The Luna He Rejected Was His True Destiny

He hadn't even called. Hadn't had the respect to let me hear his voice, to offer an explanation, an apology, anything that might have softened the blow. He had sent a mind-link message the way a wolf might cancel a hunt. Brief. Dismissive. As if the most important day of my life were an inconvenience he could pencil in for a later moon. Five years. Five years of loyalty. Five years of standing beside him at pack councils and full-moon feasts, of pressing my lips shut when the whispers followed me through the halls of the Nightveil estate. She's not good enough for an Alpha. She's just a Frostmane girl. Her father was a warrior-captain, not a leader. What does the Alpha see in her? Five years of being his anchor, his confidante, the wolf who waited up for him on the nights he came home carrying the scent of cold iron and rain, who never asked questions she knew he couldn't answer. Five years of silence kept not out of duty but out of love. And now, this. I did not respond. What was there to say? My fingers trembled over the crystal screen. Somewhere beneath my ribs my wolf paced low and uneasy, hackles half-raised at a wound she could feel but not name. I wanted to call him and scream until my throat was raw, to demand he explain why he chose her, again, always her, over the woman he was sworn to bind his blood to under the Moon Goddess. But instead, I swallowed the rage like a mouthful of broken glass and hurled the communicator onto the bed. It bounced once against the furs and lay still, its surface gone dark. I paced. The bedroom was enormous, one of the finest dens in the Nightveil estate, with its high beamed ceilings and its tall windows overlooking the private moon-gardens below. Dorian and I had built a life together in these rooms. His coats hung beside my dresses in the dressing room. His scent of blackthorn smoke and cedar still clung to the pillows. His reading glasses sat on the nightstand beside a worn book of old pack lore. But lately this place had begun to feel less like a home and more like a gilded cage. I lived in his shadow, surrounded by his name, his bloodline, his oaths, and I was alone almost all the time. A knock broke through the silence. Three sharp raps, unhesitant, the knock of someone who did not need permission. I opened the door. Elder Lavinia Blackthorn stood in the hallway, her small frame wrapped in black lace, her silver hair drawn back in a severe knot. She was eighty-three years old. She had buried two mates, survived three challenges to her throat, and outlasted every enemy who had ever underestimated her. Her face was a map of decades spent moving through the treacherous currents of pack politics, and her dark eyes, still sharp as silver blades, held a sympathy that nearly undid me. Beneath her lace she carried the scent of aged oak and dried lavender, steady as cold hearthstone. "I heard what happened, child," she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She never waited. In the Nightveil Pack, Elder Lavinia went where she pleased. She settled herself into the armchair by the window as though she owned it. Which, in a sense, she did. "You deserve better than this." I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted copper. I would not cry. Not yet. But Lavinia had always seen through every mask I wore. She was the sharpest mind in the pack, sharper than the Beta, sharper even than Dorian himself, though she would never say so aloud. There was no hiding pain from a wolf who had spent a lifetime reading the faces of killers and liars. "I thought today would be different." My voice came out smaller than I intended. I sank into the chair across from her, my knees suddenly too weak to hold me. "I thought he'd finally choose me over her." Lavinia's eyes darkened. The sympathy did not leave her face, but something harder settled beneath it. Something cold and knowing. "Dorian is a fool. He cannot see what he is losing." She paused, her gnarled fingers laced together in her lap. "But I know that Ciara Thornwood is not the innocent little lamb she pretends to be." I stared at her. My pulse quickened, and my wolf went still and alert inside me. Everyone in the pack adored Ciara. The sweet orphan. The tragic oath-ward.

