Of Seraphyne’s calm smile. Of Corvin’s voice ordering my removal as if he were discarding an inconvenience.

“No,” I said slowly. “Not yet.”

Aleth nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “Good.”

He turned to leave, then paused. “The Moon doesn’t erase what it hasn’t claimed,” he said over his shoulder. “If she wanted you gone, you’d be gone.”

After he left, I sat up carefully and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath my feet, grounding.

Dead.

They thought I was dead.

I moved to the small mirror on the far wall and studied my reflection. I looked thinner. Paler. The woman staring back at me seemed sharper somehow, as if the softness had been burned away, leaving something lean and dangerous underneath.

“I died once,” I whispered to her.

She didn’t look afraid.

That night, Aleth took me outside.

The sky was clear, the Moon full and luminous, bathing the mountains in silver. We stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the valley, the world stretching vast and indifferent below us.

“Blackthorn will move on quickly,” Aleth said. “They always do. Corvin will formalize his bond. His heir will be presented to the Council.”

I said nothing.

“They’ll tell your story however it suits them,” he continued. “A weak Luna. An unfortunate loss. A necessary correction.”

I inhaled slowly, the cold air filling my lungs. “Let them.”

Aleth studied me from the corner of his eye. “And what will you do?”

I looked up at the Moon, her light washing over my skin, warm and electric. Something stirred deep inside me—not a wolf, not yet, but a presence that felt old and patient.

“I’ll learn,” I said. “I’ll heal. And when I walk back into their world…”

I turned to him, my voice steady, my resolve iron-hard.

“…it won’t be as a Luna.”

Aleth’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. “Good.”

Below us, the wind howled through the mountains like a warning—or a promise.

The Moon shone brighter, as if she were listening.

Corvin Blackthorn did not cry at my funeral.

He stood at the head of the Moon Circle, dressed in ceremonial black, his posture straight, his expression appropriately solemn. To anyone watching, he looked like an Alpha bearing loss with dignity. The kind of man the pack could rally behind. The kind of leader the Council respected.

Only those who knew him well might have noticed how carefully controlled his stillness was.

The Moon Burial Rite was held at dusk, when the light balanced between day and night. Wolves gathered in silence, their breaths fogging in the cooling air as the elders traced runes into the earth around the empty grave. An unmarked coffin rested above the pit, sealed and immaculate, filled with nothing but folded cloth and ashes from the ritual fire.

Symbolic.

Efficient.

Seraphyne stood at Corvin’s side, her fingers threaded through his arm, her presence unmistakable. The Moonlight caught the crescent mark at her collarbone, making it glow faintly. The pack saw it. Felt it. They straightened in unison, instinct bending them toward her like iron filings toward a magnet.

This is how it should have been, Corvin told himself.

Restored. Balanced. Correct.

Elder Marius began the rite, his voice low and steady as he recited the words that returned a fallen wolf to the land. “She who walked among us now walks beyond,” he intoned. “May the Moon judge her truth.”

Corvin’s jaw tightened.

Judge her truth.

The words scraped against something in his chest he didn’t want to examine.

Elion shifted beside Seraphyne, tugging at her sleeve. “Why is everyone sad?” he whispered, his voice carrying farther than intended in the quiet circle.

Seraphyne knelt, smoothing the boy’s hair. “Because someone left,” she said gently. “And they’re saying goodbye.”

Elion frowned. “Did she go to the Moon?”

Seraphyne hesitated—just a fraction. Then she smiled. “Yes.”

Corvin’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and warning. She met his eyes calmly, her own wolf steady beneath her skin.

The elders lowered the coffin into the earth. Soil followed, heavy and final. Wolves bowed their heads. A few lifted their muzzles and howled—long, mournful cries that echoed across the valley.

Corvin didn’t join them.

He stared at the grave, an odd pressure building behind his ribs.

She should have broken, he thought.

Elowen had always been composed, controlled, too careful with her emotions. She’d accepted every slight with grace, every delay with patience. Even at the end, she hadn’t begged. She hadn’t screamed.

She’d looked at him like he was already a stranger.

The rite ended. Wolves dispersed slowly, murmuring to one another, already shifting into conversations about new beginnings. Succession. Territory. The future.

Seraphyne squeezed Corvin’s arm. “It’s done,” she said softly.

He nodded. “It is.”

That night, the estate felt louder than it ever had.

Music filled the great hall, low and rhythmic, a celebration disguised as remembrance. Wine flowed freely. Laughter rose without guilt. The pack had shed an inconvenient skin and was eager to enjoy the relief.

Corvin stood near the fire, nursing a drink he hadn’t touched, watching the movement of bodies through the room. Seraphyne moved easily among them, receiving nods of respect, soft touches of reverence. She belonged here in a way Elowen never truly had.

And yet—

When Corvin’s gaze drifted toward the doorway that led to the east wing, his chest tightened unexpectedly.

The greenhouse came to mind.

The way Elowen used to disappear there when pack politics grew too sharp, returning calmer, more focused. He hadn’t understood it at the time. Plants had seemed like such a small thing to cling to.

Now the space was empty. Stripped. Silent.

Good, he told himself. Necessary.

“You’re distracted,” Seraphyne said, appearing at his side with two glasses of wine. She handed one to him, her fingers brushing his briefly.

“Just tired,” he replied.

She studied him, her gaze shrewd. “You don’t look relieved.”

“I am,” he said automatically.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then drink.”

He did, downing the wine in one swallow. It burned going down, settling heavily in his stomach.

Later, when the hall had thinned and Elion had been taken to bed by the nursemaids, Seraphyne pulled Corvin toward the Alpha’s chambers.

“This is our night,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. “The pack has its Luna back.”

He followed her, because that was what was expected.

The bond between them hummed, warm and insistent, the Moon’s approval unmistakable. And yet, as Seraphyne’s hands slid over his skin, his mind betrayed him with unwanted memories.

Elowen standing in the council chamber, refusing to bow.

Elowen’s voice, steady as she accused him of lies.

Elowen walking into the forest without shoes, her back straight even as he condemned her.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the images away.

“Corvin,” Seraphyne murmured, sensing the shift. “Stay with me.”

“I am,” he said, more harshly than intended.

She stilled, pulling back slightly to look at him. “You’re thinking about her.”

The accusation hung between them.

“She’s dead,” he said flatly.

Seraphyne searched his face for a long moment, then nodded. “Good,” she said. “Then let her be buried.”

She leaned in again, reclaiming his attention, and this time he didn’t resist.

But later, long after Seraphyne’s breathing evened out beside him, Corvin lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

The Moonlight crept across the room, pale and uninvited.

For the first time since the rite, he felt it—sharp and sudden.

A pull.

Not the bond with Seraphyne. That was steady, expected.

This was something else.

A faint, distant ache, like a thread pulled taut somewhere deep inside him, vibrating with a tension he couldn’t explain.

He pressed a hand to his chest, scowling into the darkness.

“Get it together,” he muttered.

Outside, far beyond Blackthorn land, the Moon burned bright and watchful.

And somewhere in the mountains, a woman the pack had buried breathed in that same silver light—very much alive.