Chapter Two

Damien forgot us—so deeply that when we died, he didn’t mourn. He didn’t rage. He celebrated.

He told Elara, “No need for the severance anymore. She's taken care of.”

But death couldn’t hold me. And this time, I was taking Ayla and rewriting our fate.

The wind screamed across Frostfang Ridge as I knelt before the stone gates of Stormfang Keep—my father’s territory. I held Ayla’s frozen hand in mine, my back straight despite the snow slicing at my skin.

Guards whispered behind their steel-forged spears. One of them—a young wolf with pity in his amber eyes—vanished into the hold.

When he returned, his voice was tight. “Alpha Gideon will see you.”

The heavy doors creaked open, and the cold that poured out had nothing to do with the snow.

My father emerged cloaked in black. A massive wolf pelt hung from his shoulders, and a battle-scarred whip coiled at his hip like a living thing. His face was all hard lines, carved from years of rule, but his storm-gray eyes wavered when they landed on me.

“So,” he growled, “the prodigal daughter returns in rags.”

He growled low once. Ayla flinched. I didn't move.

“I won’t beg,” I said, my voice steady. “I won’t plead for scraps. But if you still call me daughter—let us in. Let her live.”

He stared at me for a long time. Then his gaze dropped to Ayla. “She’s yours?”

“And Damien’s.”

Something primal flashed in his eyes. He turned away, jaw clenched. “Break the bond. Sever every tie to that traitor, and you’ll have a place here again. As Selene Stormfang. Your daughter will carry our crest. But if even one thread remains between you and Nightfang...”

“I’ll burn the thread myself,” I said.

Alpha Gideon studied me, then gave a single nod. “Then shed that filth. Bathe. Dress in something worthy of your name. You will not stand before the elders looking like a rogue.”

I lifted my chin. “No.”

His brow arched. “You refuse?”

“I won’t return pretending to be the broken girl who left. I won’t hide behind silk and lineage.”

I took Ayla’s hand. “I’m not here as the discarded daughter of Stormfang. I’ve come back as retribution.”

A flicker of pride crossed his expression. “Then make them remember who you are.”

That same day, still wrapped in blood-stained rags and carrying my half-frozen daughter, I crossed into the capital of Nightfang Pack.

The manor loomed ahead—twisting black stone and bone-thread banners flapping against the sky. Two guards snarled when I approached.

“State your business,” one barked.

“I have a message for Alpha Damien.”

The other scoffed. “Do you think we let strays wander into the Alpha’s Keep?”

I met his gaze. “Tell him his mate has returned.”

His lip curled. “Alpha Damien has no rogue mate. He has Luna Elara—the mother of the future Alpha. If you speak again, I’ll have your tongue.”

I knew this would happen.

I dropped to my knees, pulled Ayla close, and let my voice carry across the stone courtyard.

“Hear me, Nightfang wolves! I am Selene Stormfang—Damien’s bonded mate. Under the Blood Moon, I bore him a daughter. He swore me Luna before the sacred grove, before the Elders, before the Moon herself. And then he left us to rot in the snow!”

Balconies filled with faces. Whispers buzzed through the streets.

“Isn’t she the one who vanished five years ago?”

“She’s a rogue now. She lies.”

“But look at the child... her eyes. She has his eyes.”

I reached into my cloak and pulled out the parchment—stained but intact. “This is the blood-oath. Signed and sealed by his own hand. If he denies me, let the Elders bear witness. I will summon judgment under the Elder Moon!”

The guards hesitated, eyes flicking to the parchment. The Nightfang seal shimmered faintly beneath the cracked wax.

One turned. “Wait here.”

Moments later, the great doors opened.

Damien stood tall in his ceremonial cloak, his shoulders draped in furs. Power clung to him like armor. And beside him, Elara—gilded in silver and silk, her Luna mark gleaming on her brow like a stolen crown.

I met his eyes.

He blinked. Recognition flickered.

“Look up,” he said, voice low.

I did. My lip curled into something between a smile and a snarl.

His face paled.

He knew me.

