The carriage rattled over the frozen earth, its wheels cracking against stones sharp as broken bones. Outside, the forest loomed in a suffocating wall of black trees — their branches twisting like claws reaching for the moon.
Eleanor Thorne did not flinch.
She sat perfectly still, dressed in a gown of shimmering silver silk — Moonspire wedding colors — though the fabric felt like chains rather than lace. Her hands lay folded in her lap, steady, disciplined, betraying nothing of the storm inside her.
Tonight, she was to marry Adam Draven, Alpha of the Nightfang Pack.
The enemy.
The monster.
The man she had been ordered to kill. The man she had been trained right from birth to kill. The man she had sworn to her father she would stop at nothing to kill.
She had heard of his wild dealing, and by the moon goddess, she was going to finish him and rid the world of his evil deeds.
Her throat tightened, but she breathed slowly through it. A Thorne never bowed to fear, not even when it clawed up her ribs like wildfire.
The carriage slowed, horses whining nervously.
Moonlight struck the stone walls of the Nightfang Fortress — dark, towering, ancient, shimmering in the moonlight. Black banners whipped in the icy wind, emblazoned with the silver sigil of the Draven's: a wolf with hollow eyes, howling at nothing.
"Eleanor," a deep voice rumbled beside her.
Her father.
Alphonsus Thorne
The Beast of Moonspire.
The most feared Lycan in the western realms.
Even in human form, Alphonsus was enormous — broad shoulders, thick arms, hair black as the forest, eyes like molten iron. The kind of man whose presence swallowed a room whole. And he wielded his presence like a weapon.
"My daughter," he said. "You remember what must be done?"
Eleanor kept her gaze fixed on the fortress gates.
"Yes, Father."
"You will enter this union as a bride…"
His fingers gripped her chin and forced her to face him.
"…and leave it as a weapon."
Cold slid down her spine. Not because she wouldn't, it just sounded so…final.
"The Dravens destroyed our bloodline," Alphonsus growled. "Their curse began the war. Their arrogance stole your mother from us."
Eleanor's jaw clenched. Her fists had clenched in her lap, clenching her clothes.
Mother.
A name Alphonsus never spoke.
"You will avenge her tonight," he said.
"You will cut down Adam Draven before the mate-bond seals. Do you understand?"
Eleanor swallowed hard.
"I know."
But her heart stuttered.
Her mission was clear.
Her training absolute.
Her loyalty unquestioned.
Then why was the thought of killing a stranger causing an ache in her chest?
The carriage stopped.
Alphonsus opened the door. Cold air knifed into the cabin, snapping at her skin. Eleanor stepped out, frost crunching beneath her silver slippers.
The yard was quiet. Too quiet for what was about to come.
Hundreds of Nightfang wolves lined the steps — tall, broad, deadly. Their eyes gleamed like predators scenting fresh blood. Some growled low under their breath.
A Moonspire bride in their territory was an affront.
A threat.
A sacrifice.
At the top of the stone stairs stood a man carved from shadow.
Adam Draven.
Her breath caught.
He was taller than any man she'd ever seen, a form forged of muscle and lethal stillness. His hair was dark, tousled by the wind; his jaw sharp enough to cut bone. He wore black ceremonial armor that hugged his broad chest, moonlight glinting off the engraved markings along the cuirass.
But it was his eyes that made her catch her breath.
Cold.
Piercing.
Gold ringed with darkness.
Ancient were those eyes.
Those eyes were haunted.
Those eyes looked right through her.
Those eyes knew violence all too well.
Something else, too.
Something lurking behind them.
Something watching her.
Eleanor's skin prickled. Awareness enveloped her
The spirit in him stirred.
He felt wrong.
He felt powerful.
He felt. cursed.
Adam Draven's voice cut across the air, low and smooth.
"So, this is the daughter of Alphonsus Thorne."
Not a question.
A judgment.
Eleanor raised her chin.
"And you must be Adam Draven."
His lips curved-just slightly.
Not kindly,
"Welcome to Nightfang, bride."
The word bride sent her pulse racing.
Behind her, Alphonsus stepped forward, his head bowing only the barest fraction.
"The treaty is sealed tonight. Our packs demand peace."
Adam never took his eyes from Eleanor's face.
His gaze felt like heat.
Like fire crawling across her skin.
"We shall have peace," he said.
"After the ceremony."
After she plunges a dagger into your heart, Eleanor thought, fingers brushing the hidden blade strapped beneath her sleeve.
The pack rustled as she mounted the stairs.
Every pace was heavier than the one before.
Her gown whispered against the stone.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
Adam extended his hand.
She hedged.
Her father's order echoed:
Before the mate-bond seals.
She slowly put her hand in his.
A shock tore through her—
Electric.
Burning.
Alive.
Eleanor gasped.
Adam's eyes widened.
Something ancient clicked into place at that moment.
A pull.
A tether.
The bond.
Mate.
The word crashed through her like a tidal wave. Adam breathed sharply in. Gold flared bright in his eyes.
"You…" he whispered, almost in disbelief. "You're—" Eleanor jerked her hand back, her breath ragged. No. No, no, no.
This couldn't be happening. She was supposed to kill him. Not be tied to him. Not to be his fated one. Not feel her soul reaching toward his like a starving flame. Adam stared at her, surprised and angry and something else. Possessive. The wolves murmured louder now.
Alphonsus tensed behind her. The air grew thick, crackling with danger. Eleanor couldn't breathe.
Adam stepped closer, voice low, dark, and dangerous. "Eleanor Thorne," he murmured, "you and I are mates."
The wind sucked the warmth from her bones. Her mission shattered. Her father's plan unraveled.
And Eleanor felt her world tilt violently as the truth sank in— She had been sent to kill the one man the moon had destined her to love.