The Alpha didn't speak often, but when he did, the entire pack fell silent.
Orion stood at the edge of the southern cliffs, his dark cloak whipping in the wind. Below him, the Moonshadow lands sprawled wide and wild—pine-dense forests, rivers like silver veins, and dens nestled into the side of the mountain ridge. It was a kingdom both untamed and sacred.
It was his responsibility.
And it was crushing him.
He didn't show it, of course. Alphas didn't show weakness. His expression remained carved in stone—sharp, emotionless, resolute. But inside, his chest ached with pressure he couldn't explain. Not even to Selene. Especially not to Selene.
She was speaking now, her voice distant behind him. Her perfume—lavender and ash—curled around him like smoke.
"You haven't been listening," she said with a sweet lilt that didn't match the tension in her words.
"I heard you," Orion replied, his voice low.
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his bicep. "Then why haven't you answered? I said I wanted us to lead the bonding dance together after the Moon Ceremony. The pack expects it."
Orion's jaw tightened. "Do they?"
Selene's smile faltered. "Of course they do. I'm your intended. I've already had the seamstress prepare my ceremonial dress. It was blessed by Priestess Mira of the Silver Hills. You will stand beside me, won't you?"
He didn't answer.
She dropped her arm, her voice sharper now. "Is this about the girl again?"
That got his attention.
He turned.
Luna's face flashed in his mind—pale, solemn, stained with dust and bruises. A contradiction of softness and strength. He had seen her fall more times than he could count, yet every time, she rose again. Quietly. Defiantly.
"No," he lied.
Selene crossed her arms. "Because it seems you've been distracted lately. Ever since the Elders said she'd be included in the Ceremony, you've had this… edge to you."
"I am the Alpha," Orion said, turning away. "My edge is my responsibility."
"And I'm your Luna-to-be. I deserve answers."
He didn't look at her when he said, "You've already assumed a title that has not been given."
Selene stepped back as though slapped. "What did you say?"
"You heard me."
Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.
Orion's eyes lifted to the sky, watching as storm clouds crawled along the edge of the horizon. A rare summer storm, ready to sweep the mountains. The pack would need to prepare. Patrols would have to shift. Dens reinforced.
His thoughts returned to Luna.
He didn't know why.
He didn't want to know why.
She was beneath him—weak, ragged, barely useful in combat training. The pack tolerated her because Elder Lyra protected her. She was fragile. Forgotten.
And yet—
Last moonrise, when their eyes met in the gathering, something cracked inside him.
Not just recognition.
Resonance.
A pull.
He had stumbled back, overwhelmed, suddenly aware of a force pressing on his chest like a command from the divine. The pack hadn't noticed—he recovered quickly—but the sensation haunted him every time he looked in her direction.
It couldn't be.
Fate wouldn't be that cruel.
Would it?
Later that day, Orion entered the council hall where the Elders gathered in murmured conversation. Elder Lyra sat among them, her expression calm, yet unreadable.
"Alpha," Marros greeted with a nod. "You have concerns."
"I do." Orion stepped to the center of the stone floor, arms folded. "Regarding the Ceremony."
Lyra spoke next. "You fear the mate bond will not align with your chosen."
"I fear little," Orion replied. "But I must question the logic of pairing someone like Luna with any wolf, let alone—"
He stopped himself.
The silence in the hall deepened.
"You suspect she may be yours," Elder Lyra said gently, not a question, but a truth laid bare.
Orion's hands clenched at his sides.
"She is not worthy."
The firelight danced across the elder's faces.
Lyra leaned forward. "The Moon Goddess does not make mistakes. But mortals do."
"She is weak," he insisted. "She contributes nothing to the patrols. She cannot hold her own in training. She does not have the strength to stand beside me."
"Perhaps she was never meant to stand beside you," Elder Marros said, "but beyond you."
The words unsettled Orion more than he cared to admit.
Back in the warrior's clearing, Luna trained alone.
She was no longer invited to group sessions—Selene had seen to that—but she didn't stop practicing. If anything, her movements had become sharper, faster, driven by something more than survival now.
Determination.
Orion watched from the shadows near the mess tent.
She moved with quiet grace, nothing like Selene's polished showmanship, but with a raw, instinctual rhythm. Her steps weren't perfect. Her strikes lacked power. But there was fire in them.
She is not worthy.
He repeated the thought in his head like a mantra.
But it rang hollow.
That night, the storm broke.
Rain poured through the trees in thick sheets. Lightning clawed the sky, splitting it open like a beast awakened. The pack scrambled to secure their shelters, pups were ushered inside, and patrols doubled at the borders.
Orion stood outside the council hall, soaked and alert, overseeing emergency rotations.
"Alpha," Ryven called out as he approached. "The eastern ridge shelter is flooded. We're moving the elders into the western caverns."
"Understood," Orion replied. "And Luna?"
Ryven blinked. "Luna?"
"She doesn't have a den."
"Oh. She—she always rides storms out under the pine grove. She's fine."
"She's not," Orion said sharply.
Without another word, he strode into the rain.
Luna curled against the trunk of her shelter tree, blanket soaked through, skin clammy from the cold. Her teeth chattered, but she refused to move. This storm, like all the others, would pass.
Just like the stares.
Just like Selene's voice.
She clutched her satchel tighter, curling around it like a shield.
Lightning split the sky again.
Then she heard footsteps.
Strong, steady, nearing fast.
She sat up in alarm just as a towering figure stepped into the grove, rain cascading off his cloak.
Orion.
Her heart stuttered.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, scrambling to her feet.
He didn't answer right away. He looked at the collapsed bough above her head, then at her blanket, then at the blood on her knuckles.
"You should be inside."
"I'm fine."
"You're not," he growled.
"I've survived worse."
"That's not the point."
Luna stepped forward, defiant despite the cold. "Then what is the point? That you finally noticed me now? I don't need your pity, Orion."
He stared at her, his jaw flexing.
"I didn't come to pity you."
She swallowed hard. "Then why?"
Silence stretched between them.
Rain poured around them like a curtain.
Finally, he said, "I don't know."
And that frightened them both.