Pain greeted me before anything else.

It tore through my body the moment my eyes fluttered open—violent, merciless, like fire racing through bone and sinew. It felt as though my wolf had been dragged across scorched ground, her spirit scraped raw. This wasn’t just fractured limbs or damaged flesh. This was older than that. Deeper. A suffering that sank into the marrow and wrapped around my soul, forcing a broken cry from somewhere inside me.

My wolf whimpered faintly, her presence barely there, dimming like a coal on the verge of dying out. The emptiness she left behind terrified me more than the pain itself.

A woman leaned over me—human, unmistakably so. No pack scent clung to her, no familiar warmth of shared blood or wolf energy. Her touch was cautious, practiced, but foreign. When she pressed my shoulders gently back against the narrow cot, my instincts flared weakly, my wolf stirring in fragile protest at the absence of kin.

“Easy,” she murmured softly. “Don’t try to move. You’ve suffered a fractured ankle, severe bruising along your ribs, and multiple lacerations and burns from the collision. You need stillness. Rest.”

Her voice drifted past me, distant and unreal.

Collision?

Memory struck like a lightning bolt.

Lucien’s face.

Evelyn’s smile.

The falsified bond.

The Elders who turned away.

My brothers’ laughter as my world collapsed.

My feet pounding against the earth as I fled into the storm—

And the truck that came screaming toward me when my wolf failed to answer my call.

“How long…” My throat burned as I forced the words out. “How long have I been here?”

“Nearly a full day,” the doctor replied quietly, pity softening her gaze. Then she hesitated, and in that pause, dread coiled tight in my chest. When she spoke again, her words shattered me far worse than the crash ever could. “There was… another injury. You were pregnant. About two months. The trauma caused you to lose the child. I’m truly sorry.”

The room went hollow.

Pregnant?

My wolf let out a soundless scream, raking herself against my ribs as if she could claw reality apart. I hadn’t known. Not even once had Lucien touched me in a way that honored the Moon or the sacred bond wolves were meant to share. Ours was a union of ink and deception—no howls, no blood oath, no rites beneath the ancient oak.

And yet… my body had still carried life.

A cub that would never feel moonlight.

Never draw its first breath.

Never know warmth.

“I… I didn’t know,” I whispered, every word tearing me open anew.

The doctor asked gently if there was someone she should call. The thought made my chest ache.

Lucien—my husband in name only—had already chosen my sister as his true mate before the pack.

Silas and Bastian—my brothers, bound by blood—had stood by and laughed as I was erased.

Still, I was sinking, and even the drowning reach for something.

“My phone,” I croaked.

I tried calling him. Again. And again.

No answer.

No matter how many times I dialed, his voice never came. Eventually, the doctor returned and placed a woven basket beside my bed. “Someone brought this earlier,” she said. “Meals, healing herbs, and flowers. He said he’s the one who pulled you from the wreck. A doctor as well—though not human like me.”

Unease slid down my spine.

Someone had dragged me back from the edge when even my wolf had fallen silent?

Once alone, I reached for my phone again. My breath hitched as the screen lit up—not with missed calls, but with images flooding the pack feed.

Lucien.

Evelyn.

Silas and Bastian.

All of them smiling beneath unfamiliar lights, arms entwined, plates overflowing with food and drink. Celebration radiated from every frame.

The caption burned into my eyes:

“At last—time away with our real family. Long overdue.”

Real family.

The words ripped something apart inside me. My wolf howled in agony, a sound trapped entirely within my chest.

—

By morning, Lucien finally called.

His voice was laced with poorly masked alarm. “Arwen! Why didn’t you inform us you were hospitalized? We would’ve rushed back immediately.”

Us.

They came together—Lucien, Silas, and Bastian. Concern sat stiffly on their faces, but their scents betrayed them all.

Deceit.

Guilt.

And clinging to Lucien’s skin, the unmistakable sweetness of Evelyn’s perfume.

“I called you,” I said quietly. “More than once. Where were you?”

“Pack matters,” Lucien answered too fast.

Pack matters.

As though yesterday hadn’t been our anniversary.

As though he hadn’t abandoned me without a second thought.

He reached for my hand, murmuring reassurances that rang hollow, but before I could find the strength to pull away, Bastian burst through the doorway.

“Evelyn collapsed!”

