Chapter 4: The Price of Survival

The forest did not welcome Lunaria Vale.

It tolerated her.

That became clear as dawn crept in—thin, gray light slicing through the towering trees, revealing a land scarred by violence and neglect. Broken branches littered the ground. Old bloodstains darkened the soil. The air carried the bitter scent of unclaimed territory, thick with danger and desperation.

Rogue land.

Lunaria moved slowly, each step calculated. She had learned long ago how to make herself small, how to survive by avoiding notice. But something had changed overnight. The forest no longer pressed in on her with hostility. Instead, it watched.

She felt it.

Eyes unseen. Awareness brushing against her senses like fingertips.

Her wolf stirred—not frightened, but alert. We are not prey, she murmured.

Lunaria swallowed. “Not anymore.”

Hunger gnawed at her stomach, sharp and persistent. Her throat burned with thirst despite the water she’d drunk earlier. She had no weapons, no pack, no plan—only the faint, steady pulse of warmth beneath her ribs reminding her she wasn’t as helpless as she once was.

Still, power meant nothing if she didn’t live long enough to understand it.

By midday, exhaustion dragged at her limbs. Her feet were raw, bleeding in places. When she finally stumbled upon a small cave hidden behind a curtain of ivy, relief nearly dropped her to her knees.

Shelter.

She hesitated at the entrance, sniffing cautiously. No recent scent of wolves. No blood. No death. Just stone, damp earth, and the faint trace of old animal dens long abandoned.

“Good enough,” she whispered.

Inside, the cave was narrow but dry. Sunlight filtered in just enough to keep the darkness at bay. Lunaria sank against the wall and finally let herself breathe.

The moment she relaxed, the pain hit her full force.

Her chest throbbed, the rejected bond wound flaring angrily. She pressed a hand over her heart, biting back a sob. Even dulled, the ache was relentless—a reminder of what she had lost.

Of who had broken her.

“Don’t,” she told herself firmly when Kael’s face tried to intrude. “He doesn’t get space in my head anymore.”

Her wolf agreed with a low, determined hum.

Sleep claimed her despite herself.

She dreamed of the moon.

Not cold and distant as it had always seemed, but vast and close, filling the sky until there was nothing else. Silver light wrapped around her like arms, lifting her from the ground.

Daughter of the forgotten, a voice echoed—neither male nor female, neither loud nor soft. You have been broken, but you are not ended.

Lunaria tried to speak, but no sound came.

Power is not gifted without cost, the voice continued. Survive. Endure. Awaken.

The moon flared brighter—

—and Lunaria jolted awake.

Her heart raced as she sat up, breath coming fast. The cave was dim now, dusk settling outside. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Then reality crashed back in.

Exile. Rogues. Alone.

And yet… something lingered.

Her body felt different.

Stronger.

She flexed her fingers slowly, watching faint silver threads ripple beneath her skin before fading. Her wolf lifted her head inside her, eyes bright.

We are changing, she said softly.

Lunaria swallowed. “I know.”

A sound reached her ears—a scuff of boots against stone.

Her muscles tensed instantly.

She rose silently, pressing herself against the cave wall as three figures appeared at the entrance. Not wolves in shifted form—but humans.

Or something close to it.

Rogues who chose to remain half-shifted were the most dangerous kind. Their eyes glowed faintly. Claws tipped their fingers. The scent of blood and decay clung to them like rot.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” one of them drawled. “An omega, all alone.”

Another sniffed the air, frowning. “She smells… strange.”

Lunaria stepped forward before fear could paralyze her. “Leave,” she said, surprised by the steadiness of her voice. “This territory is claimed.”

The rogues burst out laughing.

“By who?” the tallest one sneered. “You?”

“Yes,” Lunaria replied.

Silence fell.

Something in her tone made them hesitate.

Then the leader smirked. “Guess we’ll take your cave—and you.”

He lunged.

Lunaria reacted without thinking.

The warmth beneath her ribs surged violently, racing through her veins. Her eyes burned silver as she raised her hand—and the ground beneath the rogue’s feet cracked.

He screamed as moonlight burst upward, throwing him against the cave wall with bone-crushing force.

The other two froze in horror.

“Get out,” Lunaria said, her voice echoing unnaturally. “Now.”

They didn’t argue.

They ran.

As the light faded, Lunaria collapsed to her knees, panting. Sweat soaked her skin. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest.

“That was… more than before,” she whispered.

Her wolf was no longer afraid.

She was exhilarated.

This power answers you, her wolf said in awe. Not him. Not the pack. You.

Lunaria pressed her forehead to the cool stone, tears slipping free—this time not from pain, but from overwhelming realization.

She wasn’t just surviving.

She was becoming.

Far away, Nightfang Pack was unraveling.

Kael stood in the council chamber, fury coiled tight beneath his skin as elders argued around him.

“The pack is restless,” Elder Morren said gravely. “Wolves are uneasy. Patrols report disturbances near the western border.”

Kael’s gaze was ice. “Rogue activity is nothing new.”

This is different,” another elder insisted. “The Moon’s energy is unstable.”

Kael felt it again—that distant pull, stronger now. Sharper. His wolf growled low, torn between anger and an instinct it didn’t understand.

“She’s alive,” Kael said suddenly.

The room fell silent.

Morren studied him carefully. “The rejected omega?”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

Something had awakened out there.

And deep down, Alpha Kael Nightfang knew one terrible truth:

Every surge of power he felt…

was Lunaria Vale stepping further beyond his reach.