LOGINI died once. My pack slaughtered. My blood spilled beneath the claws of the Alpha who destroyed everything I loved. But death didn’t keep me. The Moon Goddess pulled me back reborn with only one purpose. Vengeance. Now I walk into the heart of Bloodveil Pack, hiding my true identity. He doesn’t recognize me. Not the girl he crushed beneath his rule. Not the omega who swore she’d see him burn. But fate is cruel. The bond ties me to him Cain Blackthorn, the ruthless Alpha, my sworn enemy… and my mate. Every step I take brings me closer to revenge… and deeper into his darkness. Behind his cold strength lies a curse tearing him apart, and only I can soothe it. To save myself, I must destroy him. To save him, I must betray myself. In a world of blood, lies, and the Moon Goddess’s wrath, love is the most dangerous trap of all.
View MoreThe night my pack burned, the sky was painted red.
Smoke filled my lungs as I ran, stumbling over the torn bodies of wolves I had known my whole life. The cries of children were drowned beneath the roars of warriors, the clash of teeth, the screams of dying mothers.
And at the center of it all was him.
Alpha Cain.
The man whose name was whispered like a curse. The man whose shadow stretched longer than any nightmare. His wolves tore through mine as if we were nothing but prey. His commands cut sharper than steel, and the Bloodveil warriors obeyed without hesitation.
I had thought death would come in the form of claws, or fangs ripping into my throat. But instead, it came slowly, through betrayal, through fire, through a smile I will never forget.
I remember it too clearly.
I was kneeling in the mud, blood dripping down my side from a wound that refused to close. My wolf whimpered inside me, broken, too weak to heal. My parents were already dead. My brother lay motionless at my feet. And the man who stood over me looked at me not with rage… but with amusement.
Cain’s dark eyes locked onto mine, sharp as blades. His lips curled into a smile, cold and cruel, as if my suffering entertained him.
“You fought well, little omega,” he said. His voice was deep, steady, too calm for the chaos around us. “But your fight ends here.”
That smile was the last thing I saw before the blade slid between my ribs.
I gasped, choking on my own blood. My fingers clawed at the earth, but my strength was gone. The world blurred around the edges. The fire, the screams, even the pounding of paws faded into silence.
And Cain, Cain leaned closer, watching the light fade from my eyes.
I died with his smile carved into my soul.
But death was not the end.
There was only darkness at first. Endless, suffocating darkness. I floated in it, weightless, lost, unable to breathe, unable to scream. My body was gone, yet my mind clung to pain, to rage, to the memory of his smile.
Do you hate him?
The voice was soft, feminine, but filled with a power that thrummed through my veins.
“Yes,” I whispered into the void, though I had no lips, no breath. Only thought. Only fire. “I hate him.”
Do you want to live?
“I’m dead.”
Do you want revenge?
The question seared into me like a brand. Images of my family’s torn bodies filled the darkness. My pack, slaughtered. My blood soaking into the dirt. Cain’s smile. Always that smile.
“Yes,” I said. “Bring me back. I’ll kill him myself.”
The darkness trembled. I felt heat wrap around me, burning, reshaping, pulling me together from ashes and memory. Something ancient pressed against my soul, something divine.
Then rise, child. But remember: every gift has its price.
I woke with a scream.
Cold air hit my lungs like knives. My chest heaved as I clawed at the earth, dirt and leaves sticking beneath my nails. My body shook violently, drenched in sweat, though the night air was frigid.
I was lying in the forest. Alone.
Alive.
My hand flew to my chest, to the place where Cain’s blade had pierced me. The wound was gone, no gaping hole, no blood. But when I tugged my torn shirt aside, a scar ran across my ribs. Jagged, angry, a reminder that I had died.
“What… what happened?” My voice cracked, hoarse from screaming.
My wolf stirred inside me, weak but alive. She whimpered, confused, but her presence filled me with a surge of hope. I hadn’t lost her.
I dragged myself to my knees, every muscle aching as if I’d been beaten for days. My limbs felt heavier, colder. My senses sharper. My ears caught the rustle of leaves miles away, my nose the faint scent of iron and ash.
Something had changed.
I should have felt relief. But all I felt was rage.
Memories came back in shards, stabbing me from every angle. My brother’s lifeless eyes. My mother’s scream. My father’s body ripped open. Cain’s blade. Cain’s smile.
My pack was gone. Everything I loved was gone.
And yet I was still here.
Why me? Why had I been spared?
The answer struck me as quickly as the question. I hadn’t been spared. I had been chosen. By whatever force pulled me back, by whatever cruel goddess decided I wasn’t finished yet.
My hands curled into fists. “You should have killed me properly, Cain.”
A sharp pain spread through my chest, not from the scar, but deeper, in my soul. A pull. A strange, invisible tether, dragging me in a direction I didn’t understand.
I froze.
“No…” I whispered. “It can’t be.”
I knew what it was. Every wolf did. The mate bond.
Impossible.
The pull led me toward him. Toward Cain.
The Alpha who slaughtered my pack. The man who ended my life.
