I honestly didn’t think he’d pick up so fast.

I expected at least a few rings—enough time for me to panic, second-guess myself, maybe even drop the call before he heard my voice.

But he answered on the very first tone.

“Lyriana.”

Corvin Draven’s voice slid through the speaker, deep and cutting, like metal dragged free from a sheath. “Tell me you’re not playing games with me.”

I didn’t respond right away.

Sometimes silence kept things from breaking. Sometimes silence kept me from breaking.

“I’ve been hunting after you for as long as you’ve been throwing your heart at that bastard Moises Blackwood,” he growled, voice crackling with frustration. “You—cold as a damn glacier for the last three years—and suddenly you call me out of nowhere? What changed, Lyriana? What finally made you wake up?”

Corvin Draven.

My almost-mate.

My once-lover, if fate hadn’t twisted its knife.

He wasn’t just an Alpha—he was a force that thundered rather than walked. The true heir of the Draven Pack, yet he chose the life of a rogue. Not because he was exiled, but because he preferred the freedom of the wild to the chains of a throne. His pack was infamous—not a collection of rejects, but a tribe of warriors who followed him by choice, not fear. A pack woven from ancient strength and untamed fury.

And he wanted me.

For years, he watched me as though he could see the truth beneath my bones. As though he recognized something in me I hadn’t yet dared to claim. He followed not with claws or teeth—but with a gaze so fierce it stripped me bare.

I almost let myself fall.

Almost let him claim me completely.

But then Moises gave me the illusion of a future—a single drop of hope I mistook for an entire ocean. A lie I clung to long after it cut me open.

So I turned away from Corvin.

Now, hearing him again, with my heart worn thin and my soul scraped hollow, I managed, “I shouldn’t have called. Forget it. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It vibrated.

Then: a violent crash. Something heavy hitting stone or glass.

“You think,” Corvin said slowly, voice dropping to something raw and dangerous, “that you can summon me when you’re breaking… then pretend I don’t exist when you’re done? Is that who I am to you?”

His wolf pushed forward—his voice roughened, thickened, something primal bleeding into every syllable.

“You chose me tonight, Lyriana,” he said, every word a promise and a threat. “Don’t even think about running again.”

My breath faltered.

“I’m giving you one month,” he bit out. “Finish whatever you need to finish with that coward. After that, I’m coming for you. And next time? I’m not letting you walk away.”

The line clicked off with icy finality.

I stared at the phone, the sting in my chest dragging me backward through years of regret and what-ifs. A humorless smile tugged at my mouth.

He hadn’t changed.

Still thunder wrapped in skin.

That night, Moises never returned.

And I didn’t wait like I used to.

I moved through the packhouse without making a sound—slipping from room to room like a restless ghost. My hands packed mechanically, folding away the remnants of a life built on cracks: gifts from moments he wanted forgiveness, tokens from battles he won, expensive silks meant to cover wounds he gave.

They were meaningless now.

My wolf didn’t whimper, didn’t speak. She was exhausted—tired beyond tears, beyond anger.

Morning crept in quietly, warm light spilling across the floorboards, when the front door finally opened.

Moises stepped in, wearing the same clothes he’d left with. Sweat clung to his skin. Lust clung stronger. Not a trace of guilt touched him.

“What’re you clearing out?” he asked, gaze landing on the stacked boxes.

A tiny flinch escaped before I forced myself to straighten.

“Just tossing out a few things,” I replied, flicking a strand of hair over my shoulder. “Things I don’t need anymore.”

He strode over and glanced inside the nearest box. His expression darkened.

Inside lay every single gift from him.

“You’re calling these trash?”

I shrugged lightly. “Old clothes, old presents. They’re taking up space. I figured I’d donate them under your name. ‘Alpha of the Blackwood Pack donates to mountain orphans.’ Sounds good for your public image, don’t you think?”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Familiar. Hollow.

“You always did make me look good.”

But those eyes—those unreadable, icy eyes—didn’t show concern. Or pain.

Or anything, really.

He didn’t believe my excuse.

He just didn’t care enough to ask.

A sudden crash shattered behind me. A sharp, ringing echo.

I spun around—dread rising like bile.

Veronica stood near the shelf, her eyes wide and shining, a broken sculpture at her feet. She wore innocence like perfume—pleasant, sweet, and suffocating.

“Oh—oops,” she breathed. “I didn’t mean to! I’m so sorry, Alpha Moises. Sorry, Lyriana.”

And just like always, Moises didn’t look at the shattered art piece or at me.

He marched straight to her.

His entire scent shifted—concern, softness, urgency.

“Are you alright?” he asked, cupping her cheeks gently.

