The cheers and howls still echoed through the sacred clearing, but to Jennie they sounded distant, muffled, as though she were underwater.
Her pulse hammered in her ears. That jolt—the searing, undeniable pull that had slammed into her the moment Kai's green eyes met hers—still lingered like lightning trapped beneath her skin. She had felt it in every cell: the ancient call of a mate bond snapping into place.
But he had frozen. Confused. Frustrated.
And he had smelled nothing.
Jennie forced herself to breathe, clutching the empty supply tray against her chest like a shield. Around her, the pack surged forward to greet their returning heir. Warriors slapped Kai's broad shoulders. Pups yipped in excitement. She-wolves pressed closer, offering shy smiles and bold stares, their scents blooming sweet and inviting in the cool night air.
Lydia was already at the front of the crowd, golden hair gleaming under torchlight, her jasmine-dominant scent deliberately amplified as she stepped into Kai's path. She dipped her head in perfect submission—just enough to flatter his alpha ego—then lifted it with a radiant smile.
"Welcome home, Kai," she purred, voice carrying over the noise. "The pack has missed its future Alpha."
Kai's gaze flicked to her for only a moment, polite but distant, before it swept the crowd again. Searching.
Jennie's stomach twisted. She turned sharply, slipping toward the shadows at the edge of the clearing. She knew how this worked. Low-ranked wolves stayed out of the way during celebrations. Especially unclassified ones. Especially her.
But before she could melt into the trees, a deep voice cut through the din like a blade.
"Stop."
The single word carried alpha command. Not a shout—just quiet, absolute authority that rippled through the pack like a shockwave. Conversations faltered. Wolves froze mid-motion. Even the wind seemed to still.
Jennie's feet locked in place against her will. Her body obeyed before her mind caught up. Alpha compulsion. She had never felt it directed at her before; no one had ever bothered.
Slowly, she turned.
Kai was striding toward her, the crowd parting instinctively. Torchlight carved sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the hard line of his jaw, the intensity burning in those forest-green eyes now fixed solely on her. His scent rolled ahead of him—dark cedar, storm ozone, raw power—thick enough to make nearby wolves lower their gazes.
He stopped an arm's length away. Close enough that Jennie had to tilt her head back to meet his stare. Up close, he was even more overwhelming: towering height, shoulders that blocked out half the moon, muscle and controlled violence in every line of his body.
The pack watched in stunned silence. Lydia's smile had frozen on her face.
Kai's nostrils flared again, subtle but deliberate. Searching. His brow furrowed.
"You," he said, voice low, meant only for her. "What is your name?"
Jennie swallowed. Her throat felt suddenly dry. "Jennie Voss."
He repeated it quietly, as if tasting the sound. "Voss." A flicker of recognition. "Your parents served on the northern border patrol."
"Yes." Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
Kai took one step closer. The heat radiating from his body brushed her skin. His eyes narrowed, scanning her face—silver-white hair catching moonlight like frost, ice-blue eyes reflecting torch flames, full lips pressed together in wary defiance.
Every wolf within twenty feet could hear their heartbeats. The silence was suffocating.
"Why can't I scent you?" he asked, blunt and quiet.
A ripple of whispers spread outward. Lydia's eyes widened, then narrowed with malicious glee.
Jennie lifted her chin. "Because I have none."
Kai's jaw tightened. "That's impossible."
"It's my reality." The words came out sharper than intended. A few gasps rose from the crowd.
Kai's gaze dropped to her throat, lingered on the rapid pulse there, then returned to her eyes. "When I looked at you… I felt—" He cut himself off, frustration flashing again. "Something."
Jennie's heart stuttered. He had felt it too. The bond.
But without scent confirmation, it meant nothing in pack law. Mate bonds were proven by mutual scent-marking, by the irresistible fragrance that drove wolves to claim and protect. Without it, a bond was considered incomplete. Invalid. A mistake.
Kai seemed to realize the same thing. His expression hardened, walls slamming down behind his eyes.
