My arm burned, but I barely felt it.

The sting from the scattered coals was sharp and immediate, yet it faded quickly—overshadowed by something deeper, heavier. I returned to my room alone, each step measured, each breath forced. Pride was a habit. Pain, an old companion.

I poured alcohol over the burn without flinching. The hiss against my skin was loud in the silence, biting hard enough to steal the air from my lungs. I gripped the edge of the dresser until my knuckles whitened, waiting for the pain to crest and pass.

It did.

Unlike everything else.

Once, Kaelrion would have panicked over a mark like this. A shallow cut, a bruise from training—he used to react as if the world were ending. I remembered him snapping orders at healers, pacing like a caged wolf, refusing to leave my side until I smiled just to calm him down.

Now he hadn’t even noticed.

I bound my arm and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing until the fire in the hearth burned low. Tears came then—not dramatic, not loud. They slid down quietly and soaked into the sleeve of my nightdress, stinging when they touched raw skin.

That night, I slept poorly.

And the days that followed proved something I hadn’t wanted to admit.

Vaelis didn’t need to fight me for my place.

She already had it.

She clung to Kaelrion constantly, as if afraid the pack might remember who stood beside him first. Wherever he went, she followed. Wherever he stopped, she leaned into him, smiling softly, eyes flicking toward me just long enough to make sure I noticed.

At meals, she pouted playfully and nudged his arm.

“Feed me,” she said once, tilting her head. “You know it tastes better when you do.”

I sat across from them, quietly pushing food around my plate while he lifted a piece of meat and brought it to her lips. She laughed, pleased, and leaned closer.

On the couch in the evenings, she curled into his side as if she belonged there, fingers fisted in his shirt.

“I hate loud noises,” she murmured during a movie. “Hold me tighter.”

He did.

Each time, she looked at me afterward, smile innocent.

“You don’t mind, right, Eirlys? You promised.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

I wasn’t sure when that sentence stopped being a lie.

My body, however, didn’t bother pretending.

The Moon weighed heavier each night. My limbs felt weak, my senses dulled. Shifting became painful, incomplete. I could feel my wolf curling inward, conserving what little strength she had left.

Vaelis was supposed to give her blood soon.

I stopped counting the days.

One afternoon, after a particularly bad spell of dizziness, I stood before the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back. My skin looked too pale. My eyes—once sharp, once proud—were dim.

That was when I made a decision.

I needed a photograph.

Not for identification. Not for records.

For my funeral.

The photographer blinked when I told him.

“For… what?”

“My funeral,” I repeated calmly. “I want it simple. Just one.”

His hands shook slightly as he adjusted the lens. I stood straight, shoulders back, and forced a small smile. The flash went off, briefly blinding.

That would be the one they put on the altar.

Alive. Whole. Still me.

When I returned to collect the print, laughter drifted in from the front of the shop.

I froze.

That voice—low, familiar, careless.

And hers—light, pleased.

They entered arm in arm, moving easily, as if this were a routine errand for a couple.

“Eirlys?” Vaelis said, feigning surprise. “What a coincidence.”

I slipped the photo into my pocket. “Just needed an ID picture.”

She leaned into Kaelrion, smiling. “Photo albums are important for couples. We took some earlier this week.”

Kaelrion glanced at me, almost apologetic. “She wanted memories.”

I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

She dragged me toward the counter anyway. “Help us choose,” she said sweetly. “You always had better taste.”

The screen lit up.

Image after image filled the monitor—sunset light, clasped hands, his arm around her waist, her head tipped back in laughter. They looked… happy.

My chest tightened painfully.

“Which one looks happiest?” she asked.

Before I could answer, chaos erupted.

A loud crash echoed as a shelf behind us gave way, metal groaning before collapsing. Kaelrion reacted instantly—lunging forward, wrapping Vaelis in his arms, turning his body to shield her.

I wasn’t so lucky.

A jagged edge struck my shoulder as I was knocked sideways. Pain exploded, hot and wet. I screamed as I hit the floor, blood soaking through my sleeve.

“Kaelrion!” Vaelis cried. “It hurts!”

He scooped her up without hesitation, panic etched across his face. “We need the healer. Now.”

Our eyes met for half a second.

Then he turned away and carried her out.

I dragged myself up and staggered to the healer alone.

The old man frowned as he stitched the wound. “Why didn’t anyone bring you sooner?”

“I didn’t have anyone,” I said.

Later that night, Kaelrion finally returned. He froze when he saw the bandage.

“What happened?” His voice cracked. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were busy,” I replied calmly.

He reached for my hand. “I didn’t mean to leave you. She was crying—I thought—”

“You did the right thing,” I interrupted. “She needed you.”

Relief washed over his face. “I’ll stay tonight.”

The moment almost fooled me.

Then his phone rang.

Her name.

“I’ll be right there,” he said instantly.

And just like that, he was gone again.

I curled into myself after he left, breathing unevenly.

This wasn’t love.

It was erosion.

That night, my phone buzzed.

Vaelis’s voice slipped through, amused and cruel.

“Did you know Kaelrion risked his life for me today? He did something dangerous just because I asked.”

I stared at the dark window. “Take care of him,” I said. “He’s yours.”

Silence.

I ended the call.

Then I dialed another number—one I’d memorized weeks ago.

“Hello,” a calm voice answered.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I’m calling about burial arrangements. Section B. I wanted to ask if—”

The front door slammed open.

“Eirlys!”

Kaelrion stood there, pale, bandaged, furious and frightened all at once.

“What were you doing on the phone?” he demanded.

I forced a smile. “Helping a neighbor.”