The she-pup who smiled so prettily and spoke so softly and always, always found a reason to be near Dorian. The pack-warriors doted on her. The den-keepers cooked her favorite meals without being asked. Even the Beta spoke of her with a gentleness he reserved for no one else. She had wrapped the entire Nightveil Pack around her delicate finger. But Lavinia, like me, had never trusted her. Not once. Not from the very first day Ciara had been brought through the territory gates as a frightened twelve-year-old, clutching her dead mother's moonstone pendant and weeping, her thin scent of honeysuckle already laced with something faintly spoiled. "That injury is a fake." Lavinia's voice was flat, certain, the voice of a she-wolf stating a fact as plain as the turn of the moon. "Convenient timing, wouldn't you say?" My heart hammered against my ribs, and somewhere beneath it my wolf lifted her head, ears pricking at the words like they were the first true thing she'd heard in days. It was not just me. I was not paranoid. I was not the jealous, bitter she-wolf the whispers down the den corridors made me out to be. "You think she did this on purpose?" Lavinia scoffed. The sound was quiet, almost elegant, but it carried the weight of absolute contempt. "Oh, child. Of course she did. She has been playing this game for years, pulling Dorian closer every chance she gets. Every scraped knee. Every tearful confession. Every little crisis that requires the Alpha's personal attention. You think she is helpless?" Lavinia leaned forward, and her dark eyes burned, a flicker of old amber rising in them. "I see right through her. I have buried two mates and outlived three challenges, and I have seen she-wolves like Ciara Thornwood my entire life. They are the most dangerous kind. The kind who smile while they slip the knife between your ribs." I clenched my fists in my lap. My nails bit into my palms, and for one breath I felt them threaten to lengthen. "Then how come Dorian doesn't see it?" "Because that boy has been blinded since the day she arrived. His father's dying Moon Oath, the debt of honor to Rosalind Thornwood, it clouds everything. He confuses obligation with affection, and Ciara knows exactly how to keep the confusion alive." Lavinia's mouth thinned. "But you know the truth. So you must be strong enough to face it." I nodded. The motion felt mechanical, hollow. My stomach churned. I did not want to be strong. I wanted Dorian to walk through that door, take my face in his hands, and tell me he was sorry. I wanted him to make it right. I wanted him to choose me. Beneath my skin, my wolf paced and would not settle. "I'm sure you'll think of something. I know you are strong and wise, Neva." Lavinia rose from the chair with a grace that defied her years. She crossed the room and pulled me into an embrace. Her arms were thin but firm, and she carried the scent of aged oak and dried lavender, of beeswax and cold hearthstone. "Do not let this Pack break you. You are worth more than they know." She released me, smoothed the front of her dress, and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind her. Silence filled the room like floodwater. My communicator vibrated against the duvet, and I flinched. I crossed to the bed and picked it up. A message from Ivar Blackthorn, the Beta. My childhood packmate. The wolf who had grown up beside Dorian and me, who had stood at Dorian's right hand since the day the old Alpha was laid beneath the earth. "Neva, I heard the news. Don't be too disappointed. Dorian had to do this. It's his obligation as Alpha of the Pack. He needs to ensure the safety of everyone under his protection." "Yeah, right!" The words tore out of me, loud and raw in the empty room. My wolf snarled low at the back of my throat. I tossed the communicator back onto the bed without typing a reply. Ivar and his endless excuses. Ivar, who always found a way to make Dorian's choices sound reasonable, who always smoothed the edges until the blade didn't look like a blade anymore. Two minutes later, the pack messages buzzed again. I picked up the communicator against my better judgment. Ciara had posted more crystal-captures. Dorian sitting at her bedside, spooning broth into her mouth as though she were an invalid. Dorian pressing the back of his hand to her forehead to check her temperature. Dorian adjusting the wrapping on her ankle with the careful, focused attention of a wolf tending to something precious and breakable. As if she were his mate. As if she were the she-wolf he was meant to take in the Mating Ceremony today.

