LOGINUnder the glow of the full moon, Wren Cade should have died. Instead, she wakes up a monster. Turned into a werewolf by a rogue attack, Wren is dragged before Nightwind Pack and their ruthless Alpha, Lucian Vale. Pack law is simple: turned wolves are unstable and must be executed. But when their eyes meet, the impossible happens—the Moon marks them as fated mates. Lucian’s answer is a cold, public rejection. Bound by prophecy and politics, he’s forbidden to kill her…and forced to keep her inside his pack house, under his constant watch. Not pack. Not prisoner. Not his. Living one floor below the Alpha who broke her, Wren refuses to cower. She makes allies among omegas, rookies, and other misfits, building a quiet found family in the shadows of Nightwind’s rigid hierarchy. Then Lucian’s oldest friend arrives. Elias Thorn, the charming Alpha of a neighboring pack, sees nothing cursed about Wren. He’s warm where Lucian is ice, and he makes no secret of his interest in the mate Lucian threw away. As feral attacks spread and a fanatical cult rises, Wren becomes the only one who can calm the monsters stalking the borders. Caught between a fate she never asked for and a man who would choose her freely, she’ll have to decide: Will she give her fated mate a second chance… or let the Moon watch the world burn?
View MoreThe stew and the eyes and the tension still coil in my gut when the guards ease up their watch. The dining hall’s emptied of everyone but the cleanup crews—omegas sweeping up crusts, kitchen staff stacking the benches, warriors trickling out in pairs to the next ritual or shift or petty violence of the day. I make myself count to five after the last clatter of bowl, then rise to clear my place.The act is automatic, muscle memory from a dozen dead-end jobs, but here it’s loaded. I pick up my bowl and spoon, move to the tray station by the kitchen door, and sense the sudden shift in air pressure as every remaining body in the hall turns my way. At first, I think I’ve misread the code. Then a shape blocks my path: Scarface, flanked by the same two betas from before, all three grinning as if they’ve caught a fox in the henhouse.“Strays don’t serve themselves here,” Scarface says, loud enough to echo. The silence that falls is dense as concrete. I pause, bowl in hand, and look up at him.
For three full minutes, no one comes near me. The dining hall resets, benches scraping, bowls being refilled, conversations rising and falling in wavelets that skirt the edges of real violence. My isolation is so complete it’s almost a physical thing—a moat of open air, a buffer of untouchability. I imagine the boundary as a circle of salt poured around my bench, every grain a warning: Here lies the Stray Moon. Do not approach.Then the kitchen girl breaks the circle.She carries a tray loaded with bowls—some destined for the warriors, some for the children, but one unmistakably for me. She threads her way through the crowd with the same self-erasing gait as before: shoulders rounded, gaze cast slightly down, movements careful and soft, the opposite of the brash, elbow-throwing betas who muscle their way to the food line. Even so, I see the way she scans the room, the way she counts threats, the way her hand drifts unconsciously to the scar on her wrist whenever a raised voice pierces
The morning routine is a slaughterhouse parade: open the cell, drag out the stray, march her down the hall like a side of beef for display. The guards arrive right at dawn, boots silent but their intent loud as a gunshot. They don’t speak, don’t meet my eyes, just unlock the door in three practiced moves and jerk their chins to let me know it’s time. The silver cuffs go back on—today a newer set, thinner, polished so bright the reflection burns. I give them my wrists with a little extra flair, flexing my hands so they don’t have to fight me for it. They want a scene, or maybe just a hint of desperation. I give them neither.The escort is two deep: the first, a woman built like a fencepost, her buzz-cut scalp catching every scrap of torchlight; the second, a man so wide he has to angle his shoulders to clear the stairwell. They flank me, one step ahead and one behind, so close I can feel the heat of their skin and the faint, contemptuous thrum of their pulse. I try to walk loose, casua
I step into the final cell with my face as blank as I can make it. The instinct is to bare my teeth and glare, to let the whole world know it can’t rattle me, but my jaw’s so tight it feels wired shut and there’s no way I’m giving Nightwind the show it wants. The air is heavy, seasoned with a thousand years of old secrets and fresh sweat, and the dimensions are so mean that even standing up straight, my elbows brush stone on either side.The cot’s less a bed than a threat—thin wool over hard wooden slats, one of which is snapped at the edge so it juts up like a splinter with ambitions. The blanket is exactly what you’d expect: threadbare, stained in places, and so rich with the scent of former occupants that I wonder how many ghosts I’ll be sleeping with. I run my fingers along the underside, find a crust of something that could be blood or mildew, and make a mental note to never, ever get desperate enough to use it as a pillow.Jace stands in the doorway, half-shadowed. He’s watching






Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.