Wolves of winter hollow

POV: Selene Harper “A bond forged by the Moon should never be breakable. But Ronan broke mine with a single breath.”What followed was awkward silence.The kind that doesn’t fall, but crashes.The kind that presses into your bones and steals your breath, your heartbeat, your name.“I pledge today under the watch of the Blood Moon that I, heir Alpha Ronan Thorn reject the fated bond between me and miss. Amira Cross.”Ronan’s words echoed like a death sentence, colder than the snow clinging to my boots, louder than the blood pounding in my ears. The mark on my wrist, still burning with the fury of fate, dimmed. Flickered.Something inside me cracked—something I hadn’t even realized was whole to begin with.Laughter rippled through the crowd. Not the kind born from joy, but cruelty wrapped in silk.“Of course she’s supposed to be rejected,” someone sneered. “This is looking as though the Moon goddess now makes mistake.”Immediately, someone closed the mouth of the person, “Don’t say tha

POV: Amira CrossThe cold cut deeper than any blade. It chewed through the flesh on my feet, gnawed at the bones in my fingers, and sank into my lungs like a death sentence. Snow whispered around me like ghosts laughing, while blood—mine—streaked the white beneath me in crimson trails.I didn’t know how many days I had been walking rather did I know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stop. Not until I collapsed or disappeared.The chains had left angry welts around my wrists, long since rusted with blood and frost. Winter Hollow was far behind me, but the betrayal still clung like ash in my throat.“You’re a Liar.”That single word. The last I gave Ronan before they dragged me away. And still, he had just… watched.The world blurred around me as the last of my strength buckled. My legs folded. My body met snow.And then—Voices. Rough. Unfamiliar.“She’s alive?”“Barely. Rogues will find her by dusk if we don’t move fast.”“Wait—look at her eyes.”A warm hand brushed across my

Pov: unraveling.The next day was ready to crush down the wall of china as I was fully ready for the training.I woke Nyla so we can proceed with the journey to the woods.We were miles away when silas was trying hard to detect us from afar because he had partial amnesia.“Nyla where are you guys going to that you couldn't inform me?”Silas asked.“We are so sorry for not informing you first but I just want to train here in the woods.”Nyla said.“Please be careful with her of course you should know that those wicked souls are still hunting her.”As he concluded to go back home.We were at the woods training both physically, emotionally and spiritually.After training for hours we sat down to rest.Nyla sat close to me with her hands across my shoulders.“When I was a little girl my grandfather was the best fighter in crescent crimson that he became the head warrior of the army of this pack.”“He trained me and thought me how to become a confident and fearless warrior but unfortunately

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of frost and pine, and the world beyond Crescent Crimson was bathed in a pale, fragile light. I walked slowly along the outskirts of the rogue sanctuary, my fingers brushing against the rough bark of trees as if seeking some guidance from the woods themselves. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the memories from the mirror, the visions of fire and crown, and the echoes of a past life pressed upon my shoulders with a weight no mortal could bear.The sword at my side, Nyla’s grandfather’s gift, was cold against my palm, a reminder of the bloodline I had never known I carried. It had been years since anyone had called me “heir” or “queen,” yet now the very word seemed to hum inside me, resonating with a pulse I could feel in my bones. I paused at the edge of the clearing, the wind tugging at my hair, carrying with it a scent I could not name. It was foreign, yet familiar—like the scent of a storm before it breaks, of so

Vivienne slammed the bronze-bound door to her private chamber, the echo reverberating like a drum of war. Her pale eyes blazed under the dim torchlight, the flicker of flame dancing across her sharp features as she glared at the empty room that had just borne news she didn’t want to hear. Her hunters had failed. Amira Cross had survived. Not only survived, but she had outwitted them, using the abandoned outskirts of Crimson Crescent to her advantage.Her fingers clenched the edge of the table, white-knuckled, as her mind raced. The Council would expect results, and tonight, she had none. Not one. “Impossible,” she hissed, the word more to herself than anyone else. “That whelp—she has grown cleverer than I imagined.”Vivienne turned, pacing in long, calculated steps. Every shadow in the chamber seemed to bend toward her fury, every flame an accomplice to her wrath. The thought of Amira, alive and defiant, ignited a cold, burning anger inside her. The girl had survived months in hiding,