Beneath the photos, Ciara's message glowed on the crystal screen: "Everyone, I am so sorry for any trouble, especially to Neva and Dorian. I didn't mean to ruin the most important day of your lives. Dorian, thank you for being the best Alpha I could ever ask for. You always make me feel like the most important person in the world." The reactions piled up beneath her words across the pack mind-link. Hearts. Moon-blessings. Adoring replies from warriors and den-staff alike. And then the bolder ones, the ones that twisted the knife. "You two look so good together." "If the Moon Goddess had willed it differently, you would make such a beautiful pair." "The Goddess works in mysterious ways." Ciara, Ciara. It was always Ciara that the whole pack favored. Ciara, the saint. Ciara, the angel. Ciara, the poor little orphan ward who could do no wrong. Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. They fell onto the screen of my communicator, blurring Ciara's smiling face into a watercolor smear. I wiped them away with the back of my hand, but more followed, hot and relentless. Somewhere beneath my ribs, my wolf had gone silent, curled small, as if she too had run out of ways to fight. Five years. I had waited five years, and all I had to show for it was the slow, sickening realization that I had been making a mistake this entire time. Loving Dorian Blackthorn had cost me my pride, my peace, and very nearly my sanity. It was time to correct it. It was time to choose myself. I opened a new message to Dorian. My fingers were steady now. The tears still fell, but something inside me had gone very quiet, very cold, the way a lake freezes over in the dead of winter. "Call me." I sent it. I knew he would not call unless I asked. Even then, there was no guarantee. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. The crystal on the nightstand ticked out the moments. Outside the window, the late morning sun cast long shadows across the pack estate's manicured grounds, where the ceremony grove still stood draped in ivory silk and red roses that no one would see. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Nothing. No call. No reply. Not even the three pulsing lights that would have told me he was answering. I was about to stand, to do what I did not yet know, when the communicator finally rang. His name filled the screen. I answered. "Anything happen, Neva?" Dorian's voice was clipped. Distracted. Irritated, as though I had pulled him away from something far more important. "Is that all you have to say?" The hurt in my own voice surprised me. I had meant to sound cold, controlled, the way the she-wolves in this world were supposed to sound. Instead, I sounded exactly like what I was: a woman whose heart was breaking. "Sorry." He exhaled. The sound was heavy, tired, the breath of an Alpha carrying the weight of a whole pack on his shoulders. "I can't think clearly right now. Ciara got hurt. I needed to make sure she'd be okay." "Right. As expected from Alpha Blackthorn." A beat of silence. When he spoke again, his voice had an edge. "What's that supposed to mean?" I closed my eyes. The tears had stopped. The cold, frozen thing inside me held firm. "It means we're over. The Moon Oath is rejected." I ended the call before he could draw another breath. After Neva cut the link on me, the den felt like a sealed coffin. She had never done that before. Not once in all the years I had known her, in all the years our fathers' Moon Oath had promised her to me. The silence that followed the dead line was louder than any howl I had ever heard, and beneath it my wolf had gone unnaturally still, ears pricked toward a sound that would not come. I set the communicator down on the blackwood desk, slow and deliberate, the way a man sets down a blade he is trying not to use. Then I leaned back in the leather chair and stared at the ceiling of my study, at the hand-carved fresco my grandsire had commissioned decades ago. Wolves and serpents, tangled together beneath a full moon. He'd always said that was the truest portrait of our pack ever made. Her words had cut deeper than I wanted to admit. After everything we had been through, after all the years bound together by our fathers' Moon Oath, how had it come to this? But what else could I have done? Ciara had been hurt during a training run, and as the Alpha, I had an obligation. The pack always came first. That was the weight I accepted the day they set my father's signet on my hand and every wolf in the hall bared his throat to me. I thought Neva, of all wolves, understood this. She was my Intended. She was supposed to stand beside me as Luna of this pack.

