MasukSHERRY.
How could one be so cruel to his best friend's sister?
"Eric, that is enough!" Viktor roared, his teeth lengthening into fangs.
"No, it's not," Eric said, his eyes drilling into mine, tearing away the last pieces of my dignity. "You are below my standards, Sherry. You're too small, too fragile and completely incapable of being a Beta's mate. You would be a liability to this entire pack."
The crowd began to whisper, their eyes stabbing into me like needles. I saw Hazel smirking in the front row, looking at me with pure triumph. I saw the pity on the faces of the older pack members. It was humiliating. The one place I called home had turned into a public execution ring, and my fated mate was the executioner.
"Why are you doing this?" I choked out, clutching my stomach as if I had been punched. "We are fated. We are supposed to protect each other."
"I protect the pack," Eric said coldly. "And I don't need a burden dragging me down."
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding, and looked around the room to ensure every single eye was on him. When he looked back at me, his eyes were dead.
"I, Eric, Beta of the Blood Moon pack, reject you, Sherry, as my fated mate and future one. You are unworthy."
The mate bond inside me snapped and I felt it doen to my soul.
A physical pain, agonizing, tore through my chest. I gasped, dropping to my knees on the cold hard floor, my hands top-pressing against my heart. It felt like my soul was being ripped in half, bleeding out right there in front of everyone.
"Eric!" Viktor shouted, stepping toward him, but Eric didn't back down.
"I stand by my decision," Eric said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. He turned his back on me, looking at the crowd. "The rejection is final."
"Get out," a sharp, angry voice hissed from the side.
My mother, Camilla, stepped out of the crowd, her face twisted in disgust. I thought she was going to defend me. I thought she was going to comfort her bleeding daughter.
Instead, she glared directly at me.
"Look at the embarrassment you have brought upon this family," Camilla hissed, her voice loud enough for the nearby wolves to hear. "Begging a Beta to take you? Throwing a tantrum on the floor? You are the Alpha's daughter, Sherry! Have some dignity. A Beta is barely a step above an ordinary wolf anyway, and you are weeping on the floor for him?"
"Mother, stop!" Viktor snapped, kneeling down beside me, wrapping a strong arm around my shaking shoulders. "She's hurting! The mate bond just broke!"
"She is making a scene!" Camilla countered, her eyes cold . "Get her out of here before she soils our family name any further."
I couldn't hear them anymore. The voices blurred into a loud, ringing buzz in my ears.
The rejection was a heavy, suffocating weight pressing down on my lungs. I looked up through my tears and saw Eric walking away, Hazel immediately slipping her hand into his, comforting him as if he were the victim.
While I was here struggling to breathe, struggling to even see properly through my haze of tears.
He didn't even look back.
The humiliation, the rejection, the cold words from my own mother—it was too much.
I pushed Viktor away with whatever strength I had left, scrambled to my feet, and ran.
"Sherry, wait!" Viktor called out.
I didn't stop. I ran through the crowded hall, pushing past the whispering wolves, bursting through the double doors into the cool, dark Florida night.
The humid air hit my face, mixing with the hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I ran past the pack borders, into the deep, dark woods where no one could see my shame.
I collapsed against the base of a massive tree, sliding down into the dirt, burying my face in my hands. I sobbed until my chest ached, until my throat was raw.
Weak. Fragile. Below his standards.
His words repeated in my head like a cruel chant. Like a broken music box that wouldn’t stop playing.
My heart was broken, completely shattered into pieces. But as the hours passed, and the silver moonlight filtered through the canopy of the trees, hitting my tear-stained face, something inside me began to shift.
The crushing pain didn't disappear, but underneath the agony, a tiny, sharp spark of defiance ignited.
I didn’t want to feel this way. I couldn’t stay this way.
The timid, quiet girl who hid behind books died on the pack house floor tonight.
I wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, staring up at the full moon. "I will never beg for love again," I whispered into the empty woods, my voice shaking "I will never let anyone call me weak again."
The rustle of leaves behind me made my ears twitch.
I didn't move or breathe as I saw a shadow lengthened across the grass, stopping just short of my boots. A suffocating pressure suddenly filled the air, completely different from Eric's scent, completely different from anyone in my pack. It was dominant, dangerous, and entirely wild.
I slowly turned my head, my eyes widening as a pair of glowing, crimson eyes stared back at me from the darkness of the trees.
