When Emry’s wolf has yet to awaken, she’s forced under the watch of her brother’s Beta—Braxton, the man she hates most. But beneath moonlight, a dangerous truth stirs: they are fated. Bound by destiny, divided by pride, their war may ignite a love that burns.
View MoreChapter One: The Hunt
The forest was alive, a restless hush carrying through the skeletal branches. Emry padded silently, breath clouding in the crisp night air. She had no wolf yet—her eighteenth birthday was still weeks away—but that didn’t stop Eastin from dragging her into patrols as though she could do anything if danger came. Her brother stood ahead in the clearing, posture tall and commanding, the weight of Alpha settling on his shoulders like it had always belonged there. The moon caught the lines of his jaw, the hard glint of his blue-gray eyes. Eastin was only a year older than her, but the difference between seventeen and eighteen felt like a chasm. He had his wolf. He had his authority. He had the loyalty of the pack. And standing at his side, as always, was Braxton. The Beta. The shadow. The blade. Emry’s stomach turned. His presence was a constant irritation, a reminder of everything she lacked. And yet, she couldn’t ignore the way her skin prickled whenever he was near. “You took your time,” Eastin said as she stepped into the clearing. Emry smirked. “Had to make sure the forest was safe for you.” Her brother’s mouth twitched, but Braxton’s expression didn’t change. Those amber eyes tracked her every step, sharp and unreadable. She hated that gaze. Hated how it seemed to strip her bare. “You should be quicker,” Braxton said at last, voice low, steady. “If something comes for you, hesitation is death.” The words were simple, but something beneath them coiled tight, like he wasn’t just talking about patrols. Emry bristled. “Not all of us have the luxury of a wolf yet, Beta.” His lips curved—not a smile, not really. More like the ghost of one. “No,” he murmured. “Not yet.” She stiffened, but Eastin cut in before the sparks between them could flare. “Enough. We’re here to work, not to bicker.” He looked between them with a sigh that carried the weight of years. “Moon above, you two are exhausting.” Emry crossed her arms. Braxton said nothing, but his silence felt heavier than words. Eastin shifted his gaze back to his sister, his expression softening. “You’ll have your wolf soon, Em. Then things will change. You’ll feel it.” Something flickered across Braxton’s face, so quick she almost missed it. His jaw clenched, his shoulders taut. She wondered what Eastin meant—what, exactly, she was supposed to feel. But she didn’t ask. She wouldn’t give either of them the satisfaction. Instead, she tilted her chin up and turned away, muttering, “Can we get on with this?” They set off, Eastin in the lead, Braxton close behind. Emry stayed between them, though she would rather have been anywhere else. Every step pressed her closer to the threshold she could not yet see—the moment her wolf would awaken, the moment she would understand what Braxton already knew. And he did know. The bond thrummed in his blood, ancient and merciless. Every breath she took pulled at him, every glance cut deeper than steel. His wolf howled for her, clawing at the cage of his ribs. But she was still unawakened. Still blind. Still free to hate him without realizing why. So Braxton said nothing. He kept his mask in place, teeth gritted against the pull, and walked at her side like the Beta he was supposed to be. But deep inside, beneath the weight of duty and silence, a promise burned: Soon. --- They moved through the trees in practiced silence, Eastin leading with the confidence of an Alpha already settled into his role. His wolf was a constant hum just beneath the surface, ready, watchful. Emry trailed just behind him, her own senses sharpened as much as they could be without a wolf of her own. She hated the reminder. Every crunch of leaves beneath her boots screamed her inadequacy. Braxton brought up the rear, though his presence felt closer than shadows. Always too close. Always there. The forest thickened as they descended into a hollow where the air was damp and the night sounds hushed. Emry slowed, nerves prickling. The silence was wrong. “Something’s here,” she whispered. Eastin lifted his hand, signaling them to halt. His eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight as his wolf pressed against his skin. He tilted his head, listening. That’s when the growl came—low, guttural, and not from their pack. Emry’s heart leapt into her throat. Rogue. Before she could react, a blur of fur and fangs lunged from the undergrowth. Eastin shifted in a heartbeat, his wolf exploding forward to meet the attack. The clash was violent—snarls and snapping jaws, fur and blood flying. Emry staggered back, pulse thundering. She had no wolf. No claws. No fangs. Just useless human skin. Another rogue broke from the shadows, eyes feral, hunger sharp. It came for her. Emry’s scream tore free—only to be cut short as Braxton was suddenly there, between her and the beast. His shift was brutal, bones snapping, fur bursting through skin, his wolf larger and darker than Eastin’s. The rogue slammed into him, and the two tumbled across the ground in a flurry of teeth and rage. “Braxton!” Emry cried, taking an instinctive step forward, torn between terror and the inexplicable urge to throw herself into the fight. His wolf moved with lethal precision, strength honed by years of training. Within moments the rogue lay broken, its whimpers fading into silence. Braxton stood over it, chest heaving, fur bristling, amber eyes glowing like fire. When he turned toward her, Emry froze. For one dizzying heartbeat, she swore she felt something stir inside her—something not yet born but reaching, clawing toward him. Her chest tightened, her skin burning as though tethered to his. Braxton’s wolf stilled. His eyes locked on hers, and in them was something raw, something barely contained. His wolf knew her. Recognized her. The bond screamed inside him, near unbearable. She was his. But Emry only felt confusion, her breath ragged, her body trembling as if she’d touched a flame without knowing why it burned. Eastin padded back, his wolf bloodied but victorious. He shifted quickly, standing tall once more, eyes scanning the clearing. