A forgotten bite. A fake bond. A power no wolf was meant to command. Twelve years ago, Kira watched her home burn under a blood moon. Smoke in her lungs. A mother’s scarf in her hand. And a golden-eyed boy who bit her—not to mark her, but to silence her. He told her to stay quiet. To wait. Then he left. Now, Kira is back. Not to forgive. Not to forget. But to survive. To infiltrate the pack that destroyed her people. To find the boy who abandoned her and burn his world from the inside. But things have changed. That boy is now Alpha Ronan Vale—cold, ruthless, untouchable. When Kira is captured during the sacred Pack Trial, the Council calls for her execution. Ronan claims her instead, announcing a trial mating bond that isn’t real. At least… it’s not supposed to be. As secrets unravel and an ancient power stirs in her blood, Kira discovers she’s not just an omega. She’s something the world thought extinct—a Royal Omega, born to command alphas and destroy empires. And the fake bond? It starts to feel terrifyingly real. But the past has claws. The Council has plans. And someone is still hunting her—someone who once paid a killer to make sure she never lived long enough to be chosen. The bond was a lie. Until it wasn’t.
Lihat lebih banyak**Kira, 12 Years Old**
The forest was ablaze. Not with flames—initially—but with cries. Wolf howls slice through the air like knives. Trees rushed by as Kira sprinted, tripping over roots coated in blood and ash. The moon overhead was off—oversized, overly red. "Blood Moon," her mother had murmured. A negative sign. Now it became a sky executioner. “Kira—don’t stop running!” her mother had shouted. Next, the teeth. Talons. Her mother's voice, muted in the midst of wailing. She had no recollection of falling. Only the scent of fire—hair, skin, residence. The pain in her chest. The bite of sorrow intertwined with smoke. She squeezed under the roots of a weathered tree, hands trembling, her mother’s scarf clenched firmly in her grip. The scent of rosemary and pine lingered. She held it to her face and refrained from crying. Wasn't able to. Weeping produced sound. Sound led to your discovery. Her legs throbbed. Her ribs seemed sore. Blood smeared her hands, but she couldn’t tell if it was her own. All was darkness and cries—except beneath the roots. In that place, time lagged. Breathing turned into numbers. Single. Two. Single. Two. It was chilly. The wind sliced through the forest with a predator's accuracy. Her wolf—too young to transform, too frightened to emerge—whined within her heart. Then— Crumble. Paces. She breathed in deeply, causing her sight to become hazy. A figure stumbled into sight, falling against a tree just a short distance away. A boy—perhaps a year older than she is, perhaps two. High. Pale. Blood saturated the side of his tunic. His breath came in uneven gasps. And those eyes of his—gods, those eyes. Gold. Flaming. Alpha generation. He inhaled the scent in the air. Then turned, eyes fixated on her as if a knife were at her neck. Kira stood still. He remained silent. Crawled toward her slowly and intentionally. His actions were fragmented—like he was maintaining himself through sheer determination. He was then kneeling down in front of her. She felt the urge to shout. To jog. He wouldn't allow her. His hand was placed on her mouth—softly, not harshly. His voice sounded harsh. "They remain nearby." His aroma reached her—pine, frost, something timeless. Alpha. “Do not shout,” he murmured. She looked up at him, trembling. He was not a scoundrel. He didn't belong to her pack, either. His crest was ripped, concealed. He wasn't meant to be here. He gazed at her as if he wasn’t meant to *behold* her either. Then—he sank his teeth into her. No alert. Unauthorized. His teeth pierced the tender spot between her neck and shoulder. Do not indicate. Not to assert. However, to tie. The agony was searingly intense. Her body convulsed. Her wolf howled. The bond formed immediately—primeval and intuitive. Her breath became labored. The planet rotated. Crimson blossomed where his fangs punctured her. Then, he recoiled, eyes wide as if he hadn't intended to do that. She looked at him, shocked, deceived, wounded. He gulped deeply, then placed a trembling hand on the injury. "They can’t smell you now." "You will have my scent." “Why?” she breathed. However, he remained silent. His gaze changed—terror, haste, something he couldn't express. “I must leave,” he stated. “Absolutely not!” Her voice broke. However, he was already standing up. "I'll return," he remarked glancing back. "I promise it." Then he vanished. Twigs broke. Silence flooded in. Kira remained seated, blood staining her skin, breaths uneven, anticipating his return. He did not. Not that evening. Never. The scar from the bite always remained. " He designated me for my protection. After that, he erased me from his memory. "Chapter 8 – The Breach(Ronan’s POV)I didn’t sleep.Again.Not since the moment I carried her back from the woods—barefoot, eyes wide open, but lost somewhere I couldn’t reach.Sleepwalking, they called it.No one knew why.But I did.It wasn’t just trauma. It was memory.She walked the same path she’d run twelve years ago.Back then, she was just a girl bleeding beneath the roots of an ash tree. I had bitten her to shut her up, to protect her, to keep her hidden. And then I left her.Now she walked again—only this time, she wasn’t screaming. She was silent. Shivering. Moonlight clinging to her skin like frost.I had wrapped my coat around her shoulders and carried her back like she weighed nothing.But she wasn’t nothing.She was everything I wasn’t allowed to want.The next morning, I stood in my office, staring at her scent lingering on the coat still draped over the back of the chair. My hands were clenched at my sides. My heart was pacing like it didn’t know where to settle.She
