ALESSIA'S POV
I 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 slices the air like a blade.
“Make me.”
Gasps scatter across the hall. The velvet wolf barks out a laugh.
“Defiant. She’ll be fun to tame.”
I want to leap off this platform and tear his throat out with my bare teeth. But the silver cuffs burn cold into my wrists every time I flex. They know how to bind my kind.
The auctioneer’s smile slips for half a second before he fixes it back in place. “Bidding starts at twenty gold bars.”
Silence.
Then the shuffle of wealth. The scent of greed. Pledges thrown like knives across the room.
Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty.
I close my eyes and let their voices blur. I will not break. Not for this. Not for them.
But the air changes when a new presence slides through the hall — silent, massive, impossible to ignore.
A hush spreads behind my eyelids. I open them just in time to see him step out of the shadows.
Tall. Broad shoulders draped in black. Eyes like forged silver — not warm, not cold. Just sharp enough to cut through bone.
Damian Blackthorn.
I’ve heard his name in whispers since I was a pup. Stories of a wolf who razed a whole border clan to the ground for daring to betray him. A king without mercy.
But kings don’t come to filthy auctions for leftover daughters.
My pulse flickers when his gaze finds mine. He doesn’t leer like the others. Doesn’t even seem interested in my body.
He looks at me like I’m a riddle he already knows how to solve.
Then he lifts one hand lazily.
“I’ll take her.”
The entire hall falls into stunned silence. Even the velvet wolf stops licking his teeth.
The auctioneer stutters. “M-my Alpha, you haven’t—there are higher bids—”
“I don’t care.”
His voice is so calm it makes my skin crawl.
Someone protests behind him. “Blackthorn! You can’t just—”
His eyes flick toward the voice. A single flick.
And the protest dies with a whimper.
He turns back to me. Steps closer to the platform until I can taste the raw power rolling off him.
I bare my teeth. “I’m not yours.”
He lifts one dark brow. Slowly. “No?”
I want to spit in his face. I want to scratch those perfect eyes out. But my wolf betrays me — pressing warmth into my chest, whispering, This one. This one.
No. Not for him. Not for anyone.
I force the snarl into my voice instead. “I’d rather rot.”
His mouth curves, not quite a smile. Something darker.
“Then rot beside my throne.”
Before I can bite out another threat, rough hands close around my arms. The guards tug the chain between my wrists and drag me down the steps. I thrash, spit, curse — but the silver burns deeper, blurring my vision with white sparks.
I catch one last look at Damian Blackthorn as they pull me past him. He stands there like a monolith carved out of shadow and winter. Unmoved. Unbothered.
His voice drifts after me as the hall doors slam shut:
“You’ll thank me when you see what I saved you from.”
I hiss through my teeth as the iron gates close behind me, carriage waiting like a coffin on wheels.
Saved me?
If this is salvation, then damn him —
I’d rather burn.
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