And I knew the war had just begun.

Chapter Three

“Selene...?”

The voice came from the steps of the Nightfang Alpha manor. Low. Controlled.

But I caught the crack in it.

Damien descended slowly, each step a study in forced composure. But I saw it—the flare of disbelief in his stormy gaze. The tremble in his fingers before he stilled them.

“If you wanted to speak to me,” he said under his breath, “you could have sent word through the Shadow Runners. Why show up like this?”

Ayla shifted in my arms, her tiny frame pressed close. She whimpered softly in her sleep. Starved. Cold. So light it broke my heart.

Damien’s eyes darted to the gathering crowd near the iron gates. His jaw clenched. “I wrote to you. Told you not to return until it was safe. There are... complications.”

Complications.

I stared at him. After everything. After the betrayal. After our deaths.

He still looked like a god among wolves—tall, broad-shouldered, his Alpha mark pulsing faintly beneath the collar of his formal jacket. Gold thread glinted at his cuffs, and the Nightfang crest gleamed on his chest.

And me?

I was nothing but a ghost in torn leathers and mud-soaked boots, carrying our child like a secret he tried to bury.

“You promised,” I said quietly. “Three years, you said. You’d bring us home. You’d make me Luna.”

His expression shuttered. Something flickered in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret—but it vanished quickly, buried beneath indifference.

“I was going to. But now isn’t the right time.”

He pressed a small pouch into my palm. The weight of silver coins clinked inside. “Take this. Leave quietly. If you must, sever the bond. It’ll be better—for all of us.”

I looked at the pouch.

Then I laughed.

It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp enough to slice through the tension in the courtyard.

I raised the pouch high—and turned it upside down. Silver coins scattered across the stones, rolling into shadows and under boots.

“Alpha Damien of Nightfang now dismisses his true mate and child with silver?” I asked, voice calm but clear. “How noble.”

The chatter around the gates died instantly.

“Selene,” Damien hissed. “Are you insane? What are you doing?”

“I’m feeding my daughter,” I said flatly. “She hasn’t eaten in three days. I came here to claim what’s mine. But if all you can offer us is coin, then let your wolves hear the truth.”

My gaze swept over the curious, whispering nobles. I stepped forward, not bothering to hide my ripped cloak or the blood on my boots.

“I am Selene Stormfang. Bonded mate of Alpha Damien. Marked beneath the Blood Moon. I bore his daughter, Ayla, and bled for this Pack. And he discarded me like trash when another female offered him more power.”

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the crowd. Damien went rigid.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” he muttered. “There are guests. Diplomats. Elara—”

“Elara,” I repeated, tasting the name like ash on my tongue.

Speak of the devil.

She appeared at the top of the stairs, all grace and glitter—Elara, the polished serpent. Dressed in ivory and crowned with braids threaded in gold. Her hand rested protectively on the slight swell of her stomach.

“Elara,” I said, lifting my chin. “The new Luna. The one you chose over us.”

Her voice was sweet, oiled with false concern. “Selene, if you’re truly who you say you are, then of course you’re welcome. You must be exhausted. Come inside, we’ll—”

“No,” I cut in, cold. “Don’t pretend kindness now. I would not be taken to a side room.”

Her smile faltered. Briefly. Enough.

“I’m not here for charity. And I’m not going to some servant’s quarters to be hidden like a sin. You’re having a feast, aren’t you? Good. My daughter and I are starving. We’ll eat with the rest.”

“Selene—!” Damien snapped. His voice cracked like a whip. “Enough. You’re humiliating yourself.”

“No,” I said. “I’m revealing you.”

He took a step forward, face pale. “Change her clothes,” he told Elara, barely holding onto his Alpha composure. “Take her inside. Quietly. Before this gets worse.”

I saw it then—the fear behind his fury. Not of me. Of exposure.

Good.

I adjusted Ayla’s weight in my arms and smiled. “You buried us once, Damien. But we’ve clawed our way out. This time, the Pack will see the truth with their own eyes.”

And the first howl of war had begun.

