Chapter 12

Beneath the Wolf Moon

The days following Lena's visit to the infirmary were filled with a strange silence. The packhouse buzzed with preparation—training sessions, patrol rotations, weapons maintenance—but for Lena, everything felt muted. Damian avoided her with subtlety, throwing himself into battle plans and council meetings. She didn’t chase him. Not yet.

But she felt the distance.

Every word Kieran had spoken echoed louder in his absence. Every unsaid truth between her and Damian expanded into a canyon. The war had become more than survival—it was now tangled with history, betrayal, and choices that seemed too heavy to hold.

Tonight, the Wolf Moon would rise.

It was the most sacred night of the year for wolves. A time for honoring ancestors, reaffirming bonds, and pledging loyalty under the moon’s gaze. For Alphas, it was a moment to rally the spirit of their people. For mates, it was a night of recognition.

And for Lena?

It was a reckoning.

 

The ritual grounds were deep in the forest, encircled by towering pines and lit with hundreds of silver lanterns. Pack members gathered in silence, dressed in ceremonial dark robes adorned with silver thread. A massive stone altar stood at the center, carved with ancient runes that pulsed with the moon’s energy.

Lena stood at the edge of the crowd, her dark cloak hiding her features. She hadn’t been summoned to participate, but curiosity—and something deeper—had driven her here.

Damian stood at the altar, tall and regal in his Alpha form. His dark cloak fluttered in the wind, revealing a tunic stitched with the sigil of the Moonfang pack—a crescent moon within a wolf’s eye. He looked powerful, ethereal.

But Lena saw the strain in his jaw. The shadow in his eyes.

The ceremony began with chants, voices harmonizing in a deep, melodic hum that vibrated through Lena’s chest. Flames rose around the altar, and the moon climbed higher, bathing the clearing in silver light.

"Tonight," Damian spoke, his voice carrying with ancient weight, "we remember who we are. We honor those who came before. And we stand ready for what lies ahead."

The pack responded in unison. "Moon guide us. Wolf guard us."

Lena felt it then—a pulse through the ground, the thrum of magic awakening with the moon. A force older than blood and war.

Damian continued. "As Alpha, I renew my vow to protect this pack. To lead with strength and honor."

A breeze stirred the trees.

"And tonight," he paused, his gaze scanning the crowd, "we welcome new blood. Those who have proven themselves in battle, in loyalty, and in spirit."

To her shock, he turned directly toward her.

"Lena. Step forward."

Murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire. Lena felt every eye on her. Her muscles tensed, but she moved, one step at a time, until she stood beside him at the altar.

Damian looked at her, not as an Alpha, but as a man.

"You’ve fought beside us. Bled with us. Trained our warriors."

"I was a rogue," she said quietly.

"You were," he agreed. "But tonight, you choose who you are."

He extended his hand.

The pack waited. Lena hesitated. The memory of Kieran’s voice rang in her ears. Did Damian kill their father? Was he hiding the truth? But she saw something else in his eyes now—not cold calculation. Vulnerability. A plea.

She took his hand.

The crowd exhaled, a collective sigh of acceptance. Magic flared from the runes as Damian lifted a ceremonial dagger and sliced a shallow cut across both their palms. He pressed them together, blood mingling.

"By the old laws, and the bond of the moon, I welcome you into the Moonfang pack."

Lena felt the warmth spread through her arm, into her chest, a connection latching onto her soul. It was more than words—it was magic, pact-bound.

The crowd howled together, a chorus of voices honoring the union.

 

Later, as the moon reached its zenith, Lena stood alone near the edge of the clearing. The ritual had ended, but the firelight still flickered. Music played. Food and drink passed among hands. She felt accepted. Yet she couldn’t silence her doubts.

Damian approached silently, his cloak brushing the ground.

"You didn’t have to do that," she said.

"I did. You belong here."

She looked up. "Why now?"

His throat worked. "Because it’s not just about trust. It’s about truth."

Her heart stumbled. "Then tell me. What happened to my father?"

The night went still. Even the wind paused.

Damian looked at her for a long time before he spoke. "He was my mentor. And my friend. But he betrayed the council."

Lena blinked. "He was trying to protect us. He said the council wanted to wipe out all rogues."

"He was right. And wrong. There were factions within the council. Dangerous ones. He went rogue himself, trying to stop them."

She stared. "You were sent to stop him."

He nodded slowly. "He gave me no choice. We fought. I begged him to surrender. He wouldn’t. I didn’t kill him out of vengeance. I killed him to protect what was left of your family."

Her breath shook. "Kieran was there. He saw it."

Damian’s jaw tightened. "And he hated me for it. But he never saw the full truth."

Lena turned away, emotions churning like a storm. "You should have told me."

"I was afraid you’d leave."

She looked over her shoulder. "And now?"

"Now," he said, stepping closer, "I’d fight for you to stay. Even if it meant giving you the truth."

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the song of the moon above.

Lena turned fully, her voice soft. "I don’t know what to believe anymore."

"Then believe this," Damian whispered. "You’re not alone."

He reached for her, and for the first time, she didn’t pull away. She let herself lean into the warmth of his touch, the safety of his embrace.

Above them, the Wolf Moon burned bright, bathing them in silver light.

Not as enemies.

Not as strangers.

But as something else.

Something beginning.

 

The following day brought no respite.

Scouts reported unusual movement in the southern border—the one long thought safe. Damian called an emergency council, and Lena stood at his side, her place no longer questioned.

"We can’t stretch our forces too thin," Elliot argued. "If we move south, we risk the north."

"And if we don’t," Lena countered, "we leave the village of Gray Hollow undefended. There are families there."

Jace nodded in agreement. "We need to act."

Damian looked at Lena. "Would you lead a recon team?"

She didn’t hesitate. "Yes."

 

Gray Hollow was a quiet village nestled in a crescent valley. When Lena and her team arrived, they found signs of struggle—broken carts, scattered supplies, but no bodies.

It wasn’t an attack.

It was an evacuation.

Lena knelt by a broken crate. "They were warned. Someone told them to leave."

A scout called out. "Alpha, we found something."

She rushed to the northern tree line. There, etched into the bark of an old cedar, was a sigil she hadn’t seen in years.

Her father’s mark.

And below it, carved in the old tongue:

“Truth waits where the moon bleeds.”

Her blood turned cold.

Kieran had been here.

The war wasn’t over. It was only beginning.

And the next chapter would be written in secrets and blood.