Moonbound

The Kingdom of Dravara hadn’t seen a Blood Moon in over TWO centuries.

Legends said that when the moon bled, the Moon Goddess herself would mark her chosen. An Erasthai, a Queen destined to rule beside the Lycan King, the Alpha of all Alphas. And no one carried that title more fiercely than King Darius Nightwind of the Black Veil Pack.

He was the first Lycan born after the great war. A creature of raw power and dominance, part man, part ancient wolf. He united the scattered packs after years of war, rebuilt Dravara’s borders and ruled with an iron hand and a cold heart.

At Two Hundred and Four years old, he was undefeated in battle, unmated and cursed with a restlessness that no war, no victory and no woman could soothe.

The council begged him for years and years to take a chosen Luna, to secure the Nightwind bloodline. But Darius refused. He believed in the old ways. That the bond between Lycans could only be forged by fate, not by politics. The Moon Goddess chooses our mates that we call Erasthai, my Lycan Ares will not mate with anyone else even if he wanted to. Each Lycan has “the one” for them. The one that they’re attracted to like no other. This one being is called Erasthai. This attraction is governed by their basic survival instinct. It is believed that the erasthai is best suited to the lycan in every way possible. The stronger the attraction the stronger their bond. Lycans are not known to give up on their erasthais, even if their Erasthais are already mated or married to another.

“I will not take a chosen mate to breed for alliance,” he once growled to his Beta Kane. If the goddess intends me an Erasthai, she’ll send her. Until then, the throne stays cold.

And so it had.

Until the Blood Moon returned.

Tonight, the royal palace was alive with music and power. Hundreds of wolves and lycans gathered in the grand hall. Lycans, Alphas, nobles, emissaries from distant packs, all cloaked in their best silks and their eyes reflecting the crimson moonlight pouring through the crystal dome above. The air trembled with energy. Something ancient stirred.

At the center of it all stood Darius.

Six foot five, broad shoulders, a dark mane slicked back and up into a bun, a few strands fell brushing the collar of his black military coat. His silver eyes glowed faintly beneath the chandelier light, showing the beast that lived within him. Women flocked to him, drawn by instinct, but none could hold his gaze for long. His Lycan… Ares…paced beneath his skin, restless.

“She’s out there,” Ares growled. “Do you feel it?”

Darius lifted his glass, scanning the crowd. “ I feel…everything.”

He didn’t know why his senses were sharper tonight. The brush of perfume, the flicker of a candle, the thrum of hearts. Every beat, every sound, every scent felt amplified, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

Then it hit him. Faint, but potent. A scent unlike any other. Soft and wild all at once. Sweet Vanilla, Pure and Moonlight.

It struck him like lightning, sinking into his lungs, his blood, his soul.

Ares roared inside him. ERASTHAI. MINE.

The glass shattered in his hand. The ballroom fell silent.

Darius’s eyes glowed silver. “She’s near,” he said, voice low and lethal.

The Moon has sent her.

Far from the palace, deep in the northern woods, Lia gasped as an invisible thread tightened around her heart. She didn’t know it yet but she was the Erasthai of the most powerful, dangerous Lycan in existence. The Lycan King.

She only knew that something ancient had awakened…

And it was coming for her.