The Ceremony

Selene's Point of view

I stood at the edge of the moonstone platform, hands trembling beneath the delicate lace of my ceremonial gown. My wolf, Nyra, was restless beneath my skin—pacing, growling softly, confused by the crackle of tension that hadn’t eased since dawn.

This was supposed to be the happiest night of my life.

The night my mate would mark me.

The night I would become Luna of the Bloodhowl Pack.

But Damon hadn’t looked at me once since the sun set. Not even during the vow procession. His gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the crowd, jaw locked, shoulders tense. Every time I reached for the tether that bound us—our mate bond—I felt it twist. Not snap. Just… twist.

Like something was wrong.

Like something was coming.

I tried to brush it off. Told myself it was nerves. Told myself it was just the pressure of the ceremony, the weight of the crown, the hundreds of eyes watching us. But deep down, I knew better.

Damon wasn’t nervous. He was distant. Cold. And he hadn’t touched me in days.

I’d chalked it up to tradition. Some Alphas liked to keep physical boundaries until the formal marking. But even tradition couldn’t explain the way he flinched when our fingers brushed earlier. Or the way he avoided my eyes like they held answers he didn’t want to face.

Elder Kael finished his recitation, and the crowd parted. Damon stepped forward, the moonlight catching on his raven hair, sharp cheekbones, and that cold, emotionless stare I had never seen directed at me before. Not like that.

Still, I smiled.

Because I had to.

Because that’s what a good Luna did.

He took my hand. His fingers were ice. No warmth. No spark. Nyra whimpered.

“Damon Voss,” Kael announced, voice ringing clear across the ceremonial grounds, “do you accept Selene Winters as your fated mate and Luna of this pack?”

Silence.

My heart started to pound, and Nyra growled—low and warning.

The crowd shifted, murmured, unease rippling like a storm through the sea of onlookers.

“Damon?” I whispered, squeezing his hand. My voice cracked. “What are you doing?”

His eyes met mine.

And in one breath, he tore my soul in two.

“I reject you.”

The gasp from the pack echoed like thunder. The bond between us buckled, writhed. My knees gave out. My wolf screamed.

I would’ve fallen—crashed to the stone below—if Damon hadn’t let go of my hand just in time to let me hit the ground on my own.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but there was no sorrow in it. Only finality. “You’re not strong enough to be my Luna.”

I wanted to speak. To scream. To ask him why. To demand the truth. But my throat had sealed shut. My heart was too loud. My pride too shattered.

And the worst part? He didn’t even flinch.

He turned away. Just turned. Like I was nothing. Like the bond that had tied us since my first heat meant nothing.

The last thing I saw before my vision blurred with tears was the moon.

Full. Bright. Silent.

Mocking.

And then I ran.

I heard Kael shouting my name. I heard my father’s voice, heavy with disbelief. I heard whispers, gasps, cruel laughter. But I didn’t stop.

The lace of my ceremonial gown snagged on the stones and tore. My bare feet bled. The forest loomed ahead like a mouth ready to swallow me.

I didn’t care.

The Shadow Forest.

The place no wolf entered willingly. The place that devoured rogues, exiles, cursed bloodlines.

But I wasn’t afraid.

I was already dead.

The trees closed around me like fingers. The world behind me—the life I had been groomed to take, the title I was supposed to carry—disappeared.

My wolf tried to speak. To reason. To beg me to stop. But even Nyra was fractured now, shaking under the weight of our rejection. We were unclaimed. Unwanted. Unmated.

And every step deeper into that forest felt like freedom.

Or madness.

I didn’t care which.

I ran until my legs gave out.

Collapsed beneath a tree twisted with silver bark and black moss, I screamed into the earth. Loud, wild, feral. I screamed until my throat was raw, until blood welled under my fingernails from clawing the dirt.

I thought of Damon.

The way he kissed me in the gardens a week ago, promising forever. The way his eyes used to warm when I walked into a room. The way he said I was meant to rule beside him.

Lies. All of it.

“I hate you,” I whispered into the roots. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate—”

Nyra let out a low whine. Weak. Shaky. Then went silent.

The bond was unraveling. Not broken. Not yet. But the threads were fraying.

A sob caught in my chest.

“I don’t want to feel him anymore,” I begged. “Please. Make it stop.”

But there was no Moon Goddess to answer me.

Only silence.

And shadows.

Something moved in the trees.

A shape. Tall. Watching. Not pack. Not Damon.

A rogue.

I could smell it—feral and sharp.

I pushed myself up, snarling despite the burn in my muscles, the sting of rejection still echoing in my bones.

“Come on, then,” I spat. “Finish it.”

The figure stepped closer.

But he didn’t attack.

He tilted his head, pale eyes glowing.

“You don’t smell like a Luna,” he said.

My lips curled.

“I’m not,” I snapped. “Not anymore.”

He stared a moment longer.

Then, surprisingly, offered me his hand.

“Then maybe you’re something better.”