What the Hell? Sophia's Perspective

I sit on the edge of my bed, correction, Zane's bed that I'm forced to share, and press my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind my eyelids. My hands are still trembling from the confrontation in his office, from standing up to him in front of my father. The door is locked, but I'm not naive enough to think that will keep an alpha out, especially one who believes he owns me. All I want is five minutes to breathe, to process the fact that my father is actually alive, that my mother isn't, that somehow I commanded Zane not to hurt my father and he actually listened.

'You did so well!' Nyx practically bounces in my mind, her excitement a jarring contrast to my exhaustion. 'We protected pack-father! Alpha couldn't even speak!'

'What I did was dangerous,' I respond silently. 'He could punish Dad for my outburst.'

'No, he can't,' Nyx insists with startling certainty. 'You commanded him not to. Didn't you feel it?'

I had felt something, a strange rush of power, like liquid silver flowing through my veins as I demanded Zane leave my father alone. But that doesn't make any sense.

I'm an omega.

Claimed.

Mated.

Property.

Omegas don't command alphas.

Ever.

'Special omega,' Nyx says smugly. 'Not like others.'

I shake my head, trying to clear it. Whatever happened in that office wasn't normal, and that means trouble. In this world, abnormal gets you noticed, studied, controlled. My whole life has been about hiding the things that make me different, and now I've displayed one of those differences in front of the most dangerous alpha I've ever met.

The lock clicks. The door flies open with such force it slams against the wall, making me jump to my feet. Zane fills the doorway, his massive frame vibrating with barely contained energy. His steel-grey eyes lock onto mine, narrowing dangerously.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands, stalking into the room without closing the door.

I cross my arms, forcing my chin up despite the instinct to show submission. "Tell you what?"

"About being kissed by the moon," he says, the words sharp and precise.

My stomach drops. Dad must have mentioned my grandparents' old saying. "That's just something my grandparents used to tell me when I was little," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't mean anything?" Zane repeats, his voice dangerously soft. He moves closer, and I force myself not to step back. "You just commanded an Alpha. In my own territory."

"I was angry," I say, hating how defensive I sound. "You were threatening my father."

"That's not what this is about." He stops just inches from me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Your father said you're special. That you were kissed by the moon. What exactly does that mean?"

I raise one eyebrow, trying for nonchalance despite my racing heart. "Like I said, it was just something my grandparents said. They thought I was special because I was their only grandchild."

Zane tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. Then, with deliberate slowness, he brushes his dark hair aside to reveal the skin behind his right ear.

My hand flies to cover my own birthmark as my mouth falls open in shock. There, in the exact same location as mine, is a small crescent-shaped mark, silver against his tanned skin.

"Show me," he commands, his voice low.

I hesitate, then slowly lower my hand and turn my head, pulling my hair aside to reveal the mark I've had since birth. The small silver crescent that matches his perfectly.

Zane reaches out, his finger hovering over my skin before making contact. The touch sends a shock of awareness through me as he traces the outline of my birthmark. I shiver involuntarily.

"It's just a birthmark," I say, pulling away from his touch. "Nothing special."

"You commanded me, little wolf," he says, his voice softer now but no less intense. "Everything about you is special."

I turn to face him again, desperately needing space between us. "None of this matters anymore, does it?" I challenge. "You claimed me. What's done is done."

'It matters!' Nyx protests in my mind. 'It matters so much!'

Zane's eyes narrow again, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "What exactly did your grandparents tell you about the birthmark?" he asks, ignoring my attempt to dismiss the subject.

I shrug, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. "Nothing, really. Just that it meant I was special." I laugh without humour. "But that was just grandparents trying to be nice to their only grandchild."

"Mmm." The sound is noncommittal, but his expression is anything but. His mind is working, putting together pieces of a puzzle I'm not sure I want to see completed.

"Your father mentioned it was the mark of being kissed by the moon," Zane continues. "That phrase specifically. What does it mean?"

"I don't know," I admit, rubbing my arms as though suddenly cold. "My grandmother would say it sometimes when I did something unusual, like when I knew a visitor was coming before they arrived, or when I healed that bird. 'You've been kissed by the moon, little one,' she'd say. But she died when I was younger. She never explained what it meant."

Zane paces away from me, his massive frame coiled with tension. He stops at the window, staring out at the mountains surrounding his territory. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unasked questions.

Finally, he turns back to me. "Head to my office," he says. "I'm going to grab something, then meet you there."

I raise one eyebrow. "Ordering me around again?"

His jaw tightens, eyes flashing with frustration. There's a beat where I expect him to remind me of my place, to enforce his will as he always does. Then his expression shifts, the hard edges softening almost imperceptibly.

"Please?" The word sounds rusty, as though he's unused to saying it.

The unexpected courtesy catches me off guard. I sigh, suddenly too tired to maintain my wall of defiance. "Fine. I'll be there. My dad will know more than I do."

Something flickers in Zane's eyes, relief, perhaps, or satisfaction at having won this small concession without force. "Five minutes," he says, then strides out of the room without looking back.

I sink onto the bed again, my fingers automatically finding the crescent behind my ear. The skin there feels warm, almost tingling from where Zane touched it.

'What does it mean?' I ask Nyx, the defiance dropping from my mental voice, leaving only confused vulnerability.

'Don't know exactly,' she admits. 'But it's important. The bond felt it. So did Conri.'

I think about how Zane froze when I commanded him not to hurt my father, how his eyes widened in shock rather than narrowing in rage. Whatever happened in that moment went beyond normal pack dynamics, beyond the claiming bite and mating bond.

With another sigh, I push myself to my feet. Five minutes, he said. I might as well use them to gather my thoughts before facing both him and my father again.

As I move to the door, my reflection catches in the mirror, pale face, tired eyes, the silver crescent just visible behind my ear when I turn my head. I've spent my entire life hiding what makes me different, and now the very thing that marks me as unusual is somehow connected to the alpha who's claimed me.

My life was simpler three days ago. Terrifying, yes, with the threat of Council collection hanging over me, but at least I understood the rules. Now I'm claimed but still fighting, mated but still resisting, and apparently sharing a mysterious birthmark with the alpha everyone fears.

I step into the hallway, closing the door behind me. Whatever this means, this "kissed by the moon" business, I'll face it. If there's any chance it gives me leverage, any chance it helps protect my father or gives me some measure of control over my own fate, then I need to understand it.

Even if understanding means accepting that there's something connecting Zane and me beyond the claiming bite and mating bond, something older, deeper, and possibly more binding than either of us realised when he found me at the river that night.

The thought makes my stomach knot with both dread and a strange, unwelcome curiosity as I make my way toward his office, where my father waits with answers I'm not sure I'm ready to hear.