I exhaled through my teeth and picked up the communicator again. The pack mind-link thread had blown up while I was dealing with the fallout, and I hadn't even glanced at it. When I opened it, every message was from Ciara. She had been updating the pack's inner circle on her injury, image after image, message after message. My jaw tightened as I scrolled through the crystal-images she had sent. They were carefully framed. Every single one featured her and me. I lingered on the worst of them: Ciara lying on the cot in the compound's Healing Hall, her face arranged in an expression of fragile suffering, while I stood over her looking every inch the concerned protector. I ran a hand through my hair and dropped the communicator face-down on the desk. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of my control, but none of it was my doing. Ciara needed me. My father had sworn a dying Moon Oath to her dying mother. I could not simply abandon that debt because of the ceremony. Neva should have understood how sacred the obligations of this pack were. She knew the life. She had always known the life. Still, the guilt gnawed at me like a rat behind the walls. I had canceled our mating ceremony. Our Moon-Bound Union. For Ciara. And now Neva was furious, and the silence on the other end of that call had been the kind of silence that preceded war. Somewhere beneath my ribs, my wolf paced the length of its cage and would not lie down. Maybe I could have handled it better. I should have called her first, spoken to her directly, asked for her understanding before making the decision. Or at the very least, I should have explained my reasons face to face instead of sending a message as if the union meant nothing. As if she meant nothing. But what was done was done, and I had to deal with the fallout. A knock on the study door pulled me from the spiral. "Come in." Ivar stepped through the heavy oak door with his usual measured calm, the kind of composure that had made him invaluable to me since we were pups running through the corridors of this very compound. He closed the door behind him without a sound, lowered himself into the chair across from my desk, and studied me with those sharp, patient eyes. The faint trace of gunmetal and dry pine resin settled into the room with him. If there was anyone in this world I could count on to help me make sense of this wreckage, it was him. My Beta. My brother in everything but blood. "Dorian." His voice was low, almost gentle. "I heard what happened." I leaned forward and pressed my knuckles against my temples. "Yeah. Neva's furious." Ivar raised an eyebrow, settling deeper into his chair, one ankle crossing over his knee with the ease of a wolf who had never lost a moment's sleep in his life. "Furious at you for fulfilling your obligation?" His words made me drag a hand down my face. "I canceled the ceremony, Ivar. The Moon-Bound Union. She has every right to be upset." He shook his head slowly, as though Neva's reaction was something he genuinely could not fathom. "She might be upset, but you did what you had to do. Ciara was hurt. You're the Alpha. Your first responsibility is to the pack. That means ensuring every wolf under this roof is safe, especially when they're injured. Especially when they carry the weight of your father's oath." "I know that." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "But Neva doesn't see it that way. She thinks I'm choosing Ciara over her." Ivar's expression softened. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Dorian. You didn't choose Ciara over Neva. You chose the pack over everything. That is what being Alpha means. Neva knows that deep down, even if anger is blinding her right now." I clenched my fists on the desk, the signet ring biting into my finger. Frustration coiled inside my chest like smoke with nowhere to go, and my wolf pressed against the underside of my skin, restless. "I know she does. But it feels like I'm losing her, Ivar. I've been so consumed with the pack lately, with Ciara, with every crisis that walks through that door, that I haven't had a moment to breathe, let alone be with her." "You're not neglecting her." Ivar's tone was firm, certain. "You carry responsibilities that most wolves will never understand. Neva is upset, sure. But she'll come around. You have always been there for her, and she knows that." I didn't respond. I turned my head toward the window, where the lights of the eastern territory bled through the reinforced glass like distant fires. A part of me knew Ivar was right. Neva had always stood by me. Through the territory wars, through the funerals, through every blood-soaked night that came with this throne. But lately, something between us had shifted. I could feel the distance growing, a silence that had nothing to do with loyalty and everything to do with loneliness.

Ivar must have scented the turmoil behind my silence, the gunmetal-and-juniper of him sharpening as he caught the unease bleeding off my skin, because he pressed on. "You're doing the right thing, Dorian. Ciara is part of this Pack. Your father's Moon Oath binds you to shelter her. That is sacred. That is a debt of honor, sworn under the Goddess herself. Neva will understand once the anger has passed and she can think clearly." I turned back to him, doubt still heavy in my chest, my wolf restless beneath it. "You really believe that?" "I'm certain of it." A note of quiet confidence threaded through his voice. "Don't let this consume you. It's nothing. Neva is hurt right now, but she will realize you were fulfilling your duty. Nothing more." I nodded slowly. I had been so tangled in guilt and frustration that doubt had started to poison everything, distorting my judgment about what this would mean for us. I was doing the right thing. I could not run two trails at once. What I did for Ciara was what any Alpha would have done. What my father would have expected of the one who took his place. "I just don't want to lose Neva." The words came out barely above a whisper, and I hated how vulnerable they sounded in the stillness of that den. "You won't." Ivar's voice carried the weight of absolute conviction. "Neva loves you. That's precisely why this