Queen of the Forsaken

Selene’S POV

 The mop sloshed in the bucket for the third time, and I still hadn’t cleaned a single thing.

 “I swear, you’re hopeless,” Liora snorted from across the training hall, balancing a broom in one hand and her smirk in the other. “You’ve been standing there like a lost deer for five minutes.”

 I blinked at her, deadpan. “I’m letting the water soak in. It’s a technique.”

 “Oh, sure. A mop meditation ritual,” she shot back. “Next you’ll say you’re communing with the spirits of sweaty warriors past.”

 I placed a dramatic hand over my heart. “You mock me, but I’m manifesting. One day, I’ll live in a castle with silken sheets and gold floors that clean themselves. There’ll be no mopping. Just gowns. And my prince charming will bring me breakfast in bed.”

 “Selene,” Liora deadpanned, “you’re an omega in Moonbane Pack, not a Disney princess.”

 “Yet,” I said, wagging my mop handle at her. “Y-e-t.”

 She rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard them creak. “You know, maybe if you trained once in a while, you wouldn’t get winded just climbing the stairs.”

 “That was one time,” I protested. “And I was wearing boots two sizes too big. Totally unfair.”

 “Excuses, excuses,” she teased, twirling the broom like a spear. “Face it, cousin—you’ve got the fighting instincts of a stunned rabbit.”

 I grinned. “That so? Well, if I ever did decide to train, I’d probably mop the floor with you. Pun very much intended.”

 “Oh, you wish,” she laughed.

 Before I could throw a witty comeback (which may or may not have involved a flying sponge), a sharp voice cut across the room.

 “Girls.”

 We both snapped to attention like we’d been caught plotting to burn down the training hall. Aunt Ysara stood in the doorway, dressed in deep silver robes, her dark hair pinned in a severe twist. Elegant. Intimidating. The usual.

 “There’s a gathering tonight,” she said, sweeping her eyes over us like she wasn’t fully convinced we were worthy of hearing it. “Council of Elders. A masquerade. Neutral territory.”

 My mouth fell open. “Wait… a real masquerade? Like masks and everything?”

 “Yes. Not a ball,” she added, already anticipating my excitement. “It’s not a party. It’s politics.”

 I exchanged a look with Liora, who raised an eyebrow. Politics meant long hours, fake smiles, and everyone pretending not to hate each other. Neutral gatherings were rare—and awkward. But the part my brain latched onto?

 Masquerade.

 That meant mystery. That meant dresses.

 That meant, just maybe, the kind of night fate liked to play games with.

 Aunt Ysara gave us a small, unreadable smile before turning and gliding out of the room, off to do whatever aunt-like things she always seemed to be doing.

 I turned back to Liora without a word, and she just shrugged before jabbing a finger at my shoulder.

 “That look on your face screams ‘I’m not going,’” she said. “Am I wrong?”

 I sighed. “Honestly? I don’t want to go. I love it in my room.”

 “Why do you enjoy living such a boring life?” she groaned. “You keep talking about wanting your prince charming—how do you expect to find him? You think he’s just going to knock on your door because some magical soulmate GPS led him straight to you?”

 I burst out laughing. “Yes! That would be ideal, actually. I mean, all that socializing, smiling, pretending to be normal? No thanks.”

 “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered. “You’re going to the event tonight, and you’re going to meet someone, get tipsy, and live your youth like a normal girl!”

 I rolled my eyes. “Nah, I’m being serious.”

 “Well, I’m seriously going to talk to my mom. You’re going, Selene. End of story,” she said, already turning on her heel.

 “Wait!” I called after her, but she was already halfway down the hall—conveniently deaf.

 I glanced at my watch. 7:03 PM.

 “Seriously?” I groaned, rubbing my face with both hands. “Why is fate always in such a damn hurry?”

  In few hours, I was standing before a mirror.

 I barely recognized myself in the mirror.

 Liora had somehow wrangled me into a deep wine-red dress that clung to me like a second skin. My hair was curled and pinned back with delicate silver clips shaped like crescent moons, and the velvet mask on my face looked like it belonged to a girl who had her life together—not a bored, semi-clumsy omega who preferred oversized hoodies and warm bread.

 “Stop fidgeting,” Liora whispered, swatting my hands as I tried to pull the neckline higher. “You look hot. Scandalously, deliciously hot.”

 “I look like I’m about to trip over my own heels and fall into political disgrace,” I muttered, wobbling a little.

 “That’s the spirit,” she snorted. “Just try not to fall in front of the Elders. Or do. Might add some spice to the night.”

 Aunt Ysara’s voice snapped from the archway, sharp as ever. “Girls! Enough whispering. Selene, try to act like a proper Moonbane omega tonight. For once.”

 I turned and gave her my best polite nod. “Of course, Aunt Ysara.”

 She gave me a look like she didn’t believe me for one second before sweeping out of the room.

 Liora leaned in close, whispering like a little devil on my shoulder. “She didn’t say anything about sneaking wine.”

 I blinked. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

 She grinned and tapped her clutch. “A full flask. We’re going to survive this night.”

  The journey to the neutral lands—lush forest territory claimed by no pack—was filled with stiff silence, fake smiles, and the uncomfortable tension of trying not to breathe too loud next to people who’d rather claw your throat out than say good evening.

 By the time we arrived at the grand hall nestled between thick woods and silver-lit lakes, my face ached from fake smiling.

 The masquerade was beautiful, no doubt. Golden lanterns floated in the air, enchanted to twirl like stars. The scent of roasted meat and spices wafted through the chilled night air. Music pulsed softly from a string quartet enchanted to never miss a note.

 I should’ve felt enchanted.

 Instead, I felt suffocated.

 Too many people. Too many stares. Too much pressure to be someone I wasn’t.