Alpha Ronan—Kai's father and current pack leader—approached from the platform, frowning. "Kai. The pack awaits your address."
Kai didn't move. For three long heartbeats he held Jennie's gaze, something unreadable warring across his face—confusion, anger, and beneath it all, a flicker of raw, possessive hunger.
Then he turned away.
The dismissal was clear. The crowd exhaled collectively.
Jennie felt the sting like a physical blow, but she refused to let it show. She bowed her head—proper submission—and slipped back into the shadows before anyone could see her hands tremble.
From the platform, Kai's voice rang out, deep and commanding, welcoming the pack, speaking of battles won and alliances strengthened. The crowd cheered again, swept up in his presence.
Lydia climbed the steps to stand at his side, radiant and triumphant, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
Jennie watched from the treeline, silver hair hidden beneath a dark hood she'd pulled up. Ice-blue eyes burned with something new—not just pain, but a cold, steady resolve.
He had felt the bond.
He had walked away anyway.
Fine.
If the future Alpha couldn't accept a mate without scent, then she would survive without him. She had survived everything else.
Jennie repeated the words in her mind like a vow, letting them steady the tremor in her hands as she slipped deeper into the pines. The sounds of the ceremony faded behind her—the triumphant howls, the rhythmic chanting of welcome, Lydia's bright laughter ringing out like a victory bell. No one called after her. No one noticed the silver-haired girl vanish from the edge of the torchlight.
No one ever did.
The forest swallowed her whole. Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy in silver shafts, painting the needle-strewn ground in pale stripes. Her breath came in soft clouds, the only sound besides the distant crackle of the celebration fires. She moved without rustling leaves or snapping twigs, her steps instinctively silent, as though the woods themselves conspired to hide her.
She didn't stop until she reached the small, hidden glade she had claimed as her own years ago—a tiny clearing ringed by ancient oaks, with a fallen log worn smooth from countless nights spent sitting there, staring at the stars and wondering why the Moon Goddess had made her wrong.
Tonight, the glade felt different.
The full moon hung directly overhead, impossibly bright, bathing everything in cold, crystalline light. Jennie's silver-white hair seemed to drink it in, strands glowing faintly as if lit from within. She sank onto the log, pulling her knees to her chest, and finally let the mask fall.
A single tear traced down her cheek, hot against her chilled skin. Then another. She pressed her palms to her eyes, refusing to sob—she would not give the pack, or Kai, or fate itself the satisfaction—but the ache in her chest was a living thing, sharp and relentless.
He had looked at her like she was a puzzle he couldn't solve. Like she was a mistake.
The bond had flared between them, bright and undeniable. She had felt it wrap around her heart like invisible chains—beautiful, terrifying chains. And for one breathless moment, she had dared to hope.
Then he had turned away.
Jennie dropped her hands and stared at the moon. "Why give me a mate at all if he can't even recognize me?" she whispered to the night. "Why make me feel this if it's just another cruelty?"
The wind stirred, cool fingers brushing her hair from her face. And then… something answered.
It wasn't a voice. Not words. It was deeper—a low, resonant hum beneath her ribs, like the earth itself breathing. A coolness spread through her veins, quiet and ancient, carrying the scent of fresh snow and midnight shadows. Her skin prickled. The moonlight on her arms seemed to shimmer, bending slightly, as if the light itself hesitated to touch her fully.
Jennie's breath caught.
Deep in the shadows of the glade, the darkness pooled thicker than it should have. It moved—slowly, deliberately—curling like smoke around the base of the oaks. Not threatening. Curious. Waiting.
She stood, heart racing for an entirely new reason.
A whisper of power stirred inside her, cool and quiet as moonlight on untouched snow. It didn't roar or burn. It simply… was. Patient. Eternal. And for the first time in eighteen years, Jennie didn't feel empty.
She felt seen.
Not by the pack. Not by Kai.
But by something far older.
And in that moment, alone beneath the full moon, Jennie Voss realized the night wasn't finished with her yet.