Chapter four

Damien hesitated, as if caught in the jaws of his own guilt. His gaze lingered on me a second too long—too soft, too haunted—before he stepped forward and forced neutrality back into his features.

“Elara is like a sister to me,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “She’s the only wolf I could rely on after the war. That’s all this is. We’re... absolutely innocent.”

Innocent.

The word hung in the air like a cruel joke.

I said nothing.

Because if I opened my mouth, I might howl.

My silence made him shift uncomfortably. His amber eyes searched mine, growing increasingly uneasy with each second I didn’t speak.

But my mind had already left the present.

I was back in the storm of my first death—blood, lies, betrayal.

Elara had stood before the Council of Elders, tears glistening like dew on her lashes. She’d accused me of sabotaging the food stores during the famine, claiming Ayla and I had stolen mooncakes laced with wolfsbane.

She said we’d poisoned ourselves.

Damien hadn’t questioned it. Hadn’t blinked. He’d wrapped her in his arms, whispering comforts meant for a grieving mate.

From the shadowed veil of the spirit realm, I watched as he mourned the lie.

“She was a mistake,” he’d said. “If she had lived, I would’ve cast her out. Elara, you and your pups are my future. I won’t let her ghost threaten that.”

That was the moment I died.

Not from poison, but from the truth.

That was when Selene Stormfang ceased to exist.

Now, Elara stood in front of me again, swathed in ivory silk, her pregnant belly cradled like a trophy. She smiled, ever gentle. “Sister, you’ve traveled far. Come, let’s get you changed into something warm. The feast is still going.”

She reached for Ayla.

But Ayla flinched, darting behind my leg and clutching the worn hem of my tunic.

Damien crouched before her, a smile softening his face. “Little one... don’t you remember me?”

Ayla blinked up at him with wide, wary eyes. Her grip on my leg tightened, and her lower lip trembled.

“She was barely out of her swaddling cloth when you went away,” I said, voice cool. “And you never returned. So no—she doesn’t remember the wolf who abandoned her.”

Despite the dirt and hunger, Ayla had grown beautifully—her wolf emerging with quiet strength. In the firelight, her eyes shimmered like stormlit skies, just like mine. A cub forged from ruin.

Damien gathered her into his arms with a father’s ease, coaxing her gently. “Ayla, it’s me. I’m your father. Say it—Daddy.”

But she only stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, pulling on my tunic like she was begging me to save her.

He tried again, voice dipping into softness. For a moment, I almost saw the wolf I once loved.

Then she remained silent. And his patience cracked.

His voice sharpened. “Selene, now that you’re here, when are you planning to return?”

My brow lifted. “Return? To the cave in the eastern pass? The one you called a ‘safehouse’? The one that flooded when the river swelled and nearly drowned us both?”

He flinched.

“I told you,” he said quietly. “I was waiting for the right time. The manor is crowded. Diplomats. Warriors. There’s no room right now. Once the east wing is repaired, I’ll—”

“No.”

My voice turned to frost. “You think I’ll let you stash us away again? Hide us like a scandal? Ayla and I lived on scraps and rainwater. We chewed bark. Slept in trees. If not for a wandering rogue with herbs and mercy, we’d be bones by now.”

“This Pack has dozens of halls, Damien. Hundreds of beds. But no space for your mate and daughter?”

I saw it now—how blind I had been.

I had loved him. Trusted him. Denied the blood in my veins to be his Luna.

And he had let me rot in the wild.

“Five years,” I said softly. “Five years of silence. Of empty letters and promises that never arrived. No food. No coin. Not a whisper of your voice.”

Damien’s brow creased. “That’s not true. I sent silver. One hundred moons every month. Through the courier wolves.”

My heart stopped cold.

“When?” I asked. “Every month?”

He nodded, brows drawn tight. “Since the day I left. Without fail.”

His eyes shifted. Cut to Elara.

And there it was.

Her smile didn’t falter.

But her hand—resting over her belly—tightened.

The truth was written in the stiffness of her spine.

I saw it.

And so did he.