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, grabbing Emry’s arm. She shook her head, still staring at Braxton. “I—I’m fine.” Braxton shifted back, skin steaming in the cold air. He stood naked and unbothered by it, muscles slick with sweat, eyes never leaving her. “You shouldn’t be out here without your wolf,” he said, voice guttural, raw from the shift. “Next time, you won’t get so lucky.” Emry’s spine snapped straight, anger flaring to cover the strange shiver in her chest. “I didn’t ask you to save me.” Braxton’s mouth twisted, half a smirk, half a snarl. “Didn’t have to.” Eastin stepped between them, sharp gaze flicking from one to the other. “Enough. We’re heading back.” But even as Emry turned away, her skin still tingled where Braxton’s eyes had burned into her. And Braxton, despite every effort, couldn’t stop watching her retreat, knowing the truth she had yet to discover— That she was already his. --- The walk back to the pack house was suffocating. The woods seemed louder now—the hiss of wind in the branches, the snap of twigs beneath their boots, the lingering copper tang of blood clinging to the air. Emry kept her eyes forward, refusing to glance at Braxton. Every step she felt him behind her, solid, steady, silent. His presence pressed against her skin, an unshakable reminder of what had just happened. Of how close she’d come to dying. Of how quickly he had thrown himself between her and the rogue. Of the strange, searing pull that still throbbed in her chest whenever she thought of his eyes locked on hers. By the time the pack house rose from the trees—an old stone and timber fortress lit by lanterns and the warm glow of firelight—her nerves were raw. Eastin pushed through the door first, his Alpha aura flaring enough that the younger wolves who crowded the common room lowered their heads instantly. He was bloodied but unbowed, and they looked at him with a respect that had only grown in the weeks since he’d taken the mantle. Emry stepped in after him, and the stares shifted—curious, assessing, heavy with questions she was too tired to answer. She hated it. And then Braxton entered. The murmurs stilled. Wolves straightened instinctively, their spines rigid as if his presence alone demanded it. Where Eastin’s authority commanded openly, Braxton’s power simmered in silence, dangerous in its restraint. He ignored them all. His gaze never strayed far from her. Eastin’s hand came to rest briefly on her shoulder as he led her toward the staircase. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” His voice had softened, but there was steel beneath it. “I told you I’m fine,” she said, sharper than she meant. Eastin studied her for a moment, as if trying to read something in her face, before nodding and turning away to address the pack. Emry started up the stairs, desperate for the solitude of her room, but the faint scrape of boots behind her stopped her cold. She turned sharply, heart thudding, to find Braxton at the base of the steps, watching her. Amber eyes, unblinking. Steady. Too steady. “I don’t need your pity,” she hissed, keeping her voice low enough that Eastin wouldn’t hear. “Or your shadow at my back. Stay out of my way.” Braxton’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t rise to her bite. Instead, he leaned one shoulder against the banister, gaze never wavering. “You think I do this out of pity?” His voice was quiet, a dangerous rasp. “You have no idea, Emry.” Her pulse spiked, confusion and something sharper twisting in her chest. She wanted to demand what he meant, but his expression told her she’d get no real answer. Not tonight. So she turned and climbed, each step heavier than the last, the echo of his words burning in her ears. Down below, Braxton remained where she’d left him, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the shadows of the stairwell. His wolf snarled in his chest, aching to claim what was his. But he swallowed it down, burying the truth she wasn’t ready for. Not yet. Eastin’s voice rang across the hall as he addressed the pack, but Braxton heard none of it. His focus stayed locked on the girl disappearing into the dark above. His Alpha’s sister. His enemy. His fated maVeylan’s POVHe dreamed of light.He always did, at first.A memory of silver on skin, of laughter echoing through the first night, of fingers that once traced constellations across his chest and named them mercy.Then came the ache.The reminder that light no longer touched him — that it had been sealed away with her forgiveness, buried beneath roots and stone and silence.He had forgotten the passage of years. The Bloodwood had no time, only pulse. Its heart beat with his own, slow and endless.He did not hunger. He waited.And now, after ages of quiet, something stirred.A tremor through the roots.A thread of warmth cutting through the dark.Not the goddess — no, not her.But her echo.Child of my light, he thought, the words not spoken but formed in the breath between worlds. Born of her mercy and my fire. I can feel you.Images flooded him — fragmented, half-formed.A girl with silver-threaded hair and eyes that burned like dawn breaking through mist.Her laughter was his goddes