She shook her head, but her lips trembled only for effect. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” His voice dropped to a soft murmur as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was worried something happened.”

My lungs tightened.

Nothing is more important than you…

Not me.

Not the mate fate bound to him.

Not the wife he pushed into the shadows.

Not the woman he was supposed to protect.

Veronica turned those wide doe-eyes on me, false guilt shimmering. “You don’t mind, right, Lyriana?”

I lowered my gaze to the broken sculpture.

It had been a custom piece from a mountain artisan—commemorating our first run outside Blackwood territory. Our faces carved into the stone. A memory I once cherished.

Now it lay in jagged pieces across the floor.

Years ago, I would have growled. Would have demanded an apology. Would have defended myself.

Now?

“It’s fine.”

Two simple words. They tasted like blades.

Something flashed in Veronica’s eyes. Satisfaction. Triumph. But she hid it quickly behind a sugary pout.

“Oh, you’re always so understanding.”

Then, twisting the dagger deeper, she added, “Since she’s so generous, I’m sure she won’t mind what I ask next.”

Moises didn’t even look my way. He didn’t need to.

“She just got back to North Carolina,” he said, “and with the Blackthorns out of town, she’s not comfortable staying alone.”

My heart sank.

“Let her stay here,” he continued.

My wolf bristled beneath my skin.

“And,” he added, as if gifting away scraps, “your room gets the morning sun. She hates the cold. Give her that one.”

The command settled like ice over my shoulders.

That was when it hit me—truly hit me.

He had never been mine.

Never tried to be.

Never wanted to be.

He had always belonged to her.

But his reign over my life was almost over.

Soon, he’d learn what it meant for a wolf who had already died once to rise again—reborn in fire and fury.

He had thirty days.

Just one month left.

Even after three years bound by the Moon, Alpha Moises Blackwood and I still didn’t share a bed most nights.

He always had a ready excuse—something about hating the feeling of another body beside him while he slept.

But I wasn’t stupid.

It wasn’t people he couldn’t stand.

It was me.

I was a Luna only in title—never marked, never claimed, never welcomed under his covers. His wolf never brushed against mine. His scent never wrapped around me the way true mates instinctively did. I was an obligation he never meant to honor, a placeholder wearing a bond he treated like an inconvenience.

Yet with Veronica?

He was soft with her. Patient. Tender in a way he had never once been with me.

He probably had a whole explanation rehearsed for why she needed my room—something noble, something polite—but the moment I said “okay” without arguing, something shifted in his expression, like he didn’t expect compliance.

“No problem,” I said, keeping my tone airy. “Most of my things are still in there anyway. I’ll clear them out.”

What did it matter? Whether I moved out today or next week, the result was the same.

I wasn’t staying.

And I think he knew it too. Because when I mentioned I was taking everything with me, something—an instinct, maybe—flickered in his eyes. Like a protest almost rose to his lips.

But Veronica, ever eager to be center stage, chimed in with her honeyed voice before he could speak.

“Thanks, sis. You’re such a lifesaver… Luna Lyriana.”

I didn’t respond.

Didn’t trust my voice not to crack.

Instead, I bent down, wrapped my arms around the heaviest box, and turned toward the stairs. The weight strained my muscles and my fingers trembled from trying to hold it steady.

A shard of glass—hidden beneath the edge of a carpet—slid under my foot.

My balance vanished.

I crashed down hard.

My knee hit the floor first, skin splitting on impact. Razor-thin pieces of glass dug into my leg and palm, slicing deep enough to pull a gasp from my lungs. Pain jolted through me, bright and hot. My wolf whimpered quietly under my skin, distressed but exhausted.

Still, I made no sound.

Moises didn’t even glance my way.

Veronica hooked her arm around his, leading him toward the stairs like she was guiding her Alpha.

Maybe she was.

So I stayed there on the floor—on my knees, wounded, surrounded by broken glass and the weight of everything I’d been swallowing for years—while tears slipped silently onto the tiles.

There was a time when I thought those tears mattered.

When I thought someone—him—would notice.

But not anymore.

In the Blackthorn Packhouse, Moises never let Veronica lift anything heavier than a teacup.

“Our Veronica’s a little princess,” he’d always say with affection. “She deserves delicate treatment.”

And me?

Before they discovered I wasn’t the maid’s daughter, I scrubbed floors until my fingers cracked open. I hauled laundry, polished corridors, carried crates heavier than my own body.

I learned early:

No one was coming to help me.

If something hurt, I kept moving anyway.

Becoming the true-born Blackthorn daughter changed nothing.

Becoming Moises’s wife changed nothing.

Becoming the Blackwood Pack’s Luna changed nothing at all.

It took me the rest of the day to pack. Slowly. Methodically.