He sagged with relief, pain dragging at his posture. “Motor crash,” he muttered.

I guided him back to the hospital, signed papers, tucked the blanket around him like I used to.

As he slept, I whispered so softly he’d never hear it:

“This is the last time I worry about you.”

And for the first time since the Moon began taking pieces of me away, I felt calm.

Because ashes don’t cry.

They wait.

Morning came without warmth.

I woke in a room that no longer felt like mine, the silence heavy and unfamiliar. For the first time since I could remember, Kaelrion was not there. His side of the bed was cold, untouched. No lingering scent of pine and steel. No quiet weight beside me that once meant safety.

Just emptiness.

I dressed slowly, every movement deliberate, as if rushing might crack something fragile inside my chest. My body felt weaker today. The Moon had taken more than it should have overnight. My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, uneasy, exhausted.

Outside, Blackthorn Hall was already awake.

I stepped into the corridor and stopped short.

The pack was gathered.

Not formally. Not summoned. Just… watching.

Vaelis stood at the center of it all, wrapped in a pale mantle that brushed the floor. My mantle. The one reserved for the Luna during rites and announcements. She wore it as if it belonged to her by right, her hand resting lightly on Kaelrion’s arm.

He stood tall beside her.

Unyielding. Alpha-perfect.

When he spoke, the hall fell silent.

“For the next lunar cycle,” Kaelrion announced, his voice echoing against stone, “Vaelis will stand as acting Luna of Blackthorn.”

The words hit harder than any blow.

My breath left me in a sharp, silent rush.

“This is temporary,” he continued. “A necessity for the binding ritual that will save Eirlys Vale’s life. Any who challenge this decision challenge me.”

No one spoke.

No one looked at me.

The pack bowed.

I watched them kneel to another woman wearing my place, my mantle, my name—while my mate stood beside her and let it happen.

Vaelis turned then, eyes finding mine across the hall.

She smiled.

Not sweetly this time.

Victorious.

I left before they could see me break.

—

By midday, my strength was nearly gone. My hands shook as I tried to hold a cup of tea, the porcelain rattling softly against the saucer. I hadn’t realized how much energy anger consumed until there was none left to fuel it.

That was when she came to my room.

Vaelis didn’t knock.

She closed the door behind her carefully, as if this were a private meeting between equals. Between sisters.

“You saw the announcement,” she said lightly.

“Yes.”

She circled me slowly, examining the room as if committing it to memory before taking possession. “The pack needed reassurance. They trust Kaelrion. If he stands beside me, they’ll accept it.”

I said nothing.

She stopped in front of me. “You look worse today.”

“Get to the point.”

Her smile sharpened. “I won’t give you my blood.”

The words were soft. Casual.

My chest tightened painfully. “You already made the deal.”

“I changed my mind.” She leaned closer. “Why would I save you now? I already have everything I wanted.”

“You don’t,” I whispered. “Not yet.”

She laughed quietly. “Oh, Eirlys. Haven’t you realized? I never needed the ritual. I just needed time.”

Time.

Time to slide into my life.

Time to teach the pack to bow to her.

Time to teach Kaelrion to forget me.

“I told him,” she continued pleasantly, “that the ritual can wait. That I’m anxious. That stress affects blood compatibility.” She tilted her head. “He believes me.”

My wolf growled weakly inside me.

“You’re killing me,” I said.

“Yes,” Vaelis agreed. “Slowly.”

She stepped back, smoothing her mantle. “But don’t worry. I won’t let you die just yet.”

I laughed then—quiet, broken. “Why?”

“Because,” she said, eyes glittering, “I want him to watch.”

She left without another word.

—

That evening, I packed.

Not clothes. Not jewels.

Memories.

The last things I hadn’t burned.

I folded them carefully into a small bag and carried it outside, past the sentries who pretended not to see me. The air was heavy with approaching rain. The Moon hid behind thick clouds, as if unwilling to witness what came next.

I didn’t go far.

Just to the edge of the territory.

I sat on a fallen log and waited.

Headlights cut through the dark not long after.

The car stopped, and a woman stepped out—tall, composed, her presence commanding even in silence.

Seraphaine Vale.

My mother.

She looked at me as if afraid I might vanish if she blinked. Then she crossed the distance in three strides and wrapped me in her arms.

“You came,” she whispered.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I replied.

She pulled back, eyes scanning my face, the tremor in my hands. Her expression hardened into something dangerous. “You’re worse than when I last saw you.”

“I’m dying.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”

She took my hands. “I can save you. But not like this. Not here.”

I hesitated. “Kaelrion—”

“Is not your fate,” she cut in sharply. “And he is not worthy of what you will become.”

Rain began to fall, light at first, then harder.

“I need you to trust me,” she said. “One last time.”

I closed my eyes.

And nodded.

—

By morning, Blackthorn Hall was in chaos.

My room was empty.

My scent gone.

Kaelrion stormed through the corridors, fury etched into every sharp line of his face.

“She was here,” he snarled. “Find her. Now.”

His men searched the territory until dawn broke and found only one thing.

My cloak.

Soaked. Torn. Abandoned at the edge of the cliff road where the mountain fell away into darkness.

The rain washed everything else clean.

Kaelrion stood there long after the others left, staring down into the ravine below, his chest tight, his heartbeat wrong.

The Moon finally slipped free of the clouds.

And for the first time since our bond had formed, it did not answer him.

Not because I was gone—

—but because I had let it take my name.

And somewhere far from Blackthorn lands, with a new path opening before me and death close enough to taste, I whispered into the dark:

Let them believe I fell.

When I return… the Moon will remember who I am.