is hitting her so hard. But she'll come around. The two of you have been bound together too long for a single incident to sever it." I let out a long breath, and some of the iron tension in my chest began to loosen. Ivar was right. He was always right about these things. "Thanks, Ivar. I needed to hear that." He smiled, and there was a glint in his eyes that caught the lamplight, gold flickering low and gone. "Anytime. That's what I'm here for." I pushed myself up from the chair, feeling lighter than I had since the moment Neva's voice had gone cold across the mind-link. The talk with Ivar had helped, but I still had a great deal of damage to repair. The fracture between Neva and me was real, and no amount of reassurance from my Beta could mend it. Only I could do that. But at least now, the guilt was no longer drowning me. "I'll talk to her later tonight. Give her time to cool down first." "Smart. Neva has a soft spot for you, Dorian. Always has. Use that to your advantage." We walked to the study door together, and for the first time in hours, I felt prepared to face whatever came next. Ivar clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and familiar. "You've got this. Just remember you're not alone in this." "Thanks, Ivar." He left, and the weight on my shoulders had lifted enough that I could breathe again. But now came the harder part. I had to find a way to make things right with Neva. I crossed the eastern territory to the den Neva and I shared. It was our private ground, set apart from the pack estate, the one place where we were not the Alpha and his Intended but simply two people who had chosen each other. Or so I had believed. When I opened the door, the den was dark. The kind of dark that had nothing to do with the hour and everything to do with absence. "Neva?" My voice echoed off the stone floors and died against the walls. No answer. And then my wolf went very still, because the air was wrong. I moved through the rooms, checking the kitchen, the sitting room, the bedchamber. Everything was in its place. Everything except the things that mattered. The frost-and-white-birch of her, the cold river-stone and that thread of moonflower that had lived in these walls for years, had thinned to almost nothing. Instinct seized me, cold and sudden, and I walked to the closet. I pulled the doors open. Empty. Every hanger bare. Every shelf cleared. Her boots, her coats, the small leather case where she kept her grandmother's moon-rosary. All of it, gone. Neva had left me. My legs gave out, and I sank to the floor of the closet, surrounded by nothing but the faint ghost of her scent and the hollow click of empty hangers swaying in the draft. Somewhere beneath my ribs my wolf threw back its head and made a sound I had never heard it make, a low keening that scraped at the inside of me with no name to give it. The silence pressed in from every side, absolute and merciless, and for the first time since I had become Alpha of the Nightveil Pack, I felt completely and utterly powerless.

I never thought packing could break a person. Every item I folded into the trunk felt like tearing a piece of my life with Dorian free from the bone. The life I had imagined would last until they laid me beneath the pack's burial ground. I bit back tears when I stared at the empty closet. The hangers swayed gently, catching the faint light from the window like skeletal fingers waving goodbye. I couldn't believe this was happening. We were supposed to be bound for life. A sacred Moon Oath, sworn under the Moon Goddess and witnessed by the Pack. Instead, here I stood in a half-stripped den, shoving silk blouses into luggage like a woman fleeing a war zone. Deep inside me, my wolf paced the same small circle she'd worn into the ground, refusing to lie down. I pressed the heel of my palm against my eyes and wiped the tears away before they could fall. Now was not the moment to be weak. I was worth more than this. My communicator vibrated against the dresser. Ivar. He seemed unfinished with his lecture from earlier, as though the first round hadn't been enough. "Neva, please don't make any rash decisions. I'm sure Dorian will fix this. He's just dealing with a lot right now. Give him time to make it up to you." I scoffed and rolled my eyes hard enough to feel the pull in my temples. "Fix this? How could he?" My voice came out low and venomous, barely above a whisper. "Where was he, Ivar? He canceled without thinking twice. He didn't even think of me. And I'm supposed to understand him." I hissed the last word like it was poison on my tongue and pulled the communicator away from my ear, ignoring whatever he said next. I shoved the last blouse into the suitcase, pressing it down with both hands, trying to crush the memory of the Moon-Bound Union that was supposed to happen today. I had dreamt of it for moons. Walking through the great hall of the Nightveil estate with the entire Pack watching. The candlelight. The oath. The ring of witnesses. Dorian's hand closing over mine as the elder spoke the vows that would bind us before the Moon Goddess and the Pack both. But today, when it was supposed to happen, Dorian's eyes had gone to Ciara. Sweet, fragile Ciara Thornwood, who had feigned another heat-weakness during her training session. Collapsed on the training grounds like a porcelain doll with a cracked spine. I couldn't count how many times she had pulled this act, and I couldn't