1.
Snow falls softly—like the Moon Goddess herself is watching me break and can’t bear to look away. Each flake lands on my torn skin, cold against the heat of blood that won’t stop dripping down my back.
The whip cracks again. I bite my lip so hard I taste copper, refusing to give them the satisfaction of another scream. My knees buckle, but I force myself upright. I will not fall in front of them. Not in front of him.
“Ten lashes,” Lucas says, voice cold and absolute. “From each warrior.”
That voice once whispered my name like it was sacred. Now it sounds like a death sentence.
“Lucas…” my voice trembles. “Please. Look at me. You know I would never—”
“Silence!” His golden eyes flash, and the bond between us pulses painfully. I can feel his rage, his confusion—something unnatural twisting through it.
The crowd murmurs. I can sense their disbelief. The Alpha’s mate, the girl who healed the wounded, who prayed for every lost soul, now accused of betrayal.
“Elmai, tell him!” I plead, turning to the one person who should never have turned against me.
My twin steps forward, the reflection of my face but none of my heart. Her lips curve into a cruel, perfect smile. “Oh, dear sister,” she coos. “Don’t you see? You were never meant for him. The Goddess chose me. Your bond was a mistake. Lucas and I are bound now.”
The words hit harder than the whip. My wolf, Seren, growls weakly inside me. She lies, Ella. Black magic stains her aura. He’s bewitched.
I reach for the bond again, desperate to feel something—anything of the man I loved. But all I touch is darkness.
Lucas steps toward me, eyes cold and unrecognizing. “I, Alpha Lucas of SilverMist Pack,” he says, his voice echoing through the courtyard, “reject you, EllaRose Hall, as my mate and Luna.”
The world shatters. The rejection slams into me like a blade through the chest, tearing the bond that once tied us. My breath catches. My knees finally give out, the pain unlike anything I’ve ever known.
“Lucas please! I’m your mate!” I cry hoping he would break free.
But he’s not finished.
“You dare call yourself my mate?” His hand grips my throat and he slams me down into the snow. His blows come—hard, merciless—but not enough to kill. Enough to remind me I’m nothing to him now. I hear gasps, whimpers from the crowd, but no one steps forward. Fear rules them all.
When he finally lets go, I can barely see him through the haze of blood and tears.
“Take her to the border,” he orders coldly. “If she returns… kill her.”
The warriors hesitate only a moment before obeying. Their hands are rough, their silence heavier than the snow falling around us. They drag me across the ground, leaving a trail of crimson behind. I hear one of them mutter under his breath, “Maybe the Lycan King will finish what we can’t.”
They throw me down at the edge of the territory and leave without another word. The sound of their footsteps fades into the night, leaving only the whisper of the wind and my ragged breaths.
The world blurs, but my wolf stirs weakly inside me. Get up, Ella…
“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath.
Yes, you can.
My body burns, then tingles. A soft, golden warmth spreads through my veins—my healing gift, fragile but alive. The wounds begin to close slowly, the pain fading to a dull ache. I press my trembling hands into the snow, forcing myself upright. Every step feels like I’m walking through fire, but I move. One step. Then another.
The trees ahead are dark silhouettes—the forbidden woods. The air hums differently here, thick with power, heavy with secrets.
“The Lycan’s hunting ground,” I murmur to myself, almost laughing at the cruelty of it all. “Maybe he’ll really finish what you started,” I whisper to the night.
The snow beneath me glows faintly in the moonlight, the world eerily silent. My legs finally give out as I cross the invisible border into the unknown. Unable to walk further i grab a frost covered tree, holding on for dear life.
The air shifts. A growl rolls through the darkness—deep, ancient, and wild enough to make my heart falter.
Then, silence.
And from the shadows, eyes like molten gold pierce through the dark. They’re too wild, too commanding to belong to any ordinary wolf.
A voice, deep and smooth as a storm, rumbles through the night.
“Who dares bleed on my land?”
My vision blurs, pain mixing with something strange—peace. “Someone who’s already been killed,” I whisper as the darkness takes me.
Strong arms catch me before I hit the ground.
The last thing I feel is warmth—unfamiliar, dangerous, and terrifyingly alive.
Third Person POV
The cold bites deep, snow crunching underfoot as Levino moves through the forest. Every breath is visible in the air, every heartbeat loud in the silence of the night. Azel hums beneath his skin, coiled and alive, vibrating with anticipation.
The thrill of the hunt sings through him, sharp, intoxicating, familiar. The forest smells like home: pine, frozen earth, the faint tang of animals stirring beneath the snow. Every scent speaks to him, tells him what is prey, what is threat, what is nothing at all.
A deer bursts from the brush ahead, startled. Levino could take it in a heartbeat, end it effortlessly, but instead he lets it run. A game, a challenge, just for the fun of the chase.
The deer bounds through the trees, leading him deeper, almost to the far edge of his territory. A small part of him wonders why he allows it. Another part is quiet, almost… curious.
Then he smells it.
At first, it’s faint—sweet, intoxicating, unfamiliar. Not predator, not prey. Something alive and impossible, twisting through the cold night air. Azel presses against him, sharp and insistent. Find it. Find the smell. Find out what smells so good.
Levino inhales again, curiosity pulling him, overriding reason. He doesn’t recognize it. Doesn’t want to yet. And yet, he cannot stop himself. What… is that?
Step by step, deeper into the forest. Snow crunches under his boots, frost-coated branches scrape his shoulders. The scent grows stronger, impossible to ignore. His pulse quickens, and Azel thrums inside him like a second heartbeat. It is here. We are close.
And then he sees her.
Leaning weakly against a frost-laden tree, snow and blood streaking her skin and clothes, golden hair falling across her shoulders. She is breathtaking—drop-dead gorgeous—even broken, even battered, even trembling. There is a pull in her very presence, raw and undeniable, and Azel roars inside his mind. She is ours. She is ours.
Levino shakes his head. “Our mate died centuries ago, Azel,” he mutters under his breath, trying to steady himself. Do not get carried away.
Azel does not relent. You feel it. You know it. The pull is real. Claim her.
Levino clenches his jaw, furious at the insistence of his own wolf. He takes another step closer, refusing to admit what he feels. Still, he is drawn forward, unstoppable, the forest fading around him until all that exists is her.
She grips the tree like it will keep her upright. He notices the tremor in her hands, the faint quiver of her body, the way her breath comes in shallow gasps. He can smell every trace of blood, every drop of warmth, and yet, somehow, every ounce of life left radiates from her like fire.
His shadow stretches over her, predatory and protective at once. “Who dares to bleed on my land?” he demands, voice low, dangerous.
She looks up at him, green eyes sharp, unyielding, but her smile is humorless, a mask that does not touch the depths of her gaze. “Someone… who’s already been killed,” she whispers.
Her knees buckle. She begins to fall.
Instinctively, Levino is there, catching her before she hits the snow. She leans against him, shivering violently, fragile yet alive. Her green eyes meet his, wary, defiant, unbroken despite everything.
“Leave me… for the Lycan King to finish what they started,” she murmurs, voice fading, and then she blacks out entirely.
He stands frozen for a heartbeat, chest tight. Something twists deep inside him—a strange, impossible pull he refuses to name. A part of him aches with recognition, with longing, with something he has buried for centuries. But he will not allow it. He will not go through the pain of losing someone he loves again. Not now. Not ever.
Azel growls low in his mind, frustrated and impatient. She is ours. She is alive. You cannot resist.
Levino does not answer. He carries her carefully, still shivering, through the snow, toward the warmth of his domain, the forest dark around them. He does not speak. He does not acknowledge the pull. He cannot.
