The Wastes howled with a wind that carried the scent of blood and betrayal. Eira Blackwood crouched low behind a jagged boulder, her silver hair tucked tightly beneath a tattered hood. Her violet eyes scanned the moonlit horizon, sharp as a blade, catching the glint of steel in the distance.
They were coming. The Frostfang pack's hunters, relentless as death itself, were closing in.
Her pulse thrummed, not with fear but with the thrill of defiance. She'd outrun them before,three times this month alone but tonight felt different. The air crackled with something primal, something that made the crescent moon pendant around her neck hum against her skin. She pressed a hand to it, willing it to stay silent. If they found her, if they learned what she was, it wouldn't just be her life on the line.
It would be every secret she'd bled to keep.
"Move, Eira," she muttered, her breath a ghost in the frigid night. She darted from the boulder, her boots silent on the cracked earth of the Wastes. The barren plains stretched endlessly, dotted with skeletal trees and the bones of those who'd dared to defy pack law. This was rogue territory,her territory where no Alpha's command held sway. But the Frostfangs didn't care for borders. Not when their mates were rejecting bonds, tearing their precious pack apart from the inside.
Eira's lips curled into a bitter smile. She hadn't meant to cause that chaos. Not at first. But her touch, her curse, had a way of unraveling things. One brush of her fingers, one flare of the power buried in her blood, and an Alpha's sacred mate bond could shatter like glass. She'd seen it happen,seen the confusion, the rage, the heartbreak. It was why the Council of Alphas wanted her head. It was why she could never stop running.
A low growl rumbled behind her, snapping her from her thoughts. She spun, her dagger already in hand, its blade etched with runes that glowed faintly under the moon. Three shapes emerged from the shadows—wolves, massive and sleek, their fur black as midnight with silver-tipped hackles. Frostfang hunters. Their amber eyes locked onto her, predatory and unyielding.
"Damn it," Eira hissed. She bolted, weaving through the ruins of an old rogue camp, her muscles burning as she pushed her body to its limits. The wolves were fast, but she was faster, trained by years of surviving alone. She vaulted over a collapsed wall, her cloak snagging on a rusted spike. She tore it free, cursing under her breath, and sprinted toward a narrow ravine ahead. If she could reach it, she could lose them in the maze of caves.
The lead wolf lunged, its jaws snapping inches from her heel. Eira twisted, slashing her dagger across its flank.
The beast yelped, blood spraying the dirt, but it didn't slow. If anything, it enraged the others. Their howls split the night, a signal to their pack: Prey found.
Eira's heart pounded, not from exertion but from the spark of her power stirring inside her. It begged to be unleashed, to rip the bonds of these wolves and leave them broken.
But using it now would be a beacon, a scream to every Alpha within a hundred miles that the last heir of the First Moon Queen was here, alive, and dangerous. She clenched her fist, forcing the power down, and dove into the ravine.
The walls of the crevice closed around her, damp and claustrophobic. She scrambled over loose rocks, her breath ragged, listening for the wolves' pursuit. Their snarls echoed, but they were too large to follow her into the tight passage. For now, she was safe. She pressed her back against the cold stone, her chest heaving, and let out a shaky laugh. "Not tonight, you bastards."
But her relief was short-lived. A new sound cut through the darkness—a low, deliberate crunch of boots on gravel. Not a wolf. A man. Eira's grip tightened on her dagger as a shadow loomed at the ravine's entrance, broad and towering. The moonlight caught his features: jet-black hair tied back, amber eyes that burned with authority, and a scar tracing his jaw like a warning. Kael Draven, Alpha of the Frostfang pack, in the flesh.
"Well, well," his voice rumbled, deep and laced with menace. "The rogue who's been tearing my pack apart."
Eira's blood ran cold. She'd heard of Kael every rogue had. The Alpha who crushed rebellions, who enforced pack law with an iron fist. His presence here meant one thing: this wasn't just a hunt. It was personal.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice steady despite the lie. She edged backward, her mind racing for an escape. The ravine was a dead end. She was trapped.
Kael stepped closer, his gaze pinning her like a wolf cornering prey. "Don't play games, rogue. You've been breaking bonds. My pack is fracturing because of you." His eyes narrowed, assessing her. "Who are you?"
Eira forced a smirk, hiding the panic clawing at her chest. "Just a nobody who doesn't bow to Alphas."
He didn't smile back. Instead, he moved faster than she thought possible, closing the distance in a heartbeat. She swung her dagger, but he caught her wrist, his grip like steel. The pendant at her neck flared, its hum vibrating through her bones. Kael's eyes flicked to it, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression—recognition, maybe, or something darker.
"You're no ordinary rogue," he said, his voice low, almost a growl. "And you're coming with me."
Before she could react, a sharp pain exploded at the base of her skull. Her vision blurred, the world tilting as she crumpled to the ground. The last thing she saw was Kael's face, unreadable, as he loomed over her. Then darkness swallowed her whole.
But in that fleeting moment before unconsciousness claimed her, the pendant burned against her skin, and a whisper echoed in her mind—not her own, but ancient, powerful, and undeniable: The blood moon rises. Fate will not be denied.