Fate had bound me to my enemy.
The thought made bile rise in my throat. I doubled over, gagging, shaking with fury. The bond thrummed in my veins, a heartbeat not my own, as if my soul recognized his.
“No,” I hissed. “No, no, no.”
My wolf whimpered, torn between fear and longing. I shoved her down, locking the bond away behind my rage.
I would not be his.
I would never be his.
The mate bond might have chosen him, but I still had my choice. And I chose vengeance.
I pressed a trembling hand against the scar on my chest, feeling the faint burn beneath my skin, and I made my vow.
“I will kill you, Alpha Cain,” I whispered into the night, my voice steady despite the tears burning my eyes. “I don’t care if the Moon Goddess herself bound us. I don’t care what curse brought me back. I will end you.”
The forest was silent, as if listening. The moon hung heavy above me, its pale light bathing the scar on my chest, its silver glow colder than ever before.
I stood on shaking legs. I was weak, broken, barely holding myself together, but I was alive. Alive with hate. Alive with purpose.
And the bond that pulled me toward him would be my weapon.
If fate wanted me bound to the Alpha who killed me, then I would use it. I would step into his world, wear a mask, play the role fate forced on me. I would get close enough to hear his heart beat. Close enough to watch his smile fade.
And then I would drive a blade into his chest, the way he did to me.
The way I had dreamed of in the darkness.
The way I would until the day I finally saw him bleed.
I wiped the dirt from my face, lifted my chin, and took my first step back into the world of the living.
The hunt had begun.
CAINThe first thing the dream makes is sound.Not a voice.A rhythm.Click.Pause.Click.Like teeth tapping together in anticipation.The heart reacts before I do—tightening, not in hunger, not in warning, but in recognition. Something aligns inside it, like a lock accepting a key it never should have been shaped for.Lyra stiffens beside me.“You hear that,” she says quietly.“I feel it,” I answer.The forest doesn’t change all at once. It doesn’t tear open or distort. It simply… accommodates. Space bends subtly, making room for something that wasn’t there a moment ago.The Devourer speaks, reverent now.A prototype.The air thickens.And then it steps out of nothing.LYRAIt looks wrong in the way unfinished things look wrong.Not monstrous—incomplete.Limbs that suggest function without elegance. A spine too articulated, like it was designed by someone obsessed with movement but unfamiliar with grace. Its mouth is the worst part—too many joints, too many possible shapes, teeth ar
LYRAThe strangest part isn’t the emptiness.It’s the silence.I wake without the soft disorientation that used to follow sleep—the fading images, the emotional residue, the sense that something private had just brushed against me and slipped away. Now there’s nothing to shake off.No warmth.No fear.No half-remembered symbols clinging to my ribs.Just consciousness snapping cleanly into place, like a switch flipped by someone else’s hand.Cain notices immediately.“You didn’t drift back,” he murmurs. “Usually you linger for a second.”“I don’t have anywhere to linger from,” I say.The words sound calm. Reasonable.They scare me anyway.The heart between us beats slow and full, like something digesting. Not strained. Not hungry.Processing.I close my eyes experimentally.Nothing waits for me there.
LYRAThe first thing it takes is sleep.Not violently.Not all at once.Just… piece by piece.I notice it when my thoughts begin to blur around the edges, when resting beside Cain no longer quiets my mind but sharpens it. The bond stays calm—too calm—like a held breath that never releases.The heart beats.Steady.Neutral.Watching.I close my eyes.The moment my awareness dips, pressure blooms behind my sternum—not pain, not fear. A subtle tightening, like fingers curling inward.My eyes snap open.Cain is already awake.I feel the question in him before he speaks it.“It didn’t let you drift,” he murmurs.“No,” I whisper. “It tightened when I stopped paying attention.”The Devourer doesn’t speak.It doesn’t need to.It’s learned a new lever.CAINStarving a predator doesn’t make it weaker.It makes it smarter.The Devourer stops reaching for the obvious—fear, lust, separation. Those are noisy now. Easy to detect. Easy to deny.So it goes quiet.It starts working in gaps.Moments bet
CAINObedience, I realize, isn’t submission.It’s predictability.The Devourer doesn’t want us broken, it wants us readable. Every time we panic, every time we cling or recoil without thinking, it feeds. Not just on emotion, but on certainty. Cause and effect. Stimulus and reward.So I stop reacting.I sit with Lyra, close enough that the bond doesn’t tighten, far enough that it doesn’t purr. Our shoulders touch, not pressed, not pulled away. Neutral.The heart beats.Once.Twice.No punishment.No pleasure.Just awareness.Lyra notices instantly. I feel the shift in her focus like a breeze changing direction.“It didn’t…” she murmurs. “It didn’t respond.”“No,” I say quietly. “Because we didn’t give it anything it could use.”The third thread hums, faintly displeased.Good.I test again.I don’t look at Lyra.Not away, elsewhere. I keep my body angled toward her, my breath synced with hers, but I let my attention drift to the forest. To the weight of the earth beneath us. To the smel
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