The blood moon rose slowly, as if even it hesitated to witness what was about to happen.
Elara stood barefoot at the center of the ceremonial clearing, the cold stone beneath her feet seeping into her bones. The night air was heavy with incense and ancient magic, thick enough to taste. Every breath felt deliberate, fragile.
Around her, the pack formed a perfect circle.
No one stood close to her.
That alone should have been a warning.
Her white ceremonial dress clung to her body, thin and simple, sewn by her own hands because she had no mother to help her and no silver to spare. It marked her as what she had always been—an omega with no family name worth remembering.
Still, tonight was supposed to erase all of that.
Tonight, the Moon Goddess was meant to choose her.
Elara lifted her chin, forcing her shoulders back even as her fingers trembled at her sides. She could feel it now—the pull she had sensed since dawn. It coiled low in her chest, warm and aching, tugging her forward with quiet insistence.
Her wolf stirred uneasily.
He's here, it whispered, nervous but hopeful. Our mate is here.
Her heart skipped painfully.
Across the clearing stood Alpha Draven.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Untouchable.
The blood moon painted his sharp features in shades of crimson, making him look carved from shadow and fire. Power radiated from him without effort—dominance so strong it pressed against Elara's lungs, making it hard to breathe.
She had admired him from afar for years.
Not boldly. Not foolishly. Just quietly, the way omegas learned to do—never hoping for more than a glance, never daring to want.
Now fate had placed her directly in his path.
Draven's gaze lifted.
The moment his eyes met hers, the world shifted.
The pull snapped tight.
Elara gasped as pain exploded behind her ribs—sharp, sudden, undeniable. Her knees nearly buckled as heat surged through her veins, burning, branding, claiming. It was as if something ancient had reached down and carved his name into her soul.
Her mate mark flared beneath her collarbone, searing hot.
The bond had formed.
A murmur rippled through the pack. Wolves stiffened. Elders exchanged tense glances.
They felt it too.
Tears burned in Elara's eyes as relief crashed into her. The Moon Goddess had not abandoned her. She had been chosen. Seen.
Her lips parted on a shaky breath.
Draven stiffened.
For one fleeting heartbeat, something crossed his face—shock, perhaps. Or recognition.
Then it vanished.
The Elder stepped forward, voice solemn and heavy with tradition.
"The bond has been acknowledged by the moon. Alpha Draven, do you accept—"
"No."
The word cut through the clearing with brutal finality.
Elara froze.
The sound echoed, hollow and unreal, as if it belonged to another world entirely.
The Elder faltered. "Alpha…?"
"I reject her," Draven said, his voice cold enough to silence the night itself.
The air left Elara's lungs.
Her vision blurred. "I—I don't understand," she whispered, the words trembling as they fell from her lips. "The bond—it's there. You felt it. Everyone did."
Draven stepped forward, boots crunching against stone. He stopped just short of her, close enough that she could smell him—pine, smoke, power.
Close enough to destroy her completely.
"She is an omega," he said flatly, his gaze cutting through her as if she were already nothing. "Weak. Powerless. With no bloodline worth honoring."
Each word landed like a slow, deliberate blow.
"She will not be my Luna."
A sharp laugh broke from the crowd.
Then another.
Elara's face burned as whispers slithered around her, cruel and curious.
"How embarrassing."
"She really thought—"
"An omega?"
She shook her head weakly. "The bond doesn't care about rank," she said, desperation creeping into her voice. "I can learn. I can change. Please—"
Draven's eyes hardened.
"The Moon Goddess makes mistakes," he said.
Something inside Elara cracked.
The bond recoiled violently.
Pain unlike anything she had ever known ripped through her chest, tearing a scream from her throat as she collapsed to her knees. It felt as though invisible claws had sunk into her heart, twisting, shredding.
Her wolf howled in agony.
Blood filled her mouth. She choked, coughing as dark red drops splattered onto the stone beneath her hands, staining the hem of her dress.
The crowd recoiled.
Some watched in horror.
Others watched with fascination.
Lyra stepped forward then—beautiful, confident, already smiling. She slid her arm around Draven's, resting her head against his shoulder as if she belonged there.
"I accept you, Alpha," Lyra said sweetly.
The bond screamed.
Elara curled inward, sobbing as another wave of pain crashed over her. Her body shook violently, her vision tunneling.
Draven turned away.
That hurt more than anything else.
Guards moved in, rough hands gripping her arms. She barely felt it.
"What should be done with her?" someone asked.
"Banish her," Draven replied without looking back. "Before dawn."
The sentence was a death decree.
They dragged her toward the forest's edge as the moon watched in silence.
Elara twisted weakly in their grasp, forcing herself to look back one last time. "Do you truly feel nothing?" she asked, her voice broken. "Not even regret?"
For a moment, Draven hesitated.
Just a moment.
Then his face hardened completely.
"Nothing."
They threw her beyond the boundary stones.
Elara stumbled forward into the cursed forest, the darkness closing in like a living thing. Each step sent agony lancing through her chest as the broken bond throbbed violently, refusing to die.
Live, her wolf begged faintly. Please.
An arrow sliced through the air.
Pain blossomed in her side as she fell, rolling down a slope, striking rock and root and earth before everything went black.
The blood moon burned brighter overhead.
And far behind her, Alpha Draven staggered suddenly, a sharp pain tearing through his chest—deep, unfamiliar, and terrifying.
He pressed a hand over his heart, breath uneven.
For the first time that night, doubt crept in.