MasukThe summons echoes across the valley long before dawn.Not a howl—those are too wild, too emotional. This is a call carried by horns and drums, by magic threaded into the air itself. It rolls through the land, heavy and deliberate, vibrating in my bones as I stand on the balcony and watch the last stars fade.The packs are coming.All of them.I feel it through the Alpha bond first—like distant heartbeats syncing one by one. Northern ridges. Eastern forests. The coastal bloodlines. Even the old mountain clans who rarely answer anyone’s call.They are answering mine.Behind me, the doors slide open softly. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Liam. The bond flares warm and steady, a quiet reassurance against the weight pressing on my chest.“You didn’t sleep,” he says.Neither did he. I can hear it in his voice.“I rested,” I reply, which is close enough to a lie to pass. I finally turn to face him. He’s dressed in dark ceremonial leather, the sigil of his royal bloodline etched subtly al
The summons goes out at dawn.Not by whisper.Not by rumor.By command.Every allied pack receives the mark of the Alpha Seal burned into parchment and carried by swift runners. Every elder, every Beta, every ranking wolf is ordered to attend. No excuses. No delays.By nightfall, the packs will gather.And the moon will judge us all.The clearing chosen for the ritual is ancient—older than my pack, older than written law. Stone pillars ring the open ground, each carved with symbols of moon phases, blood oaths, and Alpha decrees long forgotten by most but remembered by the land itself.This is not a place where lies survive.The earth remembers truth.I stand at the center as warriors secure the perimeter. Torches are planted in a wide circle, their flames low and respectful, never daring to challenge the silver glow beginning to rise in the sky.The full moon is coming.Not gentle.Not forgiving.My wolf is restless beneath my skin, pacing, claws scraping against my control. She knows
The palace has never felt this cold.Even with the torches burning high and the halls alive with whispers, there’s an emptiness here that seeps into my bones. Power always leaves a chill behind. I’ve learned that the hard way.I stand at the center of the royal council chamber, shoulders squared, spine straight, every inch the Alpha they expect me to be. But inside, my wolf is restless—uneasy in a place that reeks of secrets.Liam stands beside me.Not behind me.Not beneath me.Beside me.And that alone is enough to make the room uncomfortable.The elders sit in a half-circle, silver chains draped over their ceremonial robes, eyes sharp with judgment. Kings, Alphas, royal bloodlines—men and women who believe history belongs to them simply because they survived it.They summoned us again.Not to talk.To decide.“The truth is no longer deniable,” one of the elders says, his voice echoing against stone walls. “Liam of the Silver Crest is not merely a displaced wolf. He is heir to a roy
The truth doesn’t arrive like thunder.It seeps in.Quiet. Cold. Unforgiving.I feel it before I understand it—an unease crawling beneath my skin as dawn breaks over the foreign mountains surrounding the royal territory. The palace of Liam’s birth looms behind us, all stone and silver banners, regal and ancient. A place built to inspire loyalty.And fear.Liam stands beside me on the balcony we were given for the night, his shoulders tense, gaze fixed on the horizon. The bond between us hums—not warm like before, but alert. Wary.Something is wrong.“You feel it too,” I murmur.He nods once. “This place hasn’t changed. But the people have.”Below us, the palace courtyard is already alive. Wolves move in disciplined formations, heads bowed, voices low. Royal guards clad in moon-etched armor patrol the grounds with precision that speaks of training for more than ceremony.Training for war.I turn to him. “Your uncle.”Liam’s jaw tightens. “Yes.”We don’t say his name.We don’t need to.
The truth rarely arrives gently.It creeps in through shadows, through half-spoken words and glances that linger too long. It hides behind loyalty, behind tradition, behind faces that smile while sharpening knives.By the time I realize how deep the rot goes, it’s already wrapped its fingers around the heart of the world I thought I understood.The royal palace does not feel like a sanctuary anymore.It feels like a cage.The stone corridors are too quiet as I walk beside Liam, the echo of our footsteps bouncing off towering marble walls carved with the history of his bloodline. Wolves bow as we pass—some respectfully, some reluctantly, others with eyes too sharp, too calculating.They are watching us.Me.Him.The bond between us hums low and tense, like a storm gathering beneath still waters. Ever since our arrival, I’ve felt it—an invisible pressure pressing against my chest, warning my wolf that something here is wrong.Very wrong.Liam notices.He always does.“Don’t let them uns
The summons doesn’t come with warning.No trumpet. No formal envoy riding ahead to announce royal intent.Just a single black-feathered hawk circling above the palace courtyard at dawn—an old signal, one Liam stiffens at the moment he sees it.My wolf bristles.“What is it?” I ask, already moving to his side.Liam’s jaw tightens. “A royal recall.”The words sit heavy between us.“For you?” I ask.“For both of us,” he says quietly. “Which means… they’ve decided to stop pretending.”I don’t like that.Not one bit.—The palace of the Silver Crescent rises from the mountains like something carved from moonlight itself—white stone, sharp spires, banners embroidered with ancient sigils that predate most packs.This is not my territory.And they make sure I feel it.The moment we cross the gates, I sense eyes on us. Courtiers. Guards. Nobles who bow to Liam with rigid precision… then glance at me with curiosity thinly veiled as judgment.Alpha Selene Blackthorn. The outsider. The bonded Alp







