Unholy alliances

Isabella’s POV

The moment I slammed the door shut behind me, I pressed my back to it, my hands shaking, lungs gasping for air that felt too thin. My wolf whined low in my chest, restless, anxious, her hackles raised. The mark beneath my collarbone still pulsed, an echo of the bond flaring when I’d faced the guard, like something trying to come alive and failing.

I crossed the room in two steps and yanked down the collar of my tunic, half-expecting to see something carved into my skin. But the mark remained faint, like a shadow of something not yet fully formed. It wasn’t  a clear symbol, no sacred crescent, nothing but the shimmer of heat beneath flesh.

“Why won’t you just—show up?” I whispered to the mark as though I was waiting for it to answer.

And as  if answering, the throb deepened, spreading like a bruise across my ribs. My wolf howled inside me—not from pain, but from fear.

And I knew it, it  was happening again.

The same fear I’d felt the night my village burned. When I awoke to smoke choking the sky and silver-eyed wolves dragging survivors away. Back then, I hadn’t known what the mark truly meant. Now I did—and I still didn’t understand why it was only halfway there.

Was it broken? Defective?

Was I broken or defective?

My legs gave out and I sank onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. I had barely begun to exhale when the door burst open.

“Isabella.”

It was Darcy’s voice.

I didn’t look up, I just responded. “Do you people ever knock?” I asked, almost rudely. 

He hesitated in the doorway, guilt flickering in his scent. “I—I was worried. After what happened in the corridor…”

I lifted my head slowly. He looked disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, his hair tousled like he’d been running. His eyes were pale and tired, shadows pooling beneath them.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“No, you’re not.”

“I don’t need another lecture...”

Darcy shut the door behind him and entered inside  the room, stopping a cautious distance away. 

“It’s not a lecture. I just—” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

 “Trenton’s a bastard. You don’t deserve what he said.”

I gave a bitter laugh,  “He’s not wrong. I did mess everything up just by being here.”

“Not true.” He took a step closer, “The bond chose you. We didn’t, that means something.”

“Then why does it feel like everyone wants to tear me apart for it?”

Darcy knelt in front of me, his expression softer now, his voice low. 

“Because we’re scared. The triad bond isn’t just rare, it’s dangerous. It magnifies everything. Pain, anger, desire... trust.” His hand brushed mine—gentle, hesitant. “It’s almost like we’re  all spinning.”

Something in his touch grounded me, even as my wolf shifted uncertainty beneath my skin. I pulled my hand away, not unkindly.

“You’re spinning because of him,” I said. “You still follow Trenton’s lead, even if it kills you.”

“I follow the bond,” he replied. “Even if it pulls me places I never expected.”

I wanted to believe him, a part of me really did.

But before I could say another word, pain lanced behind my eyes, a sudden, sharp pressure that sent the room tilting. My vision blurred. Darcy’s voice faded.

Then—

Everything went white.

I stood in a silver forest. Moonlight dripped through ash-colored branches, and the ground beneath my bare feet shimmered like frost. A strange peace blanketed the air, heavy with power older than time.

Then I saw her.

She stood at the edge of the glade, tall and radiant, her skin carved of moonlight and her eyes ancient. Then the realization hit me, it was the Moon Goddess.

She stepped toward me, silent as shadow, and I sank to my knees before I could stop myself.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “Why is the mark broken?”

The goddess tilted her head. Her eyes, the color of endless sky, filled with sadness.

“It is not broken,” she said, her voice echoing both within and beyond. “It is waiting. But time grows short.”

“Waiting for what?”

 “It’s waiting for the  moment your blood agrees as the heart cannot be shared by force.” She said, her gaze hardened. 

I swallowed hard, “But I didn’t choose to have three mates.”

Her expression didn’t change. “Neither did they. Yet the bond exists. It must be forged—or severed, and there’s  middle ground.”

“I don’t even know who I am,” I said. “I don’t know where I come from, or why this is happening to me.”

The goddess stepped closer, kneeling so we were eye to eye. She reached out and pressed two fingers to my chest; over the faint, burning mark.

“You are the blood of two moons. One sanctified and one  cursed.”

My breath caught.

“Beware the sister who bleeds the same,” she whispered.

Then the silver forest crumbled around me, falling into darkness—

I jerked awake with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat. My sheets were twisted, and the air in the room had turned frigid, though no windows were open.

Moonlight filtered through the window, and Daicy was gone.

And sitting neatly atop my pillow was a single black feather.

It gleamed obsidian-dark in the moonlight, the edges sharp as glass. My fingers trembled as I reached for it, but I froze.

There was something written on the pillowcase with ink.

It was a long, curling script, as though traced by something not quite human.

It spelled one word:

‘Isabella’