ARIA'S POV
I freeze in the forest, my burned arm throbbing, as that inhuman howl echoes through the trees again.
It's closer this time.
My wolf whimpers inside me, terrified. Whatever made that sound isn't like us. It's bigger, older, and way more dangerous than any werewolf.
I should run deeper into the forest, but my legs won't move. The cold November air bites at my skin through my thin servant's dress. Blood drips from my arm where Celeste branded me, leaving a trail anything could follow.
Stupid. I'm so stupid. I ran without thinking, without planning, and now I'm going to die out here in the dark.
Another howl, and this time I hear crashes in the underbrush. Something's coming fast.
I stumble backward, my foot catching on a root. I fall hard, my burned arm hitting the frozen ground. The pain makes me scream.
The crashing stops.
Silence fills the forest—the kind of silence that happens when every animal knows a predator is near. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.
Then I see it.
Eyes in the darkness. Not the yellow of werewolf eyes, but ice-blue, glowing with their own light. They're at least seven feet off the ground.
Whatever this is, it's massive.
"Please," I whisper, even though begging never helped before. "Please, just make it quick."
A low growl rumbles through the trees, so deep I feel it in my bones. The eyes move closer, and moonlight catches on dark fur and muscles that look more like a bear than a wolf.
This is a Lycan.
The ancient ones. The ones werewolves whisper about in scary stories. The ones who ruled before the werewolf packs formed. The ones who still live in the deep forests and hate our kind.
I'm dead. I'm so, so dead.
The Lycan steps into the moonlight fully, and even through my terror, I can't help staring. He's enormous—at least eight feet tall in this form, covered in black fur, with claws as long as knives. But his face is the worst part because it's almost human. Smart eyes study me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.
He shifts, and I watch in horror as the fur recedes and bones reshape. In seconds, a man stands where the beast was.
The most terrifying man I've ever seen.
He's still huge—probably six-foot-seven—with black hair and those ice-blue eyes that seem to see straight through me. Scars cut across his bare chest. He wears black pants but no shirt, like the cold doesn't bother him at all.
This has to be him. The Lycan King. Kaine Ashenheart.
The one who supposedly killed seventeen alphas who tried to invade his territory. The one who hasn't taken a queen in three hundred years. The one wolves use to scare their pups into behaving.
"A werewolf," he says, his voice cold and deep. "In my forest. During a blood moon. Bleeding."
I can't speak. Can't move. Can barely breathe.
He tilts his head, studying the brand on my arm. His eyes narrow. "Silvercrest Pack mark. You're from Damien Silvercrest's territory."
How does he know Damien's name? Why does he care?
"Answer me, little wolf." His voice isn't loud, but it makes me want to obey anyway. Not like alpha command—different. Scarier. "What are you?"
"O-omega," I stutter.
Something flickers in his expression. "Omega. The lowest rank." He steps closer, and I press myself against the tree, trying to become invisible. It never works, but I try anyway. "And your Alpha let you run into forbidden territory? Careless of him."
"He didn't let me. I ran."
"Why?"
Because I couldn't take it anymore. Because four years of abuse and rejection and pain finally broke something inside me. Because dying out here seemed better than living one more day as Damien's unwanted mate.
"Because I wanted to die," I whisper.
Kaine goes very still. His eyes bore into mine. "Explain."
"I'm his mate. Was his mate. The bond snapped four years ago, but he rejected me. Kept me anyway. Used me." The words tumble out—maybe because I'm about to die, or maybe because this stranger's eyes hold something that almost looks like understanding. "Tonight he claimed someone else. His chosen Luna. She's pregnant with his heir. And she... she hurt me. So I ran."
"He rejected his fated mate but kept the bond active." It's not a question. Kaine's voice has gone dangerously quiet. "To use you."
I nod.
"And this." He gestures to my burned arm. "His chosen Luna did this?"
I nod again.
The temperature drops. Frost spreads across the ground from where Kaine stands. His eyes glow brighter, and for a second I see the beast under his skin, rage barely contained.
"Damien Silvercrest," he says slowly, "is a fool."
I don't know what to say to that.
Kaine crouches down so we're eye level. Up close, I see more scars—some old, some ancient. He's lived a long time and survived things I can't imagine.
"You came to my forest to die," he says.
"Yes."
"What if I offered you something better?"
My heart stutters. "What?"
"Life. Power. Revenge." His ice-blue eyes lock onto mine. "I'm hosting an Alliance Summit in three weeks. Every major werewolf pack will attend. I need a werewolf queen beside me—someone who understands pack politics, who can navigate their games and lies."
A queen? Me? That's impossible. I'm an omega. I'm nothing.
"Why would you—"
"One year," he interrupts. "Be my contracted queen for one year. Help me with the Summit and the alliances that follow. In return, I give you protection from your old pack. I give you power to stand against those who hurt you. And I give you revenge—the chance to watch Damien Silvercrest's face when he sees what you've become."
It sounds too good to be true. It has to be a trick.
"What do you really get out of this?" I ask.
A small, cold smile crosses his face. "Access to pack territories through a werewolf queen. Political advantages. And—" His eyes turn hard. "—it annoys me when alphas abuse their omegas. Your suffering makes you useful to me. Consider it my recruitment strategy."
At least he's honest about using me. That's more than Damien ever was.
"After one year?" I whisper.
"You're free. You leave with enough money to start over anywhere you want. Or—" Something almost soft enters his expression. "—you stay, if you choose."
I look back toward Silvercrest territory. Toward Damien who rejected me. Celeste who burned me. Four years of pain and humiliation and believing I deserved it.
Then I look at Kaine. At the monster offering me a choice when no one else ever has.
"I accept."
The words are barely out when Kaine reaches for my hand. The moment our skin touches, silver light explodes between us—bright and blinding and impossible.
The forest lights up like daylight. The light burns but doesn't hurt, filling my chest with warmth I haven't felt in years.
Kaine jerks back, staring at his hand, then at me. "What are you?"
"I don't understand—"
"That light." His voice is sharp with something that might be shock. "That's not a mate bond. That's something older. Something that shouldn't exist anymore."
A woman's voice calls from the darkness. "My king! I felt the magic from the castle. Is it—" A figure emerges from the trees, eyes glowing with purple light. A witch. She sees me and gasps. "Moon's Chosen. She's Moon's Chosen."
"I'm what?" I ask, but they're not looking at me anymore.
They're looking at each other like I just changed everything.
Kaine's jaw tightens. "Someone tried very hard to make sure you never knew what you were, little omega." He lifts me easily, cradling me against his chest. "Sera, contact the council. Tell them I'm bringing home a queen. A real one."
"But the curse—"
"I know," Kaine interrupts, and his arms tighten around me. "Someone cursed her bloodline. Suppressed her power. Made her think she was weak." His eyes meet mine, and they're blazing with something fierce. "They're going to regret that."
I don't understand what's happening. Don't understand what Moon's Chosen means or why silver light exploded between us.
But as Kaine carries me deeper into his territory, away from Silvercrest and Damien and everything that hurt me, I hear one last thing from the witch.
"The prophecy, my king. She's the one from the prophecy. The Queen of Both Crowns."