Chapter 4 Not Worthy

Elone's POV

I stood frozen in the shadows of the hallway. Every word from the wolves inside clawed at my ears.

"Elone's wolf form is breathtaking," a distant cousin of the Greymans remarked, his voice a mix of mockery and cold appraisal. "Even if you just kept her as a trophy, she's something to look at. On a full moon, even the neighboring packs would be lining up for a glimpse."

He paused, his tone shifting. "Besides, you can't fake the scent of a fated mate. Marcus, are you really going to cast her aside?"

Marcus let out a sharp, derisive snort.

"Three years in that hole? She's tainted by the filth of every rogue she shared a wall with. A woman like that... she isn't worthy of being my mate."

The room erupted in a chorus of low whistles and hushed, pitying murmurs.

Marcus's voice dropped, heavy with the indifference of a king looking at a peasant. "If any of you want her, take her. She's nothing but a discarded she-wolf now. Nobody's prize."

"I wouldn't dare," the cousin replied. "Everyone in the Kelsa pack knows that since her wolf stirred at eighteen, she's only ever had eyes for you. A fated mating isn't a game. Are you truly going to throw it all away?"

"Her silver form is a rarity," another voice warned. "If an Alpha from an outside pack sets his sights on her, don't come crying about regret later."

Each word was a silver needle driven into my chest, a slow-burning agony. My wolf, Sia, had no strength left to fight; she only offered a dull, instinctual pulse of grief.

Seven years of devotion—every ounce of love I had—crushed and burned into ash in a single afternoon.

The sting of tears hit the back of my throat, but my heart remained numb.

I remembered when I was fourteen.

My father, Aldric, had placed a heavy hand on my shoulder as he led me into the packhouse council chamber.

"Astoria is a few years older than you," he had said, his voice like ice. "She is your sister. Keep your head down and don't cause trouble."

I had nodded eagerly, desperate for a home. For a family.

But from day one, Astoria never saw me as a sister.

On my first morning at the Academy, no one would sit with me in the mess hall. On the training grounds, my assigned partners were always "conveniently" absent. Someone stuffed my locker with dried wolfsbane; the acrid stench left me retching for a week until my throat bled.

And Astoria was always there, standing behind the crowd with a smile of pure innocence.

The cruelest blow came on Christmas Eve.

A group of upperclassmen dragged me to the silver vault in the Academy basement and slammed the heavy iron door shut. For a pup who hadn't made her first shift, the aura of those silver relics was enough to send the wolf spirit into violent convulsions.

I curled into a ball, my skin erupting in a burning rash while Sia screamed in my head. A blizzard howled through the cracks in the wall, my body temperature plummeting until my lips turned a bruised purple.

I hammered on the door until my voice broke.

Then, the door was kicked open.

Seventeen-year-old Marcus stood there, already radiating the steady, crushing aura of a Gamma. He tore the fur collar from his neck and tossed it over me with a teenage arrogance. "Get up. Don't lie on the floor like a dog. It's pathetic.

But when he reached down to pull me up, his palm was steady. Warm. Burning with life.

That was the first time someone had dragged me out of the dark.

From that moment on, Marcus Greyman was the light that defined my youth. I chased him for seven years—from the Academy to the Greyman lands, from a girl to a woman. I was certain that his light would always be mine.

A cold draft in the hallway snapped me back to the present.

Sia stopped whimpering.

No more struggling. No more hoping.

I straightened my back and pulled away from the stone wall.

"You aren't my sanctuary anymore."

In the silence of my mind, I said a final goodbye to the light I had followed for half my life.

In the East Wing, I stood by a half-open window.

The night air rushed in, sharp and biting. I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at the contact labeled "Luna Isolde"—a number saved ten years ago during a Blood Moon.

I had never called it.

I pressed dial, but before the first ring, a voice behind me made my eyes snap open.

"Elone?"

My biological mother, Luna Isolde, stood in the middle of the hallway, her face a mask of surprise.

"You're out of Hollowstone?" She scanned me from head to toe. "When were you released?"

My throat tightened.

She remembered Astoria's birthday, but she had no idea her own daughter had finished her sentence today.

"Today," I said.

Isolde's gaze lingered on my face for a heartbeat.

"Perhaps a bit of suffering was good for you," she said coldly.

I dug my nails into my palms.

"If you learned some discipline in that hole, maybe you'll stop trying to steal Astoria's place as the Moonsilver heir," she continued, her tone conversational. "Maybe you'll stop bringing shame to the Sunwood name."

Discipline.

The only discipline I learned in Hollowstone was how to keep quiet while silver chains scorched my skin.

"Your father and I won't pursue the treason charges any further," Isolde said, turning to leave. "But tonight... put on a gown and show your face at Astoria's party. The family needs to appear united."

She paused. "Your old room is a lounge now. Go to Astoria's suite to change. I'll have a dress sent up."

The cloying scent of a male, fermented in the closed room until it was nauseating.

My stomach cramped. I bolted for the bathroom and leaned over the sink, retching. Nothing came up but bile.

I stood up, staring at the ghost-white reflection in the mirror, forcing my breathing to level out.

Footsteps sounded outside.

"Mistress, the dress has arrived."

I wiped my face and stepped out.

An omega maid stood there, holding a charcoal-grey gown—drab, conservative, and dull. Her eyes flicked over me, then dropped to my stomach.

I knew exactly what she was looking for.

"I'm not pregnant," I said, my voice turning to ice. "Go tell Astoria to stop hunting for ghosts."

The maid stiffened for a second before pressing, "Please change and come down. The banquet has already begun."

Once she left, I tossed the dress onto a chair and slipped toward the infirmary wing.

The Sunwoods kept a private stock of rare herbs. I found what I needed to dull the pain of my wounds and chewed them raw, the bitter juice stinging my tongue.

A sharp knock came again.

"Elone, Luna Isolde demands your presence. Downstairs. Now."