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THE GOODBYE
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2026-07-10 00:58:40Leaving home didn't feel like a graduation. It felt like an evacuation.
My room, usually a sanctuary of soft lavenders and books, now looked like a skeleton. The wardrobe doors stood open, gaping and empty. My trunk, packed with the silks and velvets Magnus demanded I wear, sat by the door like a coffin waiting to be buried.
I ran my hand over the empty bookshelf. I had left most of my things behind. The wooden wolf figurines I carved as a child. The dried flowers from the meadow where my mother used to sing to me. I couldn't take them. Magnus had been clear: The future Luna of Bloodmoon does not cling to childish trinkets.
"You missed a spot."
I turned. Standing in the doorway wasn't Beth or my father. It was Nanny Elara.
She was a small woman, shrunken by age and a lifetime of service to the pack, but her eyes—sharp and intelligent—were the same ones that had watched over me since the night my mother died. She held a small bundle wrapped in oilcloth.
"Nana," I breathed, the facade of strength crumbling. I crossed the room and hugged her. She smelled of starch and peppermint tea. She smelled like the only mother I had left.
"Now, now," she scolded gently, though her hand trembled as she stroked my hair. "Don't wrinkle the traveling coat. Magnus will have a fit."
"I don't want to go," I whispered into her shoulder. "I have a bad feeling, Nana. The dream... it came back."
Nanny Elara pulled back, her expression hardening. She glanced into the hallway to ensure it was empty, then closed the door. She moved with a speed that belied her eighty years.
"Listen to me, child," she said, her voice a low hiss. "You are going into a viper’s nest. I cannot stop it. Your father is too blind with grief and politics to see what Julius is. But I will not let you go defenseless."
She pressed the oilcloth bundle into my hands. "Take it."
I unwrapped the cloth. Inside lay a dagger. It wasn't a ceremonial blade like the ones the Alphas wore. This was old steel, dark and unpolished, with a handle wrapped in worn leather. The metal felt cold and heavy—a deadly weight.
"This was your grandfather's," she whispered. "Not Loine’s father. Masia’s father. The Alpha of the Crescent Moon."
My breath hitched. "How... how do you have this?"
"I saved more than just you that night," she said cryptically. "Hide it. Strapped to your thigh, under the heavy skirts. Never let Magnus see it. And never let him take it."
She gripped my chin, forcing me to look at her. "You are not just a girl, Celeste. You are the daughter of a warrior. If they try to hurt you... if they try to put you in a cage... you put this in their throat. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I said, my voice shaking. I hiked up my dress and strapped the sheath to my thigh. The cold steel against my skin felt grounding. It was a secret. A sliver of power in a world where I had none.
"Good." She kissed my cheek, her skin papery and dry. "Now go. Before I start crying and embarrass us both."
The driveway was crowded. The convoy Magnus had sent was impressive—three black armored SUVs with tinted windows, flanking a sleek Rolls Royce intended for me.
My family stood on the porch steps like a tableau of dysfunction.
My father, Alpha Loine, looked older today. The gray in his beard seemed more pronounced. He hugged me briefly, stiffly.
"Make us proud, Celeste," he murmured. "Secure the alliance."
"I will, Dad," I lied. I will just try to survive.
I turned to my siblings.
Beth stood with her arms crossed, a smirk playing on her red lips. "Don't trip on the way out," she said sweetly.
Sterling, my brother, didn't even look at me. He was busy typing on his phone, already bored with my departure. He was the heir; my marriage was just a transaction to him, a line item in a ledger.
But it was Judy, the youngest, who surprised me. Usually, she followed Beth like a shadow, echoing her cruelty. But today, she stood slightly behind them, chewing on her thumbnail. When our eyes met, she didn't sneer. She looked... sick. Her face was pale, and she quickly looked down at her shoes.
She knows, I realized with a jolt. She knows something about Magnus or the Bloodmoon Pack that she isn't saying.
But I couldn't ask. The driver, a hulking man with a shaved head and sunglasses, opened the back door of the Rolls Royce.
"Time to go, Miss Black," he grunted.
I climbed into the backseat. It smelled of new leather and that same cloying, expensive air freshener Magnus used.
