The forest wasn't just trees and dirt anymore; it was a living, breathing map of vibrations that hummed through my paws. As I crested the ridge above Silver Falls, the world didn't just open up—it exploded. The dull, muffled life of an Omega was gone. Now, I could hear the frantic heartbeat of a field mouse miles away, and the scent of damp earth didn't just reach my nose—it sat on my tongue like a heavy, mossy weight.
But the real shock wasn't the world outside. It was the hurricane inside.
The agony of Killian's rejection—the feeling of my soul being shredded like wet paper—hadn't vanished. It had been paved over by a thundering, rhythmic power. Elara, my wolf, wasn't a whisper anymore. She was a force of nature that had been clawing at my bones for eighteen years, waiting for the moment my heart broke so she could finally forge it back together with silver and fire.
"Run, Seraphina," she snarled, her voice a deep, resonant chime that vibrated in my skull. Let the Silver Moon choke on their own lies. We belong to the cold now.
I skidded to a halt at a frozen stream, staring at my reflection. I wasn't a runt. I was a monster of moonlight. My paws were massive, easily twice the size of any Alpha's I'd ever seen. My fur didn't just look white; it looked like it was woven from the stars themselves, bleeding a cold, divine electricity into the snow. I was a myth. A White Wolf—the kind of legend the elders spoke of in hushed tones, the original protectors of the moon that were supposed to be extinct.
I didn't even look back at the packhouse. My father wouldn't recognize the beast I'd become, and my mother had long ago retreated into a world of grief I couldn't reach. Killian's rejection hadn't just broken a bond; it had erased the girl named Sera. If I stayed, I would be a trophy, a weapon, or a prisoner.
So, I ran.
Every stride felt like I was tearing through the fabric of the world. I covered miles in minutes, my lungs pulling in the freezing air like it was fuel. I headed straight for the "Shadow Lands"—the forbidden North. It was the territory of the Nightshade Pack, a place that even the Silver Moon's bravest warriors only spoke of in whispers. It was ruled by Alpha Silas, a man they called the Shadow King, a wolf rumored to be more nightmare than flesh.
As I crossed the invisible border marked by trees as black as obsidian, the temperature didn't just drop—it died. The air turned into needles against my skin, thick with the scent of ozone and ancient parchment. I skidded to a halt, my claws carving jagged grooves into the permafrost.
The forest went deathly silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
From the gloom of the massive oaks, a figure materialized. He didn't shift. He didn't growl. He simply walked forward with the terrifying, effortless grace of a predator who had already decided I was his.
He wore a long, charcoal overcoat that billowed behind him like frozen smoke. His hair was as black as a crow's wing, but it was his eyes that stopped my heart—a piercing, lethal silver that locked onto mine. This was Silas. He was younger than the legends suggested, maybe in his mid-twenties, but the aura of authority he projected was so heavy it felt like a physical hand pressing me into the dirt.
I crouched low, a guttural snarl ripping from my throat. My white fur bristled, casting a ghostly light against the suffocating darkness of his woods.
Silas didn't flinch. Most Alphas would have shifted the moment they saw a trespasser, but he just stood there, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. He tilted his head, studying me with a curiosity that felt like a needle sliding under my skin.
"A White Wolf," he whispered. His voice was like velvet dragged over gravel—smooth, deep, and dangerous. "I thought your kind were just campfire stories told to make pups stop crying."
I lunged forward an inch, snapping my jaws. I wanted him to flinch. I wanted someone, for the first time in my life, to fear the girl who had been stepped on for eighteen years.
Silas let out a dark, dry chuckle. "Save your breath, little ghost. You reek of a fresh rejection. I can smell the Silver Moon's stench on you—the scent of a mate who was too arrogant to see the goddess standing in front of him."
He stepped closer, invading the boundary of my personal space. I should have torn his throat out, but something held me back. A magnetic pull—vicious and sharp, nothing like the soft warmth of a fated mate—tugged at my core.
"You have two choices, Seraphina," he said, and the way he spoke my name made my fur stand on end. "You can keep running until the hunters find you and put you in a cage. Or, you can come with me."
I bared my teeth, my eyes flashing. Why should I trust a monster? I thought, the sentiment echoing through our shared proximity.
Silas reached out. It was a slow, deliberate movement. I could have bitten his hand off, but I stayed frozen. His fingers brushed the fur at my shoulder, and a jolt of electricity—hot, sharp, and terrifying—surged through me.
"Because," Silas murmured, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. "I don't want a mate to breed, Seraphina. I want a queen to help me burn the old world down. And you look like you're carrying a lot of matches."
He turned and walked away into the darkness of the Shadow Lands, never once looking back to see if I followed. He knew I would. In the silence of the North, I realized that Killian hadn't just rejected a girl. He had invited a goddess of war to his front door.
I took a breath of ozone and obsidian, and I followed the Shadow into the dark.