The Moon had no mercy.
It hung above the stone clearing, swollen and pale, watching as if it had all the time in the world to decide whether Elara Nyx deserved to exist beneath it.
She stood barefoot at the center of the Circle, cold stone biting into her skin. The night air was sharp with pine and frost, heavy with the scent of wolves—powerful, confident wolves. Every eye was on her.
Waiting.
Judging.
"Shift," Elder Morvain commanded, his voice echoing like a death sentence.
Elara closed her eyes.
She did what she always did—reached inward, past fear, past shame, past the tight knot of dread that had lived in her chest since childhood. She searched for the warmth everyone said lived there. The fire. The wolf.
There was nothing.
The silence inside her was absolute.
Seconds passed.
Then whispers began.
"She's twenty." "Still nothing?" "A hollow soul." "The Moon rejected her."
Elara's throat burned. She forced herself to breathe through it, to stand still even as humiliation crawled over her skin like ants.
Open your eyes, she told herself. Don't beg.
When she did, the first face she found was Rowan Blackmoor's.
The Alpha's son stood at the edge of the Circle, arms crossed, dark hair falling into his eyes. He was everything a wolf should be—tall, broad-shouldered, power coiled beneath his skin like a loaded weapon.
She expected disgust.
Or pity.
What she saw instead made her stomach twist.
Fear.
His jaw was clenched so tightly she thought his teeth might shatter. His lips moved—not loudly, not meant for anyone else.
Not yet.
A shiver ran down her spine.
"Enough," Elder Morvain snapped.
The shame snapped with it.
"The Moon has spoken," the Elder declared. "Elara Nyx remains unclaimed."
Unclaimed.
Not chosen. Not worthy. Not whole.
The Circle began to disperse, wolves turning away as if she were already a ghost. Elara stood frozen, heart pounding, until a familiar hand touched her shoulder.
"You did well," Alpha Caelan said gently.
She looked up at him—the man who had raised her, who had given her food and shelter when no one else wanted her. His eyes were kind tonight. Too kind.
"Thank you," she whispered, though the words tasted like ash.
He pressed a small leather cord into her palm. A charm carved with ancient runes.
"For protection," he said. "The Moon can be… cruel."
She nodded and tied it around her wrist.
She did not see Rowan turn away, face pale.
She did not see the way the Moon dimmed—just slightly—as if disappointed.