Under the blood moon, the Crescent Hollow Pack gathers for their annual Moonbinding Ceremony, a sacred ritual where chosen wolves pledge their lives to one another to strengthen the pack. Lyra is a spirited healer’s daughter who has always dreamed of finding her true mate, not being bound by pack politics. Kael, the fierce, cold Alpha heir, bound by duty and promised to Lyra since birth. A lone wolf from an enemy pack, mysterious and untamed, who crosses paths with Lyra on the night of the Blood Moon. Lyra never believed in love at first sight until she met Rowan. One glance beneath the crimson sky, and her wolf stirred like never before. Her soul whispered, Mate. But that same night, the Alpha announced her forced betrothal to Kael, the very man who would become her pack’s leader and her husband whether she wanted it or not. Lyra and Rowan’s eyes meet during a tense encounter at the forest’s edge; they feel the mate bond instantly, their innate wolves howling for one another. Lyra is duty-bound to marry Kael to seal an alliance between families. Kael doesn’t believe in the mate bond; he sees love as weakness but is drawn to Lyra’s defiance. The mate bond with Rowan burns like fire, but the forced promise to Kael locks her to her pack’s future. When tensions between the packs rise, Lyra is obligated to follow her heart to Rowan and risk war or remain by Kael’s side and surrender to duty.
View MoreThe forest reeked of blood. Kael stood at the edge of the ruined clearing, his silver fur streaked with crimson, his claws still wet. The rogues had scattered into the night like ash on the wind, but their stench lingered rot and old magic, an omen he could taste on his tongue. Around him, Crescent Hollow warriors tended the wounded, but Kael’s gaze wasn’t on them. His pale eyes were fixed on the dark line of trees where she had vanished. Lyra. A warrior staggered up behind him, his arm torn open, voice shaking. “The black wolf took her, my lord. He pulled her out during the attack” Kael turned, slow as a storm. His claws flexed. “Rowan.” The name left his lips like a curl. The surviving elders gathered around the broken stones of the Blood Moon Binding. “This is an omen,” one whispered, her wrinkled hands wringing the beads on her necklace. “The moon rejected her.” Kael spun on her, his voice a snarl. “The moon rejects nothing. That wolf stole what’s mine.” “She was promise
The forest didn’t sleep. Even after the last screams faded, after the rogues scattered into the night, the woods felt alive in a way that made the air taste wrong. The moon hung high above like a watchful, unblinking eye, silvering the jagged branches and painting every shadow into something darker, deeper. Lyra stumbled over a root, breath hitching as Rowan’s hand clamped around her arm to steady her. “Keep moving,” he murmured, voice low and urgent. Her lungs burned, her legs screamed, but she let him drag her through the thickets anyway. Every sound behind them—snapping twigs, a distant howl—made her heart jerk. She glanced over her shoulder. The distant glow of the clearing was gone now. So were the screams. But the smell of blood clung to her like smoke. Rowan didn’t slow. His grip on her arm was firm, almost too firm, but there was something protective in the way his body always positioned itself between her and the forest. “You can’t just drag me away from my pack!” she
The forest reeked of iron and charred wood, the hush after the storm settling over Crescent Hollow’s sacred clearing. Dawn’s pale light filtered through moss-laden pines, casting long shadows across the broken stones meant to bind Lyra to a destiny she no longer believed in. Lyra moved barefoot across the ashes, her feet stumbling through scorched grass and splintered wood. She traced a finger along one of the shattered ceremonial pillars, feeling the tremor beneath her touch. Silent whispers drifted past her wolves murmuring that she’d brought this upon them. “Maybe the Blood Moon feared her. Maybe she calls danger.” Her breath caught. The sting of guilt crawled over her skin. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Only the ache of realization: the pack saw her as a spark or a curse. Kael stormed into the Alpha’s house, his robes sodden with blood. Silver eyes glassy with controlled fury, he seized Lyra by the wrist, dragging her into a dim chamber cloaked in ear
The clearing still smelled of iron and smoke. Lyra stood barefoot in the churned soil, her cloak torn, her breath still ragged from the chaos that had ripped the ceremony apart. All around her, Crescent Hollow wolves shifted back into human form, their bodies streaked with blood and dirt, eyes wide and haunted. The Blood Moon Binding the one that was meant to tie her fate to Kael’s and secure the fragile peace between their packs lay in ruins. The ceremonial stones were cracked. The torches had been trampled. And the rogues gods, there were more of them than anyone expected had vanished as suddenly as they’d appeared, slipping back into the trees like wraiths, leaving only dead behind. Lyra’s heart still hadn’t steadied. Her mind replayed the scene in fragments: The flash of teeth. The stranger’s gray eyes locking on hers. The shift his body breaking and reforming into that black wolf mid-stride. The surge inside her chest when their eyes met. Mate. The word wasn’t spoken, b
The forest whispered like it knew a secret. Mist slid low over the roots of the black pines, and the moon fat and red as a wound hung unnaturally close to the earth. Lyra Graythorn stood at the edge of the clearing, her breath clouding in the cold, her heartbeat the loudest thing in her ears. She had seen many full moons before, but never one like this. Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind: The Blood Moon doesn’t just light the sky, child. It marks. It claims. And tonight, it was claiming her. The clearing wasn’t empty. Dozens of Crescent Hollow wolves had gathered in their dual forms some human, some already half-shifted, their glowing eyes fixed on the ceremonial stones that formed the circle. Torches hissed in the damp air, dripping smoke that smelled faintly of sage and iron. This was meant to be a night of celebration. But Lyra felt none of it. She tugged at the ceremonial silver clasp at her throat, the one that fastened the deep-blue cloak over her dress. The fabr
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