fathom how blind Dorian remained to the performance. Every time, the same script. The trembling lip, the wide doe eyes, the whispered "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble." And every time, Dorian dropped everything. Dropped me. "Damn them." I zipped the suitcase with a vicious pull, grabbed the handle, and walked out. I told no one. Not even Elder Lavinia, who loved me more than anyone left in that estate. She would have stopped me, and I couldn't afford to be stopped. Not tonight. The carriage I had summoned was already idling at the curb outside the estate's outer gate, its lamps cutting pale lines through the October dark. I rushed down the gravel path, stuffed my luggage into the back, and slid into the seat, telling the driver to go. No hesitation. No looking back. I looked back. The estate shrank behind me, its iron gates and grey-stone walls dissolving into the amber blur of passing lamplight. My heart sat like a stone behind my ribs. Every stretch of road we passed carried a memory. The corner den where Dorian had brought me hot tea the morning after our Moon Oath was announced. The clearing where he had walked beside me in silence, his hand warm against the small of my back, saying nothing because nothing needed to be said. I had fought for so long to make this work, to earn my place beside him, to prove that I was more than just a name in an old oath sworn between our fathers. But now I was done. I was taking back control, even if it carved me hollow. Somewhere beneath my ribs, my wolf went still at last, no longer pacing, only watching the gates disappear with me. When I arrived at my old den in the lower territory, I stood on the path and stared at the building before going in. A narrow stone row-house with an iron stair that zigzagged up the front like a scar. I had lived here less than a year before moving into the estate, and it had felt like home then. Comforting but painful now, the way a childhood nest feels after a burial. I wished I could become the old Neva. The one full of hope. The one who still believed that Dorian Blackthorn's love was something she could hold in her hands. I dragged the suitcase up three flights of stairs. Its weight felt lighter than whatever sat crushing my chest. When I reached the bedroom, the small space felt foreign, the air stale and cold, the bed stripped to a bare mattress. The den held no trace of blackthorn smoke or cold iron here, none of his scent at all, and the absence of it was its own quiet ache. But I welcomed the change. Anything was better than that estate tonight.

As I unpacked, I tried to push thoughts of Dorian from my mind, but they crept back like smoke under a closed door. His voice. His hands. The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching, as though I were something precious and breakable. The way he looked at Ciara when everyone was watching, as though she were something he owed. Just as I was smoothing a fitted sheet over the mattress, my crystal communicator hummed again on the den's nightstand. I hesitated before picking it up, certain it would be Ivar circling back for another round, or worse, Ciara calling to deliver some saccharine apology dipped in that honeysuckle-and-cold-ash sweetness she wore like a mask, designed to twist the knife. But when I saw the name pulsing across the crystal, my heart lurched against my ribs. Dorian. My breath came thin and shallow as I read the words. "Neva, please. Can we talk? I need to see you." I stared at the glowing crystal until the words blurred. Did he really think he could fix this with a handful of words on a stretch of cold quartz? After everything? After today? My hands were shaking when I traced out my reply. "I don't think that's a good idea right now." Before I could set the communicator back down, it rang. Dorian's name filled the crystal, pulsing with each call like a heartbeat I knew too well. I hesitated, my finger hovering over the silence-rune, but something stopped me. Some stubborn, traitorous part of my heart that still wanted to hear his voice. Deep in my chest, my wolf lifted her head and went very still, ears straining toward a sound that wasn't even there yet. I took a deep breath and answered. "What do you want, Dorian?" I kept my voice as steady as a blade balanced on its edge. "Neva, it shouldn't have gone this far. Let's talk about this. Please." His voice carried that particular blend of desperation and warmth that had always undone me. The voice of an Alpha who could bring a hundred pack-warriors to their knees with a single look, yet could not command the one she-wolf the Moon Goddess had sworn to him. "Why? So you can cancel again?" My voice climbed despite my efforts to hold it level. "So you can tell me how much you care while you keep putting Ciara first?" "No. I wanted to explain." A pause. I could hear him breathing through the link, measured and deliberate, the way he breathed before a difficult border-talk with a rival pack. "I know you're hurt. I understand it. This isn't because of Ciara. I am the Alpha. I am responsible for the safety of every wolf under my mark. She is under my protection. That is an obligation my father swore with his dying breath, a Moon Oath sealed beneath the Goddess. You know this." I scoffed, shaking my head even though he couldn't see me. "Dorian, she is always injured. Every single time something important is about to happen for us, she