"He told me to run. I didn’t listen. Now I can’t escape him… or the curse." On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, Elena Blackthorne should be celebrating the moment every werewolf dreams of — finding her fated mate. But when the bond snaps and she's cruelly rejected in front of her entire pack, her world shatters. Wounded, ashamed, and desperate to feel anything but pain, Elena flees into the forest... and collides with something older than myth. Silas Blackmoor is a rogue with silver eyes, a violent past, and a soul marked by the same bloodline curse Elena unknowingly carries. When her mate rejects her, the Moon Goddess grants her a second chance — and that chance is Silas, the one wolf every pack fears. Now bound to a stranger with a dangerous legacy, Elena is thrust into a world of secrets, ancient rivalries, and a prophecy soaked in blood. The deeper she falls for Silas, the more she begins to question everything she was raised to believe — about her pack, her past, and herself. But love may not be enough to save them. Because some fates were written to burn.
View MoreThere was something wrong with Silas.He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.I could feel it.Not through words, not even through the mate bond—not exactly. It was in the pauses between our conversations, in the way he looked at me like he was trying to memorize something he’d never see again.Like he was preparing for something I wasn’t being told.At first, I told myself I was imagining it. Stress. Training. The cursed wolves are breathing down our necks. But by the third time he flinched when I reached for him, I stopped pretending.He was keeping something from me.“Hey,” I said one afternoon, as we finished sparring and stood beneath the pine canopy, sweat glistening on our skin and breath clouding the air. “Talk to me.”Silas hesitated, jaw clenched. “About what?”“Don’t insult me,” I snapped. “You’ve been quiet since the bond sealed. And not the normal, brooding-rogue-wolf kind of quiet. The something’s wrong and I’m pretending it’s not kind of quiet.”He looked away.That was an
I crossed back into Ashfang territory just after sunrise.The mist clung to the forest like it didn’t want to let me go. Cold soaked into my bones, but it wasn’t from the night chill—it was from the words Malric had left me with.You and Elena… are the vessel.The curse didn’t want to kill the bond. It wanted to use it.The thought gnawed at the edges of my mind the entire way back, even as my wolf kept pacing under my skin, restless and uneasy. Every step closer to her made it worse.Because I didn’t know how to tell her.Didn’t know if I should.When I reached camp, the others were already up. Warriors sparred in the clearing. Elders paced the perimeter like anxious crows. The air was tight with preparation, thick with anticipation.Elena stood at the center of it all.She was giving orders—direct, clear, confident. The way the others listened to her now… it was different. Not just out of respect. Out of trust.She wasn’t just the Alpha’s daughter anymore.She was becoming a leader.
By nightfall, I was gone.Not from Elena. Not from the Ashfangs.But from myself.The pull of my bloodline dragged me east, deeper than I wanted to go. Deeper than Elena would ever let me, if she knew. I told her I needed to scout, to track the cursed wolves and make sure we weren’t walking into an ambush.It wasn’t a lie.Just not the whole truth.Because beneath the scouting, beneath the loyalty, there was something else.Obligation.The curse that haunted both our bloodlines didn’t come from thin air. It was seeded long ago—in violence, in betrayal, in something our ancestors had tried to bind and bury but never truly understood.And the Blackmoor name was at the center of it.Which meant I was too.The further I moved into the eastern woods, the colder the air became. The trees bent oddly here, warped and twisted, their bark streaked with black veins like something rotted them from the inside out. These weren’t Ashfang woods anymore.This was old ground.Cursed ground.I shifted j
The first howl came at dawn. It wasn’t one of ours. It was guttural, wrong—like something dead trying to remember how to sing. The sound cut through the morning mist like a blade, silencing the forest in a single breath. Birds stilled. The wind died. Even Nyx went stiff in my chest, ears pinned back, hackles raised. Mara burst into my cabin a moment later, still half-shifted, her eyes golden and wild. “They’re at the eastern ridge,” she growled. “Cursed ones. Four, maybe five. We don’t know if they’ve crossed the border yet.” I was already pulling on my boots. “Where’s Silas?” “Gone ahead,” she said, tone clipped. “Of course.” Of course, he had. I shifted mid-run, the bones cracking clean as Nyx surged forward and took control. Her body moved like lightning through the trees, leaping over fallen logs, paws pounding the ground in a rhythm older than language. The moment I reached the ridge, I smelled them. Rot. Decay. Something like burnt fur and iron. The cursed wolves stoo
Elena The clearing was silent. Above us, the moon had risen—full, pale, watching. The trees formed a circle of ancient limbs, shadowed and still. This was no ritual passed down by the elders. No choreographed ceremony to celebrate some happy, destined moment. This was raw. Real. Ours. Silas stood in front of me, moonlight catching the silver in his eyes. His shoulders were tense, his breath slow, like he was holding something back. “Are you sure?” he asked. His voice was low, rough. Vulnerable. I nodded. “I am.” Nyx pressed forward, ready and wild beneath my skin, her energy pulsing in waves. She wanted this. Needed this. Not just for the bond. For him. For us. I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. “Then say the words,” he said, almost a whisper. I swallowed. My throat felt too tight, but the words came anyway—like they’d been carved into my bones long ago. “I, Elena Blackthorne of the Ashfang Pack, call upon the moon to witness my vow. I offe
I hadn’t expected her to go into the Bonewood alone. Then again, I should have. Elena had that fire inside her. The kind that didn’t wait for permission. The kind that didn’t flinch from danger. And when I saw her crumpled beside that cursed tree, clutching the shard like it had bitten her, my heart nearly stopped. She was changing. And the curse could sense it. We returned to camp in silence, the tension between us sharper than ever. I kept the shard wrapped tightly in my cloak, not daring to touch it with bare skin again. Even holding it, I could feel the hum of power. Like it was alive. Like it was waiting. Waiting for her. We met with the elders that night in the stone circle, the fire at the center casting long shadows across their lined faces. Elder Kiera was the first to speak as I unwrapped the shard and placed it before them. “The seal,” she whispered. “It’s beginning to splinter.” Elder Ronin, the oldest among them, leaned in close. His eyes had gone mostly blind ye
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