Kira’s POVThe cold kissed my bare feet before the air did.I didn't know I was moving.Didn't know I'd left the warmth of the packhouse or the borrowed blanket tangled at the end of my bed.All I knew was the hum—low, deep, ancient. It pulled at something buried in my chest. A string I hadn’t realized was there until it was tugged.My legs moved on their own, quiet over the damp forest floor. Moonlight filtered through the trees in broken shards, silvered like old bone. I stepped over roots and rocks, eyes open but unseeing.Somewhere inside, I knew I should’ve been afraid.But instead… I felt strangely calm. As if something out there was waiting. As if I belonged more under these stars than inside four walls with whispers and stares.The air was thick with pine and something else—something wilder. My pulse should’ve raced. But it didn’t.My body, scarred and taut from a life of fighting, was now loose. Vulnerable. Exposed in only a thin shirt and sleep shorts. The wind slid beneath
(Ronan’s POV)The clearing behind the training barracks was colder than usual. Morning mist clung to the grass, curling around my boots like breath I couldn’t release. I stood in the center, arms crossed, eyes on the treeline.Waiting.My wolf was restless beneath my skin, pacing behind my ribs. Not from impatience—no, this was different.She was coming.I felt it before I heard her footsteps.Kira walked into the clearing like she didn’t care who was watching. She wore a loose training shirt, sleeves rolled, braid swinging against her back. The sunlight caught in her scars—silver glints along her forearms, a shadow on her jaw.My chest tightened.“You're late,” I said.She arched a brow. “You're always early. That’s not the same thing.”I didn’t answer. I tossed her a staff. She caught it easily, spinning it once in her fingers.“What’s the lesson today, Alpha?” she asked, voice light but laced with challenge. “How to keep a trial mate in check without actually touching her?”My fing
Kira’s POVThe night air bites sharper than his teeth ever did.I stand outside the barracks, arms wrapped around myself, listening to the wolves howl from the northern ridge. They sound hungry. Restless.Like me.He’s late.I told myself I wouldn’t wait. That I didn’t need answers from an alpha who only sees what he’s allowed to see. But here I am. Boots planted in the dirt. Jaw tight. Heart louder than my thoughts.The door swings open.Ronan steps out.His shirt’s rumpled. Hair wet from a late shift or a cold rinse. He pauses when he sees me, and something flickers in his eyes—hesitation, maybe. Or memory.“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.I tilt my head. “That’s funny. You’re the one who dragged me into this lie.”“I protected you.”“No.” I take a step forward. “You claimed me.”His expression doesn’t shift, but his body does—chest drawn, like he’s bracing for impact.I take another step. “Do you remember the Blood Moon?”Silence.My nails dig into my palms. “The fire. The roots.
RonanShe’s an enigma.Quiet. Composed. Not meek like the omegas they parade at court.Not just the way she fights—though that’s part of it. She doesn’t fight like a wolf raised in the fold. She fights like someone who learned pain first and technique later. Raw. Sharp. She doesn't flinch when she bleeds. Doesn't look away when others do.She’s too calm.She doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t bow her head. She meets my gaze every time I catch her watching me—unflinching, unyielding.Most omegas shrink in the presence of an alpha.She doesn’t. And that unnerves me more than I want to admit.Tonight, she’s in the training ring.Again.I didn’t ask her to be.But she’s there anyway. Moving like she belongs. As if blood and ash haven’t burned her from the inside out.Her stance is practiced, patient. She takes a blow from one of my top warriors, recovers with grace, and counters fast enough to bruise his ribs.“She’s learning quick,” Thorne mutters beside me.“She’s not learning,” I say under my bre
(Kira’s POV)They take me to the east wing.Not a prison. Not quite a room, either.A holding chamber with furs instead of chains. A gilded cage for the girl the Alpha just claimed.Trial mate.What a joke.I sit still on the edge of the bed, my wrists aching from the iron cuffs. They took them off when Ronan spoke. When he lied.“She’s mine,” he said.And the Council believed him.They always do when an alpha speaks.I twist the scarf still tied at my wrist. My mother’s. The fabric’s worn through where I’ve touched it too much. But it’s all I have left of her. Of who I was before the fire.Before him.Ronan Maddox.He doesn’t recognize me.Twelve years ago, he looked me in the eyes and told me not to scream. Bit me like it meant something. And left me under the roots to die with the rest.Now? He doesn’t see a girl from the ashfields. He sees a problem to protect. A lie to cover.My wolf paces under my skin, restless and bitter.I haven’t shifted. Not since the night of the fire. My
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