I was born beneath a moon that bled.
The elders called it a curse. My mother called it fate. I've spent my entire life trying to figure out which one of them was right.
When I was five, my father ruled the Nightshade Pack — feared across the northern woods for his strength and his mercy, both rare things in our kind. He believed power without control was destruction, and control without heart was weakness. He was a balance few could understand. I used to think I'd be just like him.
But on the night he died, I learned that balance means nothing when wolves turn on their own.
The howls that woke me still haunt my dreams. I remember the scent of burning pine, the echo of claws tearing through flesh, and my father's roar — deep, thunderous, the sound of a dying storm. My mother had hidden me beneath the altar of the Moonstone Hall, whispering, "Do not make a sound, Kael. Not a breath."
I didn't. I just watched as the flames swallowed everything we were.
When the dawn came, the pack was no more. My father's body was found at the edge of the river, his throat torn open — not by rogues, but by those who had sworn loyalty to him. I saw the sigil burned into his chest: a serpent biting its own tail.
The mark of the Shadow Council.
They said it was an accident. They said the Alpha fell in battle. But I knew the truth — betrayal wears a familiar face.
For ten years, I stayed hidden. A ghost in the forest, training, waiting, bleeding. The whispers of the pack became legends, and the name Kael Varyn turned to ash in their mouths. Only one voice kept me alive — the voice inside me, deep, savage, and dark.
The wolf that wasn't supposed to exist.
When I turned eighteen, the Council announced a new Alpha — Ronan Drayke. I remembered him from my childhood — golden eyes, sharp smile, the boy who used to call me "shadow spawn." He'd been my father's Beta's son. Ambitious. Cruel. And now, he sat on the throne that was never his.
That night, I returned.
The pack's fortress loomed over the cliffs, rebuilt and shining under the moonlight. I stood at the gates, every nerve alive, every breath trembling with the scent of home — and blood. The guards didn't see me. The shadows obeyed me now.
Inside the hall, the wolves celebrated. Ronan stood before them, crowned in silver, his smile wide and empty. He spoke of unity, of strength, of rebuilding the pack's honor. But beneath his words, I could hear the lie. I could smell it.
When the moon shifted, I stepped out of the dark.
Every head turned.
Every heartbeat froze.
Ronan's smile faltered for the first time.
"Impossible," he whispered. "You're dead."
"Maybe," I said, my voice rough from years of silence. "But the dead remember who killed them."
The room erupted — growls, shouts, fear. But I didn't move. The wolf inside me stirred, hungry, furious. The blood moon had risen again, bathing the hall in red light.
And I knew — this was no accident. The curse was never a curse. It was a promise.
The time for shadows was over.
The night belonged to me now.