Chapter 8 : The Hollow Throne

Darian’s POV

The throne felt colder tonight.

Darian Rhadamanthys Draven sat upon the black stone carved from obsidian, older than empires, colder than death. The flames in the great hall of the Obsidian Moon Pack danced across the polished marble floor, reflecting the deep red of his eyes. But they offered no warmth, no comfort. Power had long since dulled into routine. Fear was commonplace. And loneliness... loneliness had rooted itself in the marrow of his bones like a second skin.

He was the Alpha King. The ruler of thirteen packs, each bound by blood and oath. His name struck terror across realms. He commanded armies, decided fates, shaped destinies. But none of it mattered. Not anymore. Not since she never came.

His mate.

The one promised by the Moon Goddess herself—ethereal, fierce, the missing piece of his soul. She was out there. Or so he had believed. For years, centuries, he had searched, through battlefields and banquets, through whispers and seer’s riddles, clinging to the thread of prophecy that one day, she would come.

But time had passed like smoke. And she never did.

“Gone,” he whispered to the silence. “Or worse, never meant to be.”

The thought tasted like betrayal. Not from a woman, but from fate itself. The Moon Goddess was said to be just. Cruel, sometimes, but just. Why then had she cursed him—the last of the Draven bloodline—to rule alone, to ache with this yawning void in his chest? Why did she give him power, immortality, strength beyond measure—but leave his soul to rot unloved?

He rose from the throne slowly, the heavy black cape embroidered with ancient silver sigils trailing behind him like stormclouds. The guards snapped to attention, but he didn’t see them. Didn’t acknowledge them. His eyes were fixed on the balcony at the far end of the hall, where the night stretched on endlessly.

Outside, the wind was cruel and sharp, slicing across the high cliffs where his fortress rested like a crow’s nest above the world. He gripped the stone railing, letting the chill bite his skin. It was better than feeling nothing.

“I’ve scoured continents,” he muttered, voice low. “Crossed into realms no wolf should enter. And still, nothing. No scent. No flicker. No dream.”

He remembered the first time he felt the bond stir—so long ago now, he feared it had been a lie. A mere heartbeat in the wind. A whisper in a storm. But he had felt her. Like fire blooming in the hollow of his chest. For a moment, he had known peace. Then… nothing.

Seers told him she hadn’t been born yet. That her soul was bound in another form. That perhaps, fate had delayed her to test him. And like a fool, he waited. Hunted. Slaughtered any obstacle that dared delay his path.

His chambers were littered with maps, scrolls, trinkets from dead witches, even a vial of blood from an old prophecy that claimed to be hers. He had become obsessed. Possessed. The strongest Alpha the world had known reduced to a madman praying to the stars for a ghost.

Castor, his Beta, had begged him to stop. “She will come,” he’d said. “Let her find you. You cannot summon what the moon has not yet named.”

But Darian couldn’t wait. He wouldn’t.

And still, nothing.

Until tonight.

Tonight, something shifted.

It was subtle at first. A pulse in his chest. A warmth behind his ribs he hadn’t felt in decades. The bond—a bond that had gone silent—flickered. Just for a moment. But it was real. It was her.

He had stumbled backward, breath caught in his throat like he’d been punched in the gut. His wolf, dormant for years, snarled awake within him, clawing, demanding to follow the scent. But there was no trail. No scent. Only the undeniable truth echoing through his soul.

“She’s back,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Alive.”

He didn’t know how he knew it. Only that he did.

Heart thundering, he stalked into his war chamber. Castor found him there, standing over the ancient mirror embedded in the floor—a relic passed down by the Alpha Kings, able to show visions when blood was offered. Darian didn’t hesitate. He sliced his palm open with his claw, letting his blood sizzle against the silver runes.

“Show me,” he growled. “Show me the one who is mine.”

The mirror rippled like disturbed water. Shadows danced across the surface, then cleared.

And then, he saw her.

Not clearly. A glimpse. A breath of a vision.

A woman in soft blue silk standing under a moonlit arch. Her eyes were like galaxies—dark, wounded, ancient. She stood with grace, but it was a lie. He saw the stiffness in her shoulders. The careful mask she wore on her face. The way she smiled like it hurt. Like she was hiding. Surviving.

His heart stopped.

“It’s you,” he whispered.

She didn’t look toward the mirror. Couldn’t. She didn’t know he was watching. But something in him shattered just seeing her like that. Like a broken rose trying to bloom in frost.

Who had done this to her?

Who had hurt what belonged to him?

A low growl reverberated through his chest. His fangs elongated. His claws extended. Rage clawed up his spine, twisting around the fragile hope blooming in his heart.

She had been broken. She had died. He could feel it. The bond didn’t lie.

And now she walked again—reborn, perhaps. Resurrected. But not whole.

He turned away from the mirror and punched the wall hard enough to crack the stone. Blood trickled from his knuckles. He didn’t care.

“I failed her,” he breathed.

All these years, and she had suffered alone. Maybe even died because he couldn’t find her in time.

But not anymore.

Not again.

The entire realm could burn if it meant reaching her. If it meant protecting her now. Finding her. Holding her. Even if she didn’t know him. Even if she feared him.

Even if she hated him.

“I will remind you,” he vowed into the night. “Who I am. Who you are. What we were always meant to be.”

He paced the room like a caged beast. His generals would question him. The Council would try to stop him. He hadn’t left the palace in nearly a decade, not since the last false lead nearly drove him into madness. But none of it mattered now.

The only thing that mattered was the woman with fire in her eyes and grief in her smile.

“Prepare my horse,” he ordered Castor. “We ride at dawn.”

His Beta’s face paled. “Where?”

“I don’t know yet,” Darian admitted. “But she’s close. I can feel it.”

Castor hesitated. “And if she doesn’t remember you? If she resists?”

Darian turned slowly, and for a moment, the storm of centuries swirled in his eyes.

“Then I will burn down every lie that’s ever touched her ears. Tear down every wall she’s built. And if I must—fight fate itself to bring her back.”

He paused.

“And if someone else tries to claim her—”

His voice dropped to a growl so deep the walls vibrated.

“—they die.”

Castor said nothing. There was nothing to say.

He bowed and left to make preparations.

Later, alone once more, Darian stood by the ancient wolf statue in his private sanctum. A tribute to the Moon Goddess. He hadn’t prayed in decades. Not since the rage took over. Not since silence had answered every plea.

But tonight, he bowed his head.

“Whatever this is,” he whispered, “don’t take her again.”

No wind stirred. No reply came.

But in his chest, the bond pulsed again. Stronger.

And in that silence, he knew.

She remembered something.

Whether it was pain… or him… he didn’t know.

But soon, he would.

And then the real chaos would begin.

Because Darian Draven wasn’t just a mate seeking love.

He was a king seeking what was stolen.

And he would not stop until every shadow was burned and every truth laid bare—until she stood beside him, whole, free, and his.

Forever.