Lucien stiffened. His eyes widened—and just like that, his hold loosened. He let me slip from his grasp, my injured body hitting the cold stone floor as he sprinted from the room without looking back.

Pain flared viciously as I lay there, discarded yet again. My wolf whimpered, unable to rise.

Then arms wrapped around me—firm, steady, nothing like Lucien’s.

Strong. Certain.

Through blurred vision, I saw him. Dark hair. Eyes glowing like smoldering embers.

“Theo Ravenscar?” I breathed. The healer from my past. The wolf who once watched over me… and vanished.

He brushed damp hair from my face, his touch anchoring. “You always did have a talent for running straight into disaster,” he said quietly, his voice calm and deep, carrying the resonance of the Moon itself.

I shuddered as his scent surrounded me—cedarwood and rain-soaked earth. Home. My wolf stirred, recognizing him instantly.

Theo leaned closer, his gaze unwavering.

“Arwen,” he said softly, “come with me. Leave this pack, these chains. Run beneath the Moon’s cover—and live free at my side.”

I remained in the infirmary far longer than anyone expected. Officially, it was because my ankle had not healed enough to bear my weight. Unofficially, it was because no one came to take me home.

Not the man who called himself my mate.

Not the brothers who once swore under the Moon that my life was tied to theirs.

No one came for me—except Theo Ravenscar.

Theo, who had once been my closest companion during our years at the Academy of Claws and Shadow, when our wolves were still clumsy and curious, learning how to stalk beneath unfamiliar constellations. Theo, who admitted long ago that his wolf reacted to mine, who had confessed his feelings with a shy honesty I hadn’t known how to return. I had turned him away gently then, not because he lacked worth, but because my heart had already been claimed.

By Lucien.

By the Alpha I believed was my fate.

Now, it was Theo who stayed.

He brought meals prepared carefully, seasoned with herbs gentle enough for my weakened wolf. He sat beside my bed while grief overtook me, never pressing for answers, never demanding words I couldn’t form. When nightmares clawed at me in sleep, his presence anchored me, his wolf’s calm energy standing guard when mine was too faint to defend itself.

On the morning I was cleared to leave, Theo wheeled me into the grove behind the infirmary, where sunlight filtered through sacred branches and the trees whispered with ancestral memory. We sat there quietly, letting the wind speak for us, letting the silence stretch without strain.

“I wasn’t speaking lightly before,” he said at last, his gaze unwavering, a soft golden glow flickering behind his eyes. “You don’t owe that den of vipers another breath. If you choose to walk away with me… I swear I’ll protect both you and your wolf.”

I lowered my eyes to my hands. They looked fragile, thinner than I remembered, shaking despite my effort. My claws refused to surface, no matter how hard I called to them. Every decision I’d made had led me here—empty, unwanted, mourning losses no one else acknowledged.

“Give me five nights,” I said quietly. “There are things I need to put to rest. But after that… I’ll leave with you.”

His expression softened, sadness shadowing his smile. “Then we’ll wait. Under the Moon. For your signal.”

—

When I returned to the pack house, the sun hung high overhead. The brightness felt wrong—mocking—too cheerful for the turmoil curling in my chest. I leaned heavily on the cane the healer had pressed into my palm, each step toward the oak doors a careful negotiation with pain.

Choosing Theo frightened me. I had once rejected him. The path ahead was uncertain. But staying here—remaining in a place where I had been reduced to nothing—was far worse.

I pushed the doors open.

Laughter spilled out.

I stopped cold.

Inside the hearth hall, they were gathered together—Lucien sprawled comfortably, Silas and Bastian nearby, drinks in hand. Evelyn reclined against Lucien’s shoulder as though she had always belonged there. Mate. Sister. Brothers. A perfect picture of unity.

They noticed me all at once. Smiles vanished. Surprise flickered across their faces like they were staring at someone who should have stayed buried.

“Oh,” Lucien said after a pause. “You’re back already? I must’ve lost track of the day. How are you feeling?”

Lost track.

Not one of them had visited. Not once.

Before I could answer, Evelyn sprang up and hurried toward me, her expression bright and practiced. “Arwen! I was worried about you. I’m sorry we didn’t come sooner—I’ve been so unwell lately, but I’m recovering now. And you? Are you healed?”

I stepped away from her, revulsion crawling under my skin.