Box after box.

Memory after memory.

Pain tucked away in cardboard and tape.

By sunset, everything was loaded onto a truck.

“You didn’t need to get rid of so much,” Moises muttered as he walked past me. He sounded mildly annoyed, like my cleaning inconvenienced him. “Veronica’s only staying temporarily. Once she leaves, you’ll move back in. What was the point of dumping everything?”

To him, I probably seemed strange—too quiet, too calm.

“They’re things from the past,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I figured it was time to clear them out.”

He watched me, brows knitting slightly, like he was trying to decipher something on my face.

“You’re not wasteful,” he said slowly.

No.

I wasn’t.

I grew up with scraps, leftovers, hand-me-downs. I knew the value of everything I touched. None of the items I threw away were meaningless.

But I smiled faintly and replied, “Sometimes you need space for something new. You can’t hold onto what’s old forever.”

Like people, I thought.

Like bonds.

Like a marriage built on pretense.

He didn’t push further. If he did, it would only call attention to how little he noticed.

“There’s an auction tonight,” he said, changing the subject abruptly. “The organizers asked me to attend. You’ll join me. And Veronica too.”

I opened my mouth—ready to refuse—but he cut me off sharply.

“You’re my Luna, yes, but you’re also my assistant. I can’t show up without my secretary.”

A bitter laugh nearly escaped me.

So that was all I was tonight.

The assistant.

A functional role.

A title on paper.

A placeholder.

My throat tightened with unsaid truths—And what is she? Your mistress? Your Luna-to-be? What am I in this farce?—but I swallowed them down.

I nodded once.

One last performance.

One final duty before I walked away for good.

Night draped over the sky like velvet as we entered the auction hall. Crystal lights shimmered overhead, illuminating wolves draped in silk and tailored suits. Power hummed in the air like electricity. Wealth glittered from every surface. Secrets clung to the walls like perfume.

Moises walked ahead with perfect posture, letting Veronica thread her arm through his like she belonged there.

Calista, tonight’s host, greeted him with a radiant smile.

“Alpha Moises Blackwood! Your seat is ready. This way, please.”

She motioned toward a table set for two.

“I heard you’re married?” Calista said cheerfully. “The second seat is for your wife.”

There it was.

The moment I’d always known would come.

Silence stretched—sharp, suffocating.

Moises’s marriage had been kept quiet, hidden from society, tucked into the shadows the same way he’d tucked me away.

Two women. One seat meant for a wife.

And he didn’t even pause.

“I’m not married,” he said coolly. “Not sure who started that rumor.”

My heart didn’t shatter—it had broken so many times it no longer knew how.

But something inside me tightened—a cold, slow burn that spread through my ribs. Not shock. Not heartbreak.

Just clarity.

Calista’s brows lifted. “Then who are they?”

Moises took Veronica’s hand without hesitation.

“This is Veronica Blackthorn, daughter of Alpha Magnus of the Blackthorn Pack.”

Recognition flickered in Calista’s eyes.

Then Moises glanced at me like my presence annoyed him.

“And she,” he said blandly, “is my secretary.”

Not a flicker of emotion crossed my face.

I’d braced myself for this—for public erasure, for the brutality of being verbally unmade.

But preparation didn’t make the pain any duller.

I stayed standing behind them, straight-backed, chin lifted, every ounce of dignity stitched into the bones of my posture.

A Luna only in title.

A mate only on paper.

A ghost wearing flesh.

They took their seats.

I remained behind them—like staff.

A sudden stab of pain pierced my lower abdomen, sharp enough to make my hand tremble as it pressed against my stomach. I forced my breathing steady, each inhale weighted with betrayal.

I turned away from them, each step heavy, like wading through cold water. The room blurred at the edges as I walked toward the restroom—not gracefully, not with strength, but with the quiet, desperate retreat of a wolf backing away from a battle she knew she could no longer win.

For now.

I hadn’t shifted in days, nor had my cycle returned—so why did this pain hit me like a blade twisting inside? It wasn’t just a cramp, not merely physical agony. Something primal was clawing at me from within—my wolf, desperate and frightened, thrashing in silent rage.

I gripped the edge of the bathroom sink, knuckles blanching as I fought to breathe through the searing coil that wrapped around my stomach.

No blood.

No heat.

No bond snapping.

And yet… I could feel it. Something was wrong. Terribly, unmistakably wrong.

I pushed myself from the sink, swaying, searching for the relief of open air, maybe even a way to flee. My hand shot to the doorknob—and it wouldn’t budge.

Click.

It was locked. From the outside.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice raw and sharp, panic beginning to prick at the edges of my mind. “Someone… anyone?”

