Chapter Two.

Sierralya

I didn't speak for the rest of the night.

I just laid there, staring, my thoughts going in tight, ugly circles around everything Darius had said.

My family were murderers. Not just cruel. Not just ruthless. Murderers. They planned it. Hundreds of lives erased, then buried under lies and lessons and pretty words. Every story I was taught about honor, about the White Wolves keeping order, doing what was necessary, all of it soaked in blood.

I'd always known something was wrong. I'd seen it. The way my family treated people they didn’t respect. The ease with which they hurt others.

But this?

This was worse. This wasn't cruelty.

This was evil.

And it ran in my veins.

My thoughts kept running, but the rest of my body didn't. I ended up on the floor. Stone under my side. Chains cold against my skin. Sleep came anyway. I didn't fight it.

I dreamt of fire.

Of screams.

Of wolves burning. Guards standing there and doing nothing.

When I woke, moving was hard. My body shook when I tried. By the second day I felt empty. Just worn down. There was a puddle near the wall. I looked at it without thinking, then realized after a second that I was staring at my own reflection.

My hair was a mess. Dirty. My eyes looked wrong in the dark. White-blonde hair tangled. Silver eyes glowing faintly in the dark, like something awoke behind them.

I was alone. Mostly.

Darius talked sometimes, though not much. Pieces of things. Half answers that only made everything worse.

On the third night, the moon rose again. Second one this month. Rare. Heavy.

Light from the moon leaked in through a narrow window above the corridor, thin and pale. Then I felt it immediately. Deep in my bones. My power stirred, reaching for it without me asking.

And then, something else moved.

It had nothing to do with the moon.

Then it hit me. All at once.Sharp. Right through my chest. I gasped, grabbed myself. My heart stuttered, then started racing like it'd lost control.

What… What was happening?

Recognition crashed over me. Not a face. Not a name. A presence. Something alive at the edge of my awareness. Something that felt terrifyingly familiar. Like a missing piece snapping into place.

The mate bond.

“No,” I whispered.

But warmth spread through me anyway. My instincts screamed at me to move. To find him. To go. To finish what had just begun.

He was close. Too close. I could feel him pulling at me like gravity, like breath, like something I couldn’t survive without.

“Interesting,” Darius said.

I put a hand on my chest. I didn’t know why. It hurt there. That was all I knew. The feeling was beautiful. And horrible. Sacred and exposed all at once.

“Where is he?” I breathed.

Darius hummed. “From the direction of that pull?”

A pause.

“I’d say White Wolf territory. Moving toward the palace.”

There was something off in his voice. Almost like he found it funny. Almost.

No.

That didn’t make sense.

Not here. Not Moonveil. Not the heart of everything I was trying to run from.

Unless he was one of them. Someone from court. Someone I had seen before. Someone who served my father.

The thought turned my stomach. I didn't want this. Not this. Not now. I didn't want to be tied to someone who benefited from lies and blood and silence.

The bond didn't care.

It pulled harder, humming through my veins with a single promise:

Soon.

Very soon.

Kael

Kael crouched at the edge of the forest, watching Moonveil Palace glow in the distance.

He was here for information. That was it.

Three days ago, his scouts felt it. A surge. Big enough to travel miles. Whatever it was, it came from the White Wolf capital. From inside the palace. Some kind of ceremony. Some new weapon.

Kael needed to know what they were planning. What they’d gained. Whether it threatened his people.

He didn't expect this.

In twenty-six years, he had felt a lot. Rage. Loss. The hollow weight of leadership. The sharp satisfaction of winning a fight. Grief that never really left.

But this?

This was new.

The bond slammed into him without warning.

Kael didn't mean to go down, but he did. One knee hit the ground hard. His hand caught on a tree trunk to keep him upright.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

His wolf surged under his skin, desperate. Burning. Every instinct screaming to run, to shift, to find what was suddenly his.

A shape appeared behind him. Torin.

“Kael? What…”

He stopped short. His eyes widened. “No.”

“The bond,” Kael said, forcing air into his lungs. “It just formed.”

Torin stepped closer. The pull was there. Clear. No mistake.

“Where is she?” Torin asked.

“In Moonveil,” he said. Then, quieter, “The palace.”

Torin went still. “Your mate is a White Wolf.”

Kael didn't answer. What was there to say?

Of all the wolves in the empire… this.

The bond hit again. Then he felt her —confused, scared, alone—and it wouldn’t let go. It pulled at him, sharp and insistent.

“What are you going to do?” Torin asked.

Kael looked toward the palace.

“She’s mine,” he said. He didn't sound sure he liked that.

The pull was still there.

“What are you going to do?” Torin asked again, as if asking for clarity.

Kael didn't answer right away. He just stared at the palace walls.

“She’s mine,” he said finally. “Whether I want that or not.”

A pause.

“And I don’t leave what’s mine in enemy hands.”

Torin sighed. He knew that tone. The one Kael used when he'd made a decision that would probably get them killed but was too stubborn to reconsider.

“Gather the team,” Kael said. “Small. Fast. Best infiltrators we have. We move tonight.”

“And after that?”

Kael’s jaw tightened.

“Then we find out whether fate just handed me a weapon or my greatest weakness.”