“No,” I replied flatly. “I’m not.”

Her smile faltered. “Arwen—”

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t touch me.”

Bastian shot to his feet, hackles raised. “What’s wrong with you? She’s barely holding herself together.”

Silas followed suit, scowling. “Have some decency. She’s suffered enough.”

A laugh tore out of me, sharp and bitter. “And I haven’t? I was broken on a road, crushed by metal and fire. Where were you when I lay in the healer’s ward?”

Lucien exhaled impatiently. “You brought that on yourself. You ran into danger without your wolf. Evelyn is different—she’s fighting an illness that’s eating her alive. She’s vulnerable.”

“And she’s still my sister,” Evelyn added softly, tears shimmering. “Please don’t turn against me. We’re both hurting. We should lean on each other, not—”

I shook my head slowly. “I lost a child,” I said. “And none of you came. Not even once.”

The words had barely settled when Evelyn swayed dramatically, clutching her abdomen.

“She’s fainting again!” Bastian shouted.

Chaos followed immediately. Lucien scooped her up as if she were weightless. Silas rushed for water. Bastian hovered anxiously at her side.

And I stood there.

Invisible.

Once more, my truth was swallowed, erased beneath their urgency for her. I thought of screaming—forcing them to hear me—but exhaustion hollowed me out. What place did I have here, where no one claimed me?

I turned away and limped toward the room Lucien and I once shared.

When I opened the door, my breath stalled.

Everything of mine was gone.

Clothes. Keepsakes. Photos. Even the sacred charms I had arranged with care. In their place lingered Evelyn’s scent, her jewelry scattered casually, her dresses draped before the mirror like a declaration of ownership.

My cane slipped from my grasp as I stumbled back.

She stood behind me.

Evelyn.

No false sweetness remained—only a predator’s smile.

“I wasn’t always like this,” she said calmly. “I used to be gentle. But softness earned me nothing. You stepped into my life, took my place, my mate, even my brothers. I’m simply reclaiming what was always meant to be mine.”

Her smile sharpened.

“But don’t worry,” she added lightly. “I’ll allow you a few days to disappear. It wouldn’t look good for the pack if you were dragged out like a stray.”

Rage flared hot in my chest. “Are you truly ill?”

Her gaze hardened. “Of course.”

But memory whispered otherwise—how she once pretended weakness to escape blame, how she collapsed conveniently whenever attention drifted away.

She raised her voice suddenly. “How dare you accuse me?”

Silas and Bastian rushed in at once.

“She’s attacking me again,” Evelyn cried. “She says I’m lying about my sickness!”

Bastian sneered at me. “You’ve always been poison to this family.”

Silas stormed forward and yanked the necklace from my throat—the one he’d given me as pups, a promise of protection.

“You don’t deserve this anymore.”

They left without another word.

I sank to the floor, clutching my aching side, every breath heavy with pain.

But I said nothing.

Because in five nights, I would be gone.

And when I left, the Moon itself would witness the regret they would one day suffocate on.

I had just folded the last shirt into my leather satchel when the chime of the doorbell sliced through the quiet of my room. I stilled at once. Night air drifted in through the open window, carrying the sharp scent of cedar smoke and frost. My heart stumbled in my chest.

Theo?

Hope flared before I could stop it. I grabbed my phone, scanning the screen for a missed call, a message, anything that hinted it was him.

There was nothing.

I released a slow breath and pushed the thought aside. Barefoot, I crossed the room, the floorboards whispering beneath me as I made my way to the door.

A large white box sat on the stone step outside—far bigger than any delivery I’d ever received. A silk ribbon, pale as moonlight and threaded with gold, was tied neatly around it. My name stretched across the lid in elegant, looping script, the kind of handwriting that felt intimate, deliberate.

No note.

No signature.

Only Arwen.

Something uneasy stirred in my blood—curiosity tangled with dread. I carried the box inside and set it on the table, fingers hesitating before loosening the ribbon. When I lifted the lid, I did so carefully, almost reverently.

My heart skipped.

The dress.

My dress.

It was exactly as I had once imagined it—years ago, when I was young enough to believe Alpha Lucien would one day claim me properly beneath the Moon. Before contracts replaced vows. Before ink replaced blood. Ivory silk gleamed softly, as though spun from moonlight itself. Lace sleeves draped delicately, intricate as ancestral runes woven by unseen hands.

