The Escape
I was born cursed.
A Silverthorne daughter with moon-marked skin — good for nothing except being traded to a monster.
"Those are cruel marks, my lady."
My maid's fingers hover above my bare back, careful not to touch the scars.
"Does it hurt?"
"Only when I breathe," I say.
She laughs, unsure if I'm joking. I'm not.
Outside, the bells of Silverthorne Keep toll nine times. One more night until I'm wed. Tomorrow, I'll be someone's wife.
Tonight, I'm still Naomi Silverthorne—last of a cursed bloodline, daughter of a house that worships the moon and buries its monsters under silk and vows.
"You're so beautiful, my lady."
Beautiful.
I watch myself in the mirror, still as glass.
"Do you like it?"
"It fits."
The corset pulls tighter, and the scars along my spine flare beneath the fabric.
"My lady?"
"I'm fine."
I am not fine. But how can I disobey when I am a Silverthorne?
"Are you… have you seen his face, Clair?" I ask.
My voice trembles despite myself.
Clair hesitates. "They say he's… distinguished."
"Distinguished," I repeat, lips twisting. "That means old. Or fat. Someone unattractive who cannot keep a wife."
The maid giggles behind me. "That's mean, my lady."
"Oh gods, but what if he is ugly?" I whisper, eyes wide in the mirror. "What if he's missing teeth—or worse, hair?"
Clair snorts before she can stop herself. "You shouldn't say that!"
"I'll have to look at him every day, Clair! Every night!" I clutch my chest like it's a tragedy fit for a song.
She laughs so hard she nearly drops the pins. "He's a lord, Naomi. You'll be lucky if he's even human!"
"That's not comforting!"
Clair bursts into laughter, her curls bouncing as she nearly doubles over.
I laugh with her, because if I'm right, I probably won't laugh again—certainly not at the altar.
"And I'm going to bear his heir!" I gasp between giggles, the words tasting absurd even as they leave my mouth.
The atrociousness of it hits me all at once. I clap a hand over my lips, realizing the horror of it.
"Oh gods, Lady!" she manages, tears bright in her eyes. "You mustn't say such things! What if someone hears you?"
"Then perhaps they'll cancel the wedding out of mercy," I mutter, tugging the corset strings.
Clair grins wickedly. "You're dramatic. I heard..." She paused, catching my glance at the mirror, " "He's rabid," she whispers, like a child repeating a ghost story.
"Rabid?"
"Rabid, my lady," she repeated, combing my hair now. " He's the Lord Alpha of the Moonstone house but before that he spent his younger years conquering wars..."
That's...I don't know what to think about. I've heard wars break wolves.
"…and there's a rumor," Clair says, "that he's been at war since he was eighteen. Since his mate died."
My fingers still against the fabric of my gown. "His mate?"
She nods, eyes bright with the thrill of telling it. "They say she was taken by the Blight Wars. He went mad for a time—left the Moonstone House to burn and took his wolves north. No one saw him again for years. Not until now."
"That's…" I frown at my reflection, the pins in my hair catching the candlelight. "That's not the sort of story you tell a bride before her wedding, Clair."
She only shrugs, but her voice drops to a murmur.
"He's back because the elders demanded it. The House needs an heir, and the bond—well, they say the Moon's pulled him home."
"The Moon," I echo flatly.
We were both too caught up with the story. We both jumped when the chamber door opens,
"Father!"
"Alpha Farrein!"
His eyes flick from me to Clair and back again. "What are you two whispering about?"
"Nothing!" Clair blurts, curtseying so quickly she nearly tangles herself in her skirts.
"Nothing," I echo sweetly.
His gaze sharpens. "You think the Moon doesn't hear 'nothing'?"
The room falls silent.
My father is a man of the moon and he believes in so many stories and traditions about it. That's why I always have my reservations for him.
Because if such a powerful creature exists, why let the other, such as omega, suffer?
But, he's my father and a Silverthorne honors family. Especially its tradition.
"There's been a change of plans," he says, his voice as even as steel drawn from a scabbard.
Clair straightens.
"My lord?"
"You're not waiting until dawn," Father continues. "The council made its decision. The Lord Alpha will not wait until the vows are spoken."
I feel the blood drain from my face. "What are you saying?"
"You're to meet him tonight," he says simply. "In his chambers."
Clair gasps; I can't even manage that. "Tonight?"
Father nods once, a motion more final than any signature. "He's returned from war for you, and he will see you before the Moon crosses the sky."
"That's not—" My voice cracks. "That's not tradition."
"No," he agrees, eyes unreadable. "But tradition bends for power. And you will not keep him waiting."
He turns to go but pauses at the door. "Prepare her," he says to Clair, his tone a command, not a request. "And pray she's ready to look a wolf in the eye."
He was at the door when I finally found my voice.
"No."
"No?" he repeats without turning.
I stand. My gown hisses against the stone floor.
"No. I won't go to him tonight. I won't be led to some stranger's chamber like a lamb."
He turns slowly, the weight of his gaze pressing the air from the room. "You think you have a choice?"
"I do." My voice trembles but does not break. "I am not a coin to be spent or a beast to be bartered. I won't."
His jaw tightens; the candlelight trembles in his shadow. "You are a Silverthorne. You will honor our bond."
"By being offered up like prey?" I spit."I've had enough," I fire back. "You would give me to a wolf because the Moon whispers to it, but the Moon whispers to me too, Father. And tonight she's telling me to run."
His nostrils flare. " If you run he is going to slaughter our pack."
"Then that's more reason for me not to be wed, Father!"
The words barely leave my mouth when a sudden commotion erupts outside.
I glance down toward the windows and my breath catches. The cavalry has arrived. Men in black-and-silver armor, banners snapping in the wind, boots stamping like thunder.
"The Alpha Lord is here," a voice hisses from the doorway.
I hold my breath. As I looked down and goddess, who was this man?
The horses stir nervously beneath him, but he is still, impossibly still, as if the wind itself skirts around him.
Clair's hand presses to my arm, shaking. "He's… terrifying."
"Yes," I whisper, voice trembling. "He is."
Father is gone now. It's just Clair and me.
I turn to her, clutching her hands as if they're the only solid thing left.
"Help me," I breathe. "Clair, help me run away from this."
"Please," I pressed, nails digging into her palms.
Her eyes go wide. She jerks back but I don't let her go. "No, my lady!" she hisses. "You heard your father. If you run—"
"I don't care." My grip tightens. "I will not be led like an offering to a wolf."
"What if he comes after you?" Clair's voice cracks, her own fear leaking through. "What if he does what they whisper? He's an Alpha, my lady. You cannot hide from him."
I stare at her, breathless. "I can if you help me run now!"
This is scaring her but I have no choice.
My loyal omega clutches my wrists, trembling. "And what of your father? What of the House? If you run, the Alpha Lord will slaughter us all. You heard him."
"No, he won't. That's barbaric!"
"He's coming," she whispers, her eyes darting to the door.
I draw myself up, heart pounding, the taste of fear and fury thick on my tongue. "If you won't come with me…then I'll run alone!"