collapses, weak from a heat that comes on cue, or some wound that never seems to scar. Don't you find that a little odd?" "Come on, Neva." Irritation sharpened his tone, the Alpha bleeding through the lover, and I felt the faint pressure of his aura push down the link before he reined it back. "Anything can happen during a training run. You push yourself, you get hurt. Wounds are part of learning the fight. Any young warrior could understand that." The words hit like a slap. "Are you trying to say I'm childish? And Ciara getting injured every single time is not behaving like a child herself?" "No, that's not what I meant." He caught himself, pulled back. "You have every right to be upset. We have been preparing for the Mating Ceremony for moons. But you know we can never predict what will happen. Ciara's injury wasn't even that serious. She'll heal in a day or two. We can reschedule the union. What is a day or two?" What is a day or two. As though the night under the moon meant nothing. As though I hadn't spent weeks with Elder Lavinia choosing the bonding-flowers and the ceremony cloth. As though the whole pack hadn't gathered beneath the open sky. As though my heart hadn't been laid bare on a silver tray for every wolf to see, only to be pushed aside for a girl with a bruised ankle and a rehearsed whimper. "I can't do this right now." My voice trembled despite every effort to hold it still. Inside me, my wolf had stopped pacing. She simply lay down, nose tucked away from his scent that wasn't even in the room, as if she could no longer bear to reach for it. "Neva, please. I just need you to hear me out. Can we at least meet? Just to talk." He was pleading now, and the sound of it was almost worse than the anger. Dorian Blackthorn did not plead. Not with rival Alphas across a war-line. Not with the council of elders. Not with anyone. Only with me, and only when he knew he had lost ground he could not afford to lose. "Talk? About what? About how you chose Ciara over me?" I pressed my free hand flat against the bare mattress, steadying myself. "You know what? I'm done hearing excuses." "It's not an excuse. I just need a moment to explain everything. I thought you would understand my position. Being the Alpha, carrying the weight of the whole pack. This isn't just about us, Neva." "Right. Because your obligations are clearly more important than what we have. I understand that, Dorian. I do. But that doesn't change how I feel." He sighed, and even through the link I could hear the frustration in his breath, heavy and controlled, the exhale of an Alpha who was used to having the final word in every room he entered.

"You're right, it doesn't. But I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted to do what was best for the Pack. You know I care about you. You know that, don't you?" "Do I?" The question came out quieter than I intended, almost fragile, and I hated myself for it. Somewhere beneath my ribs my wolf gave a low, wounded sound I couldn't silence. "Because it doesn't feel that way. You keep saying you care, but your actions tell a different story, Dorian. Every single time." He drew breath to speak again. I could feel it coming, the same lecture, the same sermon about duty and honor and the weight of the Blackthorn name. He couldn't stop himself. It was as though I were a green pack-warrior who needed to be schooled on the hard truths of pack life, a pup who couldn't grasp what it meant to sit as Alpha over the whole of the eastern territory. I ended the call without asking permission. Without a goodbye. Without giving him the courtesy of a final word. The communicator chimed again almost instantly. Dorian's name glowed on the screen, insistent, commanding, the way everything about him was commanding. I watched it ring. Once. Twice. Three times. Then I reached over, held my thumb to the crystal until the light died, and watched it go black. The den was silent. The city hummed faintly beyond the window, indifferent to the woman sitting alone on a bare mattress in a cold room, holding a dead communicator in hands that would not stop shaking. Laughter rolled through the great hall of the Nightveil estate like woodsmoke off a hundred hearths, thick and warm and impossible to escape. Ivar's Moon Blessing Day had drawn the entire pack together, every warrior, every Omega, every mate and cousin and distant blood-kin who owed their place to the Blackthorn name. Glasses clinked against glasses. Someone had set old crooning records spinning, and the brass notes drifted beneath the noise of conversation like a current beneath a river. I scanned the room from my place near the head of the long table. Neva stood at the bar across the hall, a glass of untouched red in her hand, half-turned toward one of the pack healers. She was caught in conversation but not entirely present. Her eyes had that faraway quality, the look of a she-wolf whose mind was somewhere else entirely. It didn't matter. I was glad she came. She had been busy. The work at the Pack Chronicle had consumed her for weeks, and Ivar had mentioned she wasn't in the mood for a gathering. But here she was, dressed in black silk, her dark hair pinned back, looking like she belonged in every room she entered. That was Neva. Always doing the right thing. Always putting others before herself. Even from here, beneath the smoke and the wine and the press of so many scents, hers reached me. Fresh frost and white