ALESSIA'S POV
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this house of wolves, it’s that silence is rarely safe.
Too much silence means someone is plotting.
Too little means they’re doing it right in front of you.
Right now, I have the wrong kind of silence.
I stand alone in the training yard at dawn, gripping a dulled practice blade. My shoulders ache from hours of drills Lira barked at me until she got bored and left me here — an unclaimed Luna with bruises as proof I don’t bend easily.
A few warriors linger along the fence, pretending to practice while their eyes keep sliding back to me. Some flinch when I meet their gaze. Others hold it too long, daring me to break first.
I don’t.
***
I swing again, harder, the blade biting into the training dummy with a satisfying crack. My breath clouds in the morning chill, hair sticking to my neck.
“Impressive.”
I don’t have to turn to know who it is.
Rowen’s voice slithers under my skin like a thorn.
“Go away.”
He ignores me, stepping closer. His scent is sweat, old smoke, the rotted sweetness of someone who smiles while sharpening a knife behind your back.
“Training so early? What would your Alpha say?”
I whirl, blade leveled at his throat. He doesn’t flinch.
“He’d say I’m not wasting time playing wolf politics with traitors.”
He laughs softly. “Traitors? My lady, you wound me.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You’re his Luna, aren’t you?” He takes another step, so close I can see the faint scar running along his jaw. “Except you’re not marked. Not claimed. Not really his at all.”
I grip the sword so tight my knuckles burn. “Take another step, Rowen. I swear to the moon—”
He tilts his head, mock curiosity dripping from every word. “What? You’ll kill me? Right here? In front of your new pack?”
The warriors watching pretend not to hear, but I feel the way they tense. Waiting to see which wolf shows their throat first.
I lower the blade a fraction — not because I’m backing down, but because I know what he wants.
A fight.
An excuse to call me the curse he whispers about in the shadows.
I smile instead. Sweet. Venomous.
“No, Rowen. I won’t kill you.” I flick my wrist and tap the tip of the blade against his chest — light enough to tease, hard enough to remind him I could. “I’ll let your lies rot you from the inside. That’s always slower. More satisfying.”
His smile falters. Just a flicker. Good.
“Careful, princess. You’re sounding like one of us.”
“No,” I murmur, leaning close enough to taste his fear. “I’m worse.”
***
I toss the blade aside and stalk past him, my boots crunching frost underfoot.
Behind me, I hear him mutter to the others, voice oily and thick with poison.
“She’ll ruin us all. Just wait. Blackthorn’s bitch will drown this pack in blood.”
***
Back in my chambers, my pulse still rattles my ribs. I strip out of my sweat-soaked tunic and wash at the basin until my arms sting.
I catch my reflection in the silvered glass above the water.
I barely recognize her.
Not the girl who danced at court, draped in silk and false promises.
Not the daughter who once believed the council’s justice was pure.
No — this girl has teeth.
And every bruise is a reminder that she’s still alive.
***
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
It’s not Damian — I’d feel him through the bond before he even touched the door.
I pull the latch open to find a young servant girl — no older than fifteen, clutching a folded scrap of parchment so tight her knuckles are white.
She thrusts it at me, eyes darting toward the corridor behind her. “They said I should give you this. Please don’t tell—”
I grab her wrist. “Who?”
Her mouth opens. Closes. She shakes her head hard and bolts before I can stop her.
I look down at the paper.
The same rough parchment as the note I burned last night.
With trembling fingers, I unfold it.
Four words this time, scrawled in the same harsh hand:
“The walls have eyes.”
My blood chills.
I spin, scanning every corner of my room — the shadows, the carved wolf gargoyle near the ceiling, the vent in the far wall.
How close have they been, watching me?
How much have they seen?
***
I barely hear the door open again. I whip around, blade drawn from my belt without thinking — only to find Damian filling the doorway, eyes dark, jaw tight.
He takes in the paper in my hand, the fear I haven’t buried fast enough.
“What is it?”
I shove it at his chest, stepping into him so he can’t look away. “Your wolves whisper in the dark, Damian. They watch. They want me gone. Or worse.”
His hand closes over the note. He doesn’t look at it. He only looks at me.
“You are mine to protect.”
The words land like a promise. Or a curse.
I want to believe him.
But I remember my father’s blood on polished marble, the council’s lies, the price of trusting the wrong wolf.
I step back, swallowing the growl clawing at my throat. “Then protect me.”
He brushes a thumb across my jaw — tender where the world has only been cruel.
Then, through the open window behind him, a wolf’s howl splits the night.
Panicked. Warning.
And Damian’s voice drops to a growl I feel in my bones:
“They’ve come too close. Stay here. Do not follow me.”
But as the door slams shut behind him, I already know—
I will.