Third-Person — Seren’s MemorySleep never came easily anymore. The forest whispered too loudly, threading dreams with memories until she couldn’t tell which was real.Seren’s head rested against the cold wall of the hollow, eyes half-lidded. The rhythm of the roots pulsed in her veins, dragging her mind backward — to the day it all began.⸻A Year EarlierThe air north of the Frostline had smelled different — sharp, metallic, touched with the faint sweetness of rot. Even then, Seren had known the rumors were true: something was stirring beyond the old borders.The rogues were changing.Not just rabid or broken — organized. Driven by something that called itself truth.She and Theron had gone north with purpose. The elders had begged them not to, warned that the Bloodwood was cursed, that even the goddess’s voice could not cross it. But Seren had felt the pull for months — dreams filled with crimson trees and a voice that wasn’t quite divine but heartbreakingly familiar.She’d told The
Seren’s POVThe Bloodwood never slept.Even in the dark hours before dawn, the forest pulsed faintly — roots whispering beneath the soil, sap glowing red as if carrying the last heartbeat of something divine.Seren sat with her back against the stone wall of the hollow, eyes half-closed, listening. The sound wasn’t wind; it was breath. The entire forest exhaled and inhaled around them, alive in ways no living thing should be.Across the narrow chamber, Theron stirred in his chains. The faint light from the bleeding roots caught in his hair, turning it copper-red. “You’re awake again,” he said hoarsely.“I never really sleep,” Seren murmured.He smiled grimly. “No one does here.”Their prison had once been a temple — she could feel it in the architecture, the arches carved with lunar symbols now overgrown by the living roots of the forest. What had been holy was now devoured.For months — maybe more, time had lost meaning — they had survived on whatever the rogues brought, their bodies
Emry’s POVSunlight streamed across the room in long golden bars, carrying the warmth of early spring. Outside, the courtyard was already alive — the steady rhythm of hammers, the rustle of fabric, Mirae’s voice cutting through it all like a command wrapped in cheer.Emry sat by the window, still in her linen shift, hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. The breeze carried the scent of baking bread and crushed flowers. Everything felt so normal that it almost hurt.Through the open shutters, she could see the pack working — stringing lanterns between the pines, polishing the carved stones where the vows would be spoken. Mirae moved among them like a force of nature, hands flying as she scolded, directed, and encouraged in equal measure.Emry smiled faintly, then let the expression fade. She should have been happy — and part of her was — but beneath it all lay a quiet restlessness, the kind that came before a storm.She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the hum of the bond — Brax
The pack grounds were unusually still for an evening before a celebration. Most of the bustle had moved toward the forest clearing, where Mirae was orchestrating the final touches like a general at war with aesthetics.Braxton had escaped to the training field, needing air. He worked through forms with a wooden blade, the rhythmic crack against the post grounding him in a way words never could.The prophecy had left a weight in his chest he couldn’t shake — a quiet dread whispering that everything he loved was already marked by the gods.He didn’t hear Eastin approach until the crunch of boots broke the silence.“Thought I’d find you here,” Eastin said, stopping a few paces away.Braxton lowered the blade. “Trying to remember what normal feels like.”“Any luck?”“Not much.” Braxton wiped his brow with the back of his arm, then nodded toward the faint glow of lanterns in the distance. “Your friend’s planning a small war out there.”Eastin huffed a quiet laugh. “Mirae’s been waiting her
Emry’s POVThe afternoon sun poured through the council courtyard, turning the white stone almost gold. The air hummed with life—wolves training, children laughing, the distant clang of metal.And, somehow, Mirae’s voice above it all.“Absolutely not!” she called toward a bewildered guard. “If you think I’m letting anyone hang dull brown banners for a divine mating celebration, you’re out of your mind. We’re talking moonlight, silver, maybe lilac—something that doesn’t look like a funeral!”Emry groaned from the steps where she sat with a basket of parchment Mirae had forced into her hands. “You realize I didn’t agree to a festival.”Mirae whirled, hands on her hips. “It’s not a festival; it’s a statement. You and Braxton are the first bonded pair blessed by the moon in generations. People need hope—and honestly, I need an excuse to boss people around again.”“You never need an excuse,” Emry muttered.Mirae ignored her, plucking a quill from the basket and sketching quick notes on one
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