Then her voice—sweet, venomous, the last sound I wanted to hear.

Veronica.

“Bitch,” she hissed from the other side, every syllable laced with smug triumph. “How’s that cast-off, hand-me-down life treating you?”

My chest tightened.

“Alpha Moises has always loved me,” she continued, venom dripping from her words. “From the start. And now that I’m back? You’re in my way. Really? You have the nerve to show up here tonight, trying to steal the limelight from me?”

Pain radiated through my belly, folding me over as if the world itself had slammed into me. Cold sweat slicked my temples, my wolf groaning in alarm beneath my skin. Something was very, very wrong. This was no petty jealousy—it carried the taste of something unnatural, something invasive. Poison? A curse?

Through gritted teeth, I pressed myself against the door. “Veronica… take him, then,” I rasped. “I don’t want him anymore.”

A beat of silence.

Then her laughter—sharp, cruel, merciless—shattered the air.

“Funny,” she said, a cruel smile in her voice. “Do you really think I’d believe that? You stole my mother, my Alpha father, and now you think you can take my mate too? Who do you think you are?”

Mate.

That word sliced through me sharper than any blade could. Because Alpha Moises… Moises Blackwood had been mine. Or so I had thought.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” she snapped. “No one’s coming for you.”

I heard the scrape of metal, the shift of something heavy being dragged across the floor. A sharp click followed, and then: Restricted Area. Do Not Enter.

Of course. This section of the auction hall was forbidden, reserved for rare, magical objects. Phones surrendered, cameras diCalistad. No one would think to look here—not Moises, not anyone. Especially not with Veronica glued to him, radiating a sense of ownership.

I slid down to the cold floor, trembling. The stabbing pain in my belly had dulled to a slow, dragging ache, but my heart… my heart was a gaping wound, wide open and raw.

I pounded weakly on the door. “Help… someone… please…”

My voice cracked, ragged and strained. I screamed again, fierce and wild, but all that answered me was silence. The sign outside was a ward in itself; anyone seeing it would assume I had nothing to do with them.

Time blurred. Minutes or hours—I had no measure. I cried until my eyes were empty, screamed until my throat burned, until I had nothing left to give. Eventually, darkness seeped in and claimed me, wrapping me in cold, suffocating quiet.

---

The Next Morning

The first thing I heard was the clatter of keys and the soft creak of a door swinging open.

“Oh, the moon above—Miss? Are you awake?” a woman gasped.

My eyes flickered open, the room swimming in a gray haze. Cold clung to me like a second skin. My dress stuck to my body, soaked and heavy. My limbs refused to obey, stiff and unresponsive.

Then I saw her—the cleaner.

I tried to speak, but my throat burned raw. With trembling hands, I pressed myself up, palms against the icy floor.

“No…” I whispered, barely audible. “It’s… okay. I’ll manage.”

A lie.

Everything inside me was broken. My wolf curled tight within, silent, untouched since the pain began.

The cleaner helped me to my feet, worry furrowing her brow. I gave her a weak smile, leaning on the wall for support, step by shaky step, forcing myself forward.

As I had feared, Alpha Moises hadn’t come.

Not once.

A stone of realization settled in my chest. I remembered when Veronica had gone missing for mere minutes at a pack ball; Moises nearly shifted then, storming the entire building searching for her.

But me? A whole night of torment, and not a single thought. Not a word. Not a call.

Indifference was a blade. And last night, it had cut me deep.

I retrieved my phone from the entryway. I didn’t bother checking for his name—I already knew. Nothing. No missed calls, no texts, no message of concern from the mate who had sworn to protect me.

Except one.

Corvin Draven.

The only man who still saw me—not as the shell I’d become, but as the woman I had been before betrayal hollowed me out.

“Lyriana, I can’t wait a whole month. One week. I’m coming for you in a week.”

Tears blurred my vision, but they weren’t tears of sorrow. They were sharp, burning with resolve.

Last night’s agony wasn’t just heartbreak or betrayal. Something more feral stirred inside me—ancient, wild, untamed. My wolf, dormant for too long, began to awaken, stretching and sharpening beneath my ribs, feeding on the rage and injustice.

Whatever Veronica had attempted—whatever cruel schemes she had set in motion—she had misjudged me.

It didn’t break me.

It awakened me.

I felt the bloodline rise in my veins—the legacy of moonlight and fire, of survival and vengeance, of war etched into my very bones.

They had tried to erase me. Starve me. Strip me of my name, my pride, my power.

They had locked me away like I was nothing.

But I am not nothing.

I am Lyriana Blackthorn.

And they are about to learn the price of a wolf who has been wounded—and refuses to vanish.

She evolves.

She rises.

And when she strikes… she never misses.