My fingers shook as I traced the bodice.

There, stitched in fine golden thread, was a single name.

Arwen.

My throat closed. Tears burned behind my eyes.

Was this his way of apologizing? A wordless attempt to mend years of neglect and betrayal? Had Lucien finally decided to honor the bond he denied me—to stand with me beneath the Sacred Oak, to acknowledge me not as convenience, but as mate?

For one fragile moment, I let myself believe it.

I slipped the gown over my head, shivering as the silk settled against my skin, fitting me as if it had always known my shape. In the mirror, I barely recognized myself—pale, trembling, yet glowing with a quiet hope. My hand pressed against my chest as my wolf stirred faintly, yearning to be seen.

The door slammed open.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

I gasped, spinning around.

Lucien filled the doorway, rage etched into every sharp line of his face. His scent flooded the room—smoke, iron, dominance—crushing and familiar. Before I could speak, he stormed toward me, a low snarl vibrating in his chest. His hand fisted in the fabric and yanked the gown from my shoulder so violently the seams screamed.

“Why is this in your hands?” he demanded harshly.

“I—I saw my name,” I stammered. “It was my design. I thought… is this finally our Binding? Before the pack?”

His laugh cut through me—short, sharp, ice-cold.

“Binding?” he scoffed. “Don’t embarrass yourself. You and I are already paired.”

“Then why this?” My voice cracked.

He held the gown away from me, disgust plain on his face.

“It’s not meant for you.”

The words landed like a death blow.

“It’s for Evelyn.”

My heart stopped.

“She deserves a ceremony. She deserves to stand as a bride beneath the Moon. She’s always dreamed of it,” he continued flatly. “And she’s ill. She doesn’t have much time.”

The room tilted. My wolf raged inside me, claws scraping against bone.

“That was my dream,” I whispered. “It always was.”

Bastian stepped in behind Lucien, his expression cruel, his wolf’s energy crackling with disdain. Evelyn followed, wrapped in blankets, her skin pale and luminous, every inch of her crafted to invite pity.

“For Moon’s sake, Arwen,” Bastian sneered. “Stop acting like the world revolves around you. You’re strong. She isn’t. Let her have this.”

Evelyn lifted her eyes to me, shimmering with unshed tears. “I only want it once,” she said softly. “To feel the Binding, even if it isn’t truly mine. I won’t take him forever. Just the ceremony. Just the dream. You can endure it. I can’t.”

“Endure what?” I asked coldly. “Lending you my husband? Handing over my future?”

None of them answered.

Their silence was confession enough.

“You disgust me,” I said quietly.

Evelyn recoiled, but I was already turning away. The gown slid from my body, pooling at my feet like shed skin. I left them standing there and returned to my room, fire blazing behind my ribs.

I ripped open drawers and chests, gathering everything—letters I once treasured, sketches of dresses I’d dreamed of wearing, photographs of Lucien holding me like I mattered. I carried it all outside to the iron barrel behind the pack house and struck a flame.

The fire leapt eagerly, devouring my past. Smoke curled upward, carrying the remains of my hope toward the Moon. My wolf writhed beneath my skin, grief and fury twisting together. I thought of broken promises, of false love, of lies dressed up as duty.

Ash swallowed the last page of my sketchbook when arms wrapped around me.

“Arwen,” Lucien murmured close to my ear. “I never intended this to hurt you so deeply. Please… forgive me. Just do this one thing for her. She’s dying. You’re stronger than this.”

I didn’t move. The fire reflected in my eyes, empty and bright.

“How about this,” he continued quietly. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you away. Just us. I’ll make it right. I swear.”

I was too exhausted to fight. “…Alright,” I whispered.

“Thank you,” he said, kissing my hair. I felt nothing.

Later, darkness lulled me into uneasy sleep.

Until his voice shattered it.

“Arwen! GET UP!”

I jolted awake to find Lucien looming over me, panic wild in his eyes. “We need you immediately. Evelyn needs blood. Yours. You’re the only match.”

My heart slammed painfully. “What?”

“She’s fading,” he snapped. “Don’t be selfish. Do something useful for once. Be her donor.”

The words struck like a physical blow.

Inside me, my wolf screamed—not in fear, but in burning, murderous rage.