LOGINFive months pregnant, I watched my fated mate’s foster sister pour oil on our sacred threshold and strike the spark. I didn’t reach for the pack-link. Last life, I screamed through our bond. Cassian—my Alpha, the wolf I’d followed since I was six—came for me. Pulled me from the flames while his foster sister burned to charcoal behind us. He said nothing against me, even arranged the best care for my pregnancy. But on the fourth night after our daughter was born, he dragged us to the Blood Moon altar. He stood upon the High Rock, silver fur gleaming in the dark, and gave the order. His enforcers pinned me to the stone. He watched, silent and still, as they lit the pyre beneath our daughter’s body first—then mine. "You let Eira burn," he said, while the flames devoured us. "So you burn with what you loved." When I opened my eyes, I was back on the floor of our burning den.
View MoreThe interrogation chamber was cold stone and dim light.They played the security crystal. Cassian watched Eira pour the oil—his foster sister, his "little sister," striking the spark with a smile. He watched it three times. Four. On the fifth viewing, his hands began to shake. He gripped the stone table until his claws cracked, his knuckles white as bone. When the crystal showed Eira running from the flames while I lay bleeding, he made a sound—a wet, broken gasp, like a wolf taking a death blow to the throat."She was reborn too," he said finally. His voice was dust and ashes. "She remembered. She burned us twice. She let me burn you both times."I said nothing. I stood in the shadows, watching him shatter.Eira, in the adjacent chamber, screamed. Not with pain—with desperation. She threw herself against the bars, her perfect silk gown torn and soiled, her face streaked with mucus and tears. "Asha !" she howled, crawling on her knees toward the dividing wall. "Please! Please! I confes
I walked out of the goldsmith’s shop with blood dripping from my chin, but I did not go home. I went to the healers. The receptionist took one look at my face—the glass shards embedded in my forehead, the bruises blooming purple across my jaw—and her eyes went wide with recognition.“You’re the one from the network,” she whispered.“Treat me or don’t,” I said flatly. “But if I die in your waiting room, the scandal will ruin this establishment.”She treated me.As the healer stitched my forehead, I sent a message to the investigator. Three words: Confirm the time. The reply came immediately. Moonrise. Three days hence. The Grand Hall.I smiled through the pain.For three days, I hid in my rented chamber, watching their projections glow across the public channel. Cassian and Eira at the tailors, selecting white silk. Cassian and Eira at the florists, choosing moon-blooms for the altar. Every image was a blade, but I let them cut me. I let the hate sharpen into focus.The night of the cer
Three days.I polished silver and gold until my claws bled, until the master grunted approval. I wore a mask to hide the healing burns, but nothing could hide the flatness of my abdomen beneath the work tunic. The other workers ignored me, whispering traitor when they thought I couldn’t hear.Then they walked in.Eira’s scent hit me first—jasmine and poison. She wore a silk dress that cost more than this shop earned in a month. Cassian’s arm was draped around her waist, possessive, triumphant.She saw me immediately. No surprise in her eyes. Only hunger."Mate," she purred, holding up a delicate golden chain. "Look how this shines on me."Cassian nuzzled her ear, loud enough for the entire shop to hear. "My Eira looks radiant in anything. Like it? It’s yours. I earn only to spend on you."I turned away, reaching for a polishing cloth, but Eira’s voice snapped like a whip."Attendant. Fetch me the moonstone ring. The large one."The other workers vanished. Cowards.I cursed silently an
I walked alone.The den I had shared with Cassian for five years was ash and cinder. I did not look back. I found a chamber in the outer rim—a cramped, cold space with walls that smelled of mold instead of pack scent—and paid three months’ rent with the last of my savings.Then I went to the enforcer’s station.The investigator at the desk recognized my face immediately from the public channel. His lip curled. “The arsonist. Come to confess?”I said nothing. I placed two items on his desk: the security crystal from my den’s threshold, and my pack-link pad.“Play the crystal,” I said. “Read the messages.”He sneered, but he played it.The projection flickered to life. Eira, clear as moonlight, pouring accelerant on my threshold. Striking the spark. Running.Then the messages. Eira’s voice, dripping venom: “Last life you couldn’t win. This life, you’re still the loser. Accept it—your bastard was never meant to be born.”The investigator’s sneer vanished. His face went pale, then red with






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