The Black Mane Fortress loomed over the valley, its blackstone walls gleaming red beneath the rising moon. The hall within was already alive with voices — wolves of noble blood, elders cloaked in silver-threaded robes, warriors who carried the scent of iron and fur. Tonight was no ordinary gathering. Tonight, the Alpha of the Blood Moon Throne was to choose his Luna.
Keona Stormfang stood near the edge of the chamber, rich chocolate skin catching the moonlight, hair in braids, her fingers pressed together, brown eyes cast low. She hated the press of bodies around her, hated the way whispers chased her like biting winds.
"She can't even shift."
"A frail little deviant, how pitiful."
"Why would the Alpha even look at her?"
The words stung, but she endured them in silence. She had always endured. Her wolf never came. She had bled beneath the full moons, suffered through the rituals, prayed until her voice broke, but nothing. Still, the mate bond was undeniable. When her eyes had met Kalethorn Fenrow's for the first time, her soul had shuddered with certainty. The pull was there. The connection. The fire.
And tonight… tonight he would acknowledge it. Wouldn't he?
Across the hall, Kalethorn stood, tall, handsome, tanned, broad shouldered and domineering upon the platform, his presence was like a storm. His dark eyes and brown hair caught the torchlight, his jawline like it was cut from marble, his frame a pillar of dominance. The wolves below him bowed instinctively when his gaze swept across them. But when his eyes brushed Keona's, his jaw tightened.
Elandra Greymane, the seer, whispered behind her veil of silver beads. "Fate is cruel, child. Brace yourself."
Keona's brows furrowed. "What do you mean—?"
But the seer turned away, as if unwilling to say more.
Kalethorn lifted his hand. Silence fell.
"People of Black Mane," his voice thundered, "tonight the Blood Moon demands I choose the one who shall stand at my side, not only as my Luna but as the mother of future heirs. Our pack's strength must endure. Our throne must never waver."
His eyes lingered on Keona again. A faint tremor of hope stirred in her chest.
Then he spoke words that shattered her.
"I reject the bond with Keona Stormfang."
The hall exploded in gasps and murmurs. Keona froze, her breath caught. It felt as though the very marrow of her bones cracked apart. The mate bond burned like molten iron, then snapped, leaving a hollow ache so deep she could barely remain standing.
"Kalethorn!" Nyra Fenwyn's voice rang out, fierce as a war cry. She shoved past wolves twice her size, brunette hair held tightly in a bun, small frame shaking, eyes blazing. "How dare you humiliate her like this?"
"This is not about humiliation," Kalethorn replied, steel in his tone. "It is about survival. The Luna of Blood Moon must be a wolf. Not a human in a wolf's skin."
Keona's lips trembled. "I… I am not human. I am one of you. You know this—"
"Then shift," Selene Duskfang's silken voice cut in, dripping venom. She strode forward, blonde hair in perfect waves down her back, dressed in crimson silk and arrogance, blue eyes mocking, her lips curling in satisfaction. "Show us your wolf, Keona. Prove us wrong."
Laughter stirred through the hall. Keona's fists clenched. She tried—gods, how she tried—pulling at the wolf within her, reaching for the beast she had never seen. Pain lanced her, but nothing came. Nothing ever came.
"Enough," Kalethorn declared. "I choose Selene Duskfang as my Luna."
The hall erupted in cheers from Selene's supporters, while others looked on in uneasy silence. Selene swept to his side, claiming his arm with claws hidden behind her smile.
Nyra spat at the ground. "You'll regret this, Kalethorn. You don't deserve her."
Keona's vision blurred. She could barely hear the jeers, the laughter, the whispers of pity. She staggered backward, out of the hall, into the night where the wind was cold and sharp.
Her chest burned as if her heart itself had been clawed apart. She stumbled to the edge of the fortress grounds, collapsing near the ancient moonlit stones.
"Rejected…" her voice cracked, a whisper lost in the night.
"You do not deserve this," came a voice, deep and steady.
She startled, looking up. A tall figure, a bit leaner than Kalethorn, equally handsome, with tanned skin, broad-shoulders and dark hair stood in the shadows — Darius Dravenmoor, Alpha of the Ironcrest Pride.
His star-shaped scar caught the moonlight, his eyes glimmering with something softer than she expected.
"You…" she rasped, forcing herself upright. "Why are you here?"
His lips curved faintly. "Because I expected the proud heir of the Blood Moon to be a fool. And I was right."
Keona's throat tightened. "Don't mock me."
"I do not mock." He stepped closer, his presence wrapping around her like a cloak. "I see strength, Keona Stormfang. Even if he does not. Even if you do not yet see it yourself."
Her breath hitched. The bond with Kalethorn still burned faintly, it's ashes smoldering in her veins, but here—here was another fire, strange and unsettling.
"Leave me," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.
Darius inclined his head, his gaze lingering. "I will not pursue what you do not wish. But know this—rejection is not an end. Sometimes, it is the beginning."
Before she could answer, the sound of hurried steps broke the night. Nyra came running, breathless.
"Keona! You must come—" She froze when she saw Darius, her eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here, Ironcrest?"
Darius only smirked. "Offering what your Alpha heir was too blind to see."
Nyra's hand went to her dagger. "She's not yours."
But before more could be said, the sky itself seemed to tremble. A flare of unnatural light ignited over the fortress, searing white against the dark. Magic, ancient and violent, rippled across the valley. Wolves howled in confusion and fear.
Keona's breath caught, her pain momentarily forgotten.
"What… what is happening?" she whispered.
Darius's jaw tightened, his voice low. "Something long buried is awakening."
And in the distance, high above the Blood Moon Fortress, a figure cloaked in shadows stood upon the battlements, his eyes gleaming with an otherworldly fire.
Caelum Stormgrave had begun to move.