The door slammed shut with a heavy thud, sealing me inside. The silence was instant. The soundproof glass cut off the wind, the birds, and my family.
I watched through the tinted window as the car began to roll. My father raised a hand in farewell. Beth didn't move. Nanny Elara watched from an upstairs window, her hand pressed to the glass.
As we passed the boundary line of our territory—a row of ancient oak trees marked with our pack scent—I felt a physical severance. The bond to my home, weak as it was, snapped.
We were on the open road now, heading toward the neutral territory. The forest grew denser, the trees crowding the highway like prison bars. The sky above turned a bruised purple as the storm clouds returned.
I shifted in my seat, the dagger pressing against my thigh.
Thump.
A sudden, wet sound against the window made me jump.
I looked to my left. A large black crow had flown straight into the moving car. It lay broken on the road behind us, a heap of black feathers. But for a split second, before it fell, I had looked into its eye.
It hadn't looked like a bird’s eye. It had looked milky white. Blind.
"Bad omen," the driver muttered from the front seat.
"Just a bird," I said, my voice trembling.
"Maybe," he said. He checked the rearview mirror, his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses. "Or maybe it knows where we're going."
We drove into the shadow of the woods. The trees blocked out the sun, plunging the road into an early twilight.
I gripped the handle of the hidden dagger through the fabric of my dress.
The omen was clear. Death was coming. I just didn't know yet if it was coming for me, or if I was bringing it with me.
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The silence of the forest didn't just break; it was butchered.One moment, we were idling between two fallen oak trees, trapped in a cage of wood and fog. The next, the world outside the Rolls Royce erupted into absolute bedlam."Defensive positions!" Vance screamed, fumbling with his radio. "We are under attack! I repeat, Code Red!"But the radio only spat back static and the wet, gurgling sounds of dying men.I pressed my face against the tinted glass, trembling as I watched the nightmare unfold. Magnus’s convoy consisted of ten elite enforcers—highly trained shifters in armored SUVs. They were supposed to be unstoppable.But they were fighting shadows.The fog seemed to come alive. Rogues dropped from the tree branches like oversized arachnids, landing on the hoods of the cars with bone-jarring thuds. They moved with a speed that defied nature, fluid and feral.A guard from the lead SUV—a massive Beta I recognized named Korg—burst out of his vehicle, shifting m
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The transition from civilization to the wild wasn't subtle. It was violent.One moment, the tires of the Rolls Royce were humming smoothly over the paved asphalt of my father’s territory, passing manicured lawns and electric streetlights. The next, the pavement ended abruptly, replaced by a rough, gravel-strewn track that wound like a scar into the heart of the forest.The Neutral Territory.No pack claimed this land. It was a no-man's-land—a buffer zone of ancient, gnarled wilderness that separated the civilized packs from the chaos of the Rogue lands. It was a place where laws didn't exist, where cell service died, and where monsters were said to roam freely.The car dipped into a pothole, jarring my spine."Sorry, Miss," the driver grunted. I had learned his name was Vance—a Beta from Magnus’s personal guard. He was built like a tank, with a neck as thick as my thigh and a scar running through his left eyebrow. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other restin
The Butcher's Bride THE GOODBYE
Leaving home didn't feel like a graduation. It felt like an evacuation.My room, usually a sanctuary of soft lavenders and books, now looked like a skeleton. The wardrobe doors stood open, gaping and empty. My trunk, packed with the silks and velvets Magnus demanded I wear, sat by the door like a coffin waiting to be buried.I ran my hand over the empty bookshelf. I had left most of my things behind. The wooden wolf figurines I carved as a child. The dried flowers from the meadow where my mother used to sing to me. I couldn't take them. Magnus had been clear: The future Luna of Bloodmoon does not cling to childish trinkets."You missed a spot."I turned. Standing in the doorway wasn't Beth or my father. It was Nanny Elara.She was a small woman, shrunken by age and a lifetime of service to the pack, but her eyes—sharp and intelligent—were the same ones that had watched over me since the night my mother died. She held a small bundle wrapped in oilcloth."Nana," I brea
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