DAMIAN'S POV The wolf’s howl slices through the courtyard like a blade to the throat.I’m already moving before the echo fades. My guards scramble to follow, boots pounding stone. I barely hear them. All I hear is the promise I left in her room: You are mine to protect.And already I know I’ve lied.Because I can’t protect Alessia from the one thing I can’t strangle with my bare hands: betrayal inside my own walls.***I push through the outer gate, past a pair of stunned sentries pointing dumbly at the treeline. Moonlight bathes the courtyard in a cold glow.My wolf itches under my skin, pressing against my ribs. I smell them before I see them — the stink of fear and old blood. Rogues. More than one. And too close.“Form the line!” I bark.Steel flashes as my warriors obey. Young wolves fumble their blades, glancing at me for permission to be brave. Fools. The moon has no patience for children tonight.A dark shape breaks from the brush — low to the ground, eyes blazing yellow, foam
ALESSIA'S POVIf there’s one thing I’ve learned in this house of wolves, it’s that silence is rarely safe.Too much silence means someone is plotting.Too little means they’re doing it right in front of you.Right now, I have the wrong kind of silence.I stand alone in the training yard at dawn, gripping a dulled practice blade. My shoulders ache from hours of drills Lira barked at me until she got bored and left me here — an unclaimed Luna with bruises as proof I don’t bend easily.A few warriors linger along the fence, pretending to practice while their eyes keep sliding back to me. Some flinch when I meet their gaze. Others hold it too long, daring me to break first.I don’t.***I swing again, harder, the blade biting into the training dummy with a satisfying crack. My breath clouds in the morning chill, hair sticking to my neck.“Impressive.”I don’t have to turn to know who it is.Rowen’s voice slithers under my skin like a thorn.“Go away.”He ignores me, stepping closer. His s
DAMIAN'S POV I was a fool to think claiming her would be simple.One look at Alessia Moonglade and the pack expected a scandal — a pretty face to drape across my throne, a Luna to parade at festivals so they’d forget how much blood I’ve spilled for them.They don’t know her the way I do.Or the way my wolf does.I stand in my study long after I should be reviewing border patrols, staring at the faint scratch marks on my desk. Tiny scars left by my father’s claws in a rage years ago — when the council forced him to bend a knee or die on that very rug.He chose death.I chose never to kneel.And now I’ve dragged a girl with iron in her spine and ruin in her blood right into the mouth of every wolf waiting for me to fall.***A knock pulls me out of my thoughts.Lira pushes in without waiting for permission. Only she dares.“You look like a man chewing glass,” she says, dropping a pile of parchment on my desk. Patrol reports. Grain shipments. Rebellion rumors that taste too real these d
ALESSIA'S POVThe first thing I notice about Blackthorn Manor is that it smells wrong.Not rotten, not exactly. Just... heavy. Like the walls remember too many secrets and haven’t bothered to hide the scent of old blood.They lead me through high archways and stone corridors lit by flickering torches. My boots click against polished floors while the two guards at my back pretend I don’t exist.I keep my chin up. If they think I’m going to cower after what Damian did tonight, they’ll die disappointed.One guard stops at a thick wooden door bound with iron rivets. He mutters something under his breath — probably an insult — then pushes it open for me.The room inside is large, warm, suffocatingly clean. A fire roars in the hearth. Furs cover the bed that looks too soft to trust.A cage can wear silk sheets and still be a cage.I turn to the guard. “Do you sleep here too? Or just watch from the keyhole?”He doesn’t answer. Just slams the door shut.I almost laugh. Coward.***I strip off
DAMIAN'S POV I’ve killed men for less than the way she looked at me tonight.Defiant. Furious. Alive in a way that no other wolf in that wretched auction hall had been in years. They were all waiting to break her. I could smell it on them — the hunger for a Luna they could bend over their throne room floor and parade as proof of their power.But Alessia Moonglade?She’d burn every crown before she bowed to one.I knew it the moment she locked her eyes on mine and didn’t flinch when every other mouth in that room went quiet.I wanted her.Not just her body — though every inch of her calls to my wolf in ways I’d long trained myself to ignore. No, I wanted the fight in her. The fire. The promise that once I had her beside me, not even the High Council’s knives in the dark would bring me to my knees.That, and the prophecy whispered through my bloodline since before I clawed my father’s heart out:Blood will bind the betrayed to the moon. Only she can crown the wolf king.I don’t believe
ALESSIA'S POVI always thought the worst thing that could happen was losing my father.Turns out, I was wrong.The worst thing is standing half-naked on a marble platform, wrists cuffed in silver, while wolves with fat purses and hungrier eyes circle me like I’m a piece of meat.My feet are numb from the cold stone beneath me, but I won’t shiver. I won’t bow. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing fear crawl across my skin.A low murmur ripples through the crowd when I lift my chin higher. Let them look. Let them wonder if the traitor’s daughter still has enough bite to scar a king.“This one,” the auctioneer croons, voice dripping honey and poison, “is pure-blooded from the old Moonglade line. Untouched. Spirited. A Luna, if broken properly.”A thick chuckle rumbles somewhere to my left. A wolf in a velvet coat runs his tongue along his teeth like he’s already tasted me.Filth.I don’t flinch when the auctioneer waves a hand at me. “Turn, girl.”I stay perfectly still. My voice