 So I slipped out.

 Liora had already wandered off with a charming brute of a warrior from the Bluefangs—good for her. Aunt Ysara was busy fake-laughing with a high-ranking Elder’s mate.

 Nobody noticed when I slipped into the woods, heels in hand, flask in my grip, the cold earth soothing under my bare feet.

  ~~

 I found a quiet spot beneath a silver-barked tree and sat down, sipping slowly and watching the stars. The music was just a murmur now, distant and soft. My dress pooled around me, my mask still on. Maybe I could just sleep out here. Live my life barefoot in the woods, raise rabbits.

 “Now that’s a view I didn’t expect to find at a peace summit,” a deep voice said behind me.

 I startled, half-choked on my drink, and spun around—only to find a tall, broad-shouldered stranger leaning against a nearby tree. He wore black from head to toe, his mask carved with faint silver edges. His voice? Pure sin. Low, smooth, like something meant to be whispered in dark corners.

 “Oh great,” I muttered. “A woodland stalker. I knew this dress was cursed.”

 He chuckled, stepping forward slowly. “Didn’t mean to scare you, princess.”

 “Stop calling me that. I’m not a princess.”

 “You’re sitting in the woods in a silk gown, drinking alone at a masquerade. Forgive me if I assumed royalty.”

 I rolled my eyes, but a laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Well, mysterious stranger… what’s your excuse for lurking in the trees?”

 “Same as yours,” he said, gaze intense even through the mask. “Didn’t want to play nice inside.”

 There was a pull to him. A spark. Something magnetic and ancient, humming beneath my skin like a secret trying to wake up.

 I should’ve walked away.

 Instead, I smiled. “Well, since we’re both bad at parties… wanna share the flask?”

 His grin was slow and dangerous. “Don’t mind if I do.”

 And just like that, the night changed.

  Kael’s POV

 The woods should have been silent. They usually were—trees whispering secrets to the night, shadows licking at the edges of my boots. But tonight, the wind carried something else. A heartbeat.

 Not prey.

 Not threat.

 Something softer. Wilder.

 I followed it.

 The masquerade behind me was nothing but music and posturing. Alpha games dressed in silks and smiles. I had no business being there—Obsidian Fang wolves don’t mingle, not without bloodshed. But the Elders insisted. Show face. Keep peace. Pretend.

 I didn’t pretend well.

 And now… I’d wandered.

 Drawn out by something I didn’t understand. Didn’t care to.

 Until I saw her.

 She was sitting on a mossy stone, dress hitched up just enough to show long legs and dangerous curves, boots muddy, hair wild. Mask still clinging to her face, but her eyes—moonlit and defiant—landed on me with all the precision of a blade.

 “Oh, great,” she muttered, clearly drunk and unimpressed. “Another tall, broody masked stranger. Just what every fairytale needs.”

 My lips curved.

 She was beautiful, but it wasn’t that. It was the way she didn’t shrink. Didn’t posture either. She was… real.

 “Lost?” I asked.

 “No,” she said, lifting her glass of some golden drink. “I escaped.”

 I raised a brow. “From the ball?”

 “From my aunt. From my family. From the ‘smile and look pretty’ instructions. I was about ten seconds from throwing someone into the wine fountain.”

 A chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. “You don’t seem like the submissive type.”

 “Good,” she said, eyes twinkling. “I hate being predictable.”

 I stepped closer, the space between us humming.

 She watched me—carefully, but not with fear. More like curiosity. “What about you? You crash this party too or are you one of the stiff alphas pretending to be nice tonight?”

 “Does it matter?”

 “Nope,” she said and tossed back the rest of her drink. “You’re cute.”

 I blinked. “Cute?”

 “Very. Brooding. All that leather and that growly energy. Bet you have commitment issues and a tragic backstory.”

 “…Maybe.”

 She grinned and stood, wobbling slightly before steadying herself with a hand on my chest. I felt it like a punch. Heat surged through me.

 She tilted her head. “And I bet you kiss like sin.”

 My hand moved on instinct, gripping her waist. “Is that a challenge?”

 Her breath hitched—but she didn’t pull away. “Might be.”

 I leaned in slowly, letting her feel the tension thicken, my thumb brushing the bare skin at her waist.

 Her mask brushed mine as her lips parted.

 And when I kissed her, it wasn’t sweet. It was fire.

 Possessive. Deep. Slow and rough. The kind of kiss that unraveled everything in its path.

 She kissed me back like she was starving.

 Her fingers tangled in my shirt, pulling me closer. Our bodies collided with a kind of desperate rhythm, like we were chasing something neither of us could name.

 Her lips broke from mine, breathless, voice trembling, “We shouldn't…”

 But she didn’t step back.

 I ran my thumb along her jaw, then down her throat, slow and teasing. “Say the word, and I’ll walk away.”

 She stared at me. One beat. Two. Her lips parted. “Don’t.”

 We moved like instinct. Her back hit a tree trunk, her leg hooked around my waist, pulling me closer. I kissed her again—harder this time—hands trailing down her body, claiming every inch. The warmth of her skin, the heat between us, it was blinding.

 She moaned softly when my lips found her neck, arching into me.

 I peeled the mask off her face and whispered, “I want to see you.”

 And goddess… she was breathtaking.

 I pressed my forehead to hers, struggling to rein it in. “This isn’t just sex.”

 “I know,” she whispered, threading her fingers into my hair. “But I want it anyway.”

 Clothes fell away, clumsy and fast. Skin against skin, we gave into the pull—raw, aching, inevitable.

 Her name on my lips. My name on hers.

 The forest bore witness to our undoing.

 And in the depths of that night, I didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her pack.

 But her body remembered mine. And mine? I was ruined by hers.

 Even if fate didn’t give a damn