The ReversalSHERRYWe returned to the outbuilding the following night.The first contact had given us the shape of the binding and a warning. It had not given us the practical steps. Eric believed a second petition, made with clearer questions and a stronger acceptance of the cost, might draw a more complete answer. I agreed to witness again under the same conditions as before: the rope, the circle, and the decision to pull him out at the first sign that the contact was taking more than it gave.He marked the chalk line, placed the metal piece at the center, and cut his palm. The blood met the etched mark. The air inside the circle densified the same way it had the first time. The outline gathered more slowly, as if the distance had increased or the remaining attachment had grown thinner.When the voice came, it was still rough and still distant.“You came back.”“I need the exact terms,” Eric said. “Not the shape. The method.”The outline held. For a moment I thought it would refus
His Father’s SpiritSHERRYThe idea of reaching the dead did not arrive as a sudden inspiration. It arrived as a practical problem with a limited set of tools.Eric brought the metal piece to the small records room the next morning and set it on the table between us. We had already established that prolonged contact intensified the symptoms. What we had not tested was whether the object could be used as more than a trigger.“Pack law allows formal petitions to the dead under two conditions,” he said. “The petitioner must have blood claim, and the petition must be witnessed by at least one senior officer who accepts the risk of residual attachment. The rites themselves are old. They are not performed often because the results are unreliable and the cost is not always limited to the petitioner.”I looked at the etched mark on the metal.“Does the object change the conditions?”“It may. If it is the anchor for the curse, then it is already a point of contact. Using it in a petition coul
Truth About The CurseSHERRYTwo days later Eric came to find me after the morning drills.He looked more settled than he had at the fence, though the settlement sat thin. He did not waste time on the smaller subjects.“I pulled the command chain,” he said. “The hold order on the recovery team originated from the Alpha’s office. The language was routine. The timing was not. It was issued within an hour of the last confirmed contact with the temporary post.”We walked the long path behind the sheds while he laid out the rest. The order had been logged under a general readiness code that required no individual signature beyond the office itself. In practice that meant Viktor’s father or someone acting with his authority. The paper trail stopped there.“It does not name a killer,” Eric said. “It names a decision to keep the recovery team away until the scene could no longer speak clearly.”I absorbed the detail without interrupting. The investigation had moved again. The personal weight
BrokenSHERRYEric did not go to the operational files.He walked past the administrative wing and kept going until the path narrowed behind the storage sheds. I followed at a distance far enough to give him space and close enough that he would not have to look for me if he stopped. He stopped near the same stretch of fence where we had stood after the first real conversation about the curse.For a while he said nothing. The afternoon had thinned into early evening. The light along the tree line was the flat kind that made distances harder to judge.“I keep trying to put the pieces in an order that still allows the ordinary version,” he said finally. “Border incident. Bad luck. A man who preferred the work to the title. Every time I line them up, the hold order and the clear weather and the reduced records push them out of place.”I stayed where I was.“I was twelve,” he said. “I asked the questions a twelve-year-old asks. Where is he. When is he coming back. After the rites, the que
The Murder SHERRY The retired fighter lived in the third house along the eastern row. His name was Harlan. He opened the door before we knocked, as if the sound of two sets of boots on the path had already told him the visit was not social. He looked at Eric first, then at me, and stepped aside without asking for an explanation. The front room was small and ordered. A single window faced the fence line. Harlan did not offer seats. He stood near the table and waited. Eric placed the recovery roster on the wood between them. “You were listed on the team that recovered my father,” he said. “The official report claims weather delayed the response. The coastal records for that week show clear conditions. I need to know which version is true.” Harlan’s expression did not change much. He was older than most of the active fighters, the kind of man who had learned to keep his face quiet during long service. He looked at the roster for a moment, then at Eric. “The weather was cle
The BetrayalSHERRYWe did not go to Viktor immediately.Eric wanted the sequence tighter before he placed the recommendation and the fragment in front of the man who had grown up calling his father a mentor. I understood the caution. Once the evidence left our hands, the investigation would stop belonging only to us.Instead we returned to the operational drawer and the transition folder. Eric pulled every administrative note from the same year and laid them out in date order across the Beta’s table. The morning light had strengthened. Dust moved through it in slow lines.I took the supply requests and the patrol authorizations. Eric worked the internal communications. For a while the only sound was paper shifting.The contradiction appeared in a short logistics summary filed two days after the temporary border post was approved. The summary listed the post as already staffed and resupplied. The original supply request we had found earlier listed the same post as temporary and still







