The dream comes to me in waves of silver fire, consuming everything I've ever known. I watch helplessly as the ceremonial courtyard burns—not with ordinary flames, but with something ethereal and terrible that licks at the ancient stones like hungry tongues.In the dream, I can feel Killian's mark on my skin beginning to dissolve, the binding that's held us together for months simply... vanishing. The sensation is both liberating and terrifying, like losing a part of myself I never knew I needed. I wake with a violent gasp, my body drenched in cold sweat, the acrid taste of ash coating my tongue as if I've been breathing smoke for hours. My hands shake as I press them to my throat, searching for answers that won't come. The dream felt too real, too visceral to be mere fantasy. The silver flames weren't destroying—they were revealing something hidden beneath layers of deception and tradition. But was this glimpse of the future a vision sent to guide me, or a warning of the catastrop
Everyone was literally busy.The packhouse buzzes with frantic energy, transformers working overtime to transform our home into something worthy of sacred ceremony. Servants scurry past carrying armfuls of white silk and silver thread, their footsteps echoing against marble floors that gleam like moonlight. The courtyard is being draped in ceremonial banners that flutter in the morning breeze, each one bearing ancient symbols I recognize but don't fully understand. They say being Luna is an honor, but no one talks about how much it hurts to wear a crown made of broken promises and unanswered prayers. I move through the chaos like a ghost, watching my future unfold in preparations I have no control over. Pack members bow when they see me, their smiles practiced and polite, but their eyes linger too long, scanning my face, my posture, my hands for signs of the power they expect to see. Do they trust me? Or are they watching for the first crack in my facade?The first sign that the
The packhouse breathes differently now—shallow, uncertain exhales that mirror my own restless sleep. Three days since Elara's expulsion, and the silence stretches like a taut wire ready to snap.I press my fingers against the window glass, watching the morning mist cling to the forest edge where she disappeared. *Gone but not forgotten.* Her shadow lingers in every corner, every sideways glance from pack members who still whisper behind cupped hands.My reflection stares back, pale and hollow-eyed, and I wonder if they see what I see—a girl pretending to be strong enough to be Luna. The bond mark on my chest throbs with phantom pain, reminding me that some wounds never truly heal.They just learn to hide betterThe morning light catches the faint scars along my arms, each one a testament to battles fought and barely won.I trace them absently, remembering the feel of claws and the taste of my own blood. How many more scars will I collect before this is over? How many more pieces of m
Just as I was beginning to feel some measure of calm, some sense that I might actually be heard and believed, the air in the room shifted. It was subtle at first, just a change in the quality of light, a new scent carried on the breeze, but my hypersensitive nerves picked up on it immediately. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my wolf, still buried deep in my psyche, let out a soft whine of warning. Then she walked into the room, and the world tilted sideways. Elara Vaughn moved with the same predatory grace I remembered, her pale hair swept back in a perfect ponytail, her clothes immaculate despite the chaos of the day. She carried a tray of medical supplies, her expression one of professional concern, as if she had every right to be there, as if she belonged in this place where she had once tried to destroy everything we held dear. "I bought supplies for the injured," she said, her voice warm and helpful, pitched to carry just the right note of compassion."I heard t
I didn't expect warmth when I returned to Blackwood. But the cheers felt distant. My fears were louder.Killian's hand was a steady anchor as we walked the final stretch toward home, his fingers intertwined with mine like he was afraid I might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. He hadn't asked me a single question about what happened in the forest, hadn't demanded explanations for the blood on my clothes or the wild terror in my eyes. He simply walked beside me, his presence solid and reassuring, occasionally squeezing my hand when he felt me falter. The familiar path to Blackwood Pack territory stretched before us, every tree and stone marker a reminder of the life I had built here, the people who had become my family.But something felt different now, like I was seeing everything through a veil of glass—present but not quite connected, safe but not quite secure. My wolf remained buried deep inside my consciousness, still too traumatized to surface, leaving me feelin
The forest was supposed to be my sanctuary. Instead, it became my nightmare.I pushed deeper into the twisted maze of ancient oaks and silver birches, my bare feet finding purchase on moss-slicked stones and fallen logs. The ancestral energy thrummed through my veins like electricity, pulling me forward with invisible threads toward something I couldn't yet see but desperately needed to find. Each step felt heavier than the last, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what I carried—the knowledge that I was changing, becoming something monstrous, something that could hurt the people I loved most.The ritual stone called to me through bloodlines stretching back centuries, promising answers, promising healing, promising salvation from the curse that was slowly devouring my humanity from the inside out. My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, agitated by the strange energy that seemed to seep from the very earth beneath my feet. The scent of decay mixed with something older,