birch, cold river-stone, a thread of moonflower. My wolf lifted toward it the way it always did, and something in me wanted to cross the room. "Dorian!" Ciara's voice cut through my thoughts, bright and deliberate. She appeared at my elbow, those wide, hopeful eyes turned up at me like a pup begging for permission. Her left arm rested in a sling, the bandage visible beneath the sleeve of her cream-colored blouse. Her scent came with her, sweet honeysuckle laid over something faintly spoiled, and for half a breath my wolf went still and wary without knowing why. "Could you help me with the prawns and the crab? I can't peel them with my arm like this." I hesitated. My gaze drifted back toward Neva, still standing at the bar, still talking to the healer. I had meant to go to her. I had meant to pull her aside, ask her how she was, tell her something. Anything. But Ciara was standing right in front of me, injured, waiting. I couldn't leave her hanging. The debt of honor my father had sworn under the Moon Goddess to her dead mother hung over every interaction like a chain I could not set down. "Sure," I said, and moved to sit beside her at the table. "Thank you. You're a lifesaver." Ciara's smile was radiant, the kind of smile that made everyone in the room believe she was exactly what she appeared to be: fragile, grateful, harmless. I picked up a prawn and began working the shell free with my fingers. Then a crab leg. The work was tedious, beneath the dignity of an Alpha in most circumstances, but this was different. This was Ciara. The obligation was clear. Others in the pack could be demanding in their own ways, but this particular duty carried the weight of a dying Moon Oath. "You're always so kind to me, Dorian. I don't know what I'd do without you." She leaned closer, her shoulder brushing mine. "It's nothing. Just doing what I should." The shell cracked between my fingers. I set the clean meat on her plate. Ivar appeared then, two tumblers of aged scotch in his hands. He set one in front of me and dropped into the chair across the table, loosening his collar with his free hand. His scent moved with him, gunmetal and dry pine resin, scorched copper, a faint thread of juniper. His dark eyes flicked to Ciara, then to me, and a knowing look crossed his face. "You really know how to make a man feel useful, huh?" He raised his glass in a mock toast. "What a gentleman." I let out a low rumble of a laugh and slid another peeled prawn onto Ciara's plate. "Just helping a member of this pack who needs it." Ivar leaned back, swirling the scotch in his glass, and let his gaze drift across the room to where Neva stood. She was alone now. The healer had moved on. She held the same glass of red she'd carried since she arrived, the wine untouched, the stem turning slowly between her fingers as if she were counting the minutes until she could leave. "Hey, Dorian." Ivar's voice dropped a register, casual but pointed. "Why don't you peel some of those for Neva? I'm sure she'd appreciate it too." I frowned. The suggestion landed wrong, like a stone dropped into still water, and my wolf pricked its ears at the edge of it. I hadn't come here to spend the evening shelling plates of seafood for every wolf in the room. Neva was perfectly capable of doing it herself. "Neva's fine. She's just taking a break," I said, and the words sounded hollow even to my own ears. Ivar raised an eyebrow. He took a slow sip of his scotch and set the glass down with a deliberate clink.

"You really think so? She doesn't look so happy." "Of course she's fine. She understands I'm here for Ciara because she's hurt. It's not a big deal." I forced a smile and glanced toward Neva. She stood with her arms at her sides, her jaw tight, her eyes fixed on some middle distance that included neither me nor anyone else. She looked irritated. More than irritated. Beneath the lavish scents of the gathering, her own threaded through, fresh frost and white birch gone cold and still, the way a forest goes silent before something breaks. Ciara's gaze darted between us, quick and alert beneath those long lashes. Her expression shifted, the brightness dimming into something softer, more concerned. She set down her fork and pressed her good hand to her chest. "I hope I'm not causing trouble between you two." Her voice was barely above a whisper, threaded with worry. "I wouldn't want Neva to feel like I'm coming between you. After all, she is your Intended, Dorian. She deserves some attention from you, too." "No, you're not," I replied quickly. Too quickly. Doubt crept in through the cracks of my certainty like cold air through an old window. I caught Neva's eye across the room, and for one brief second our gazes locked. Then she looked away, sharp and final, as if cutting a thread. "She knows I'm just helping." I cracked another crab leg and set the white meat on Ciara's plate. The silence between my words felt heavier than it should have. Something in her scent caught at the edge of my senses, sweet honeysuckle laid over something faintly spoiled, and my wolf shifted low in my chest, uneasy, before I pushed the feeling down. "You're such a good Alpha, Dorian." Ciara tilted her head, studying me with an expression that hovered between admiration and something else I couldn't name. "It's nice to see you take care of your pack." I shrugged, dismissing the praise. "It's just what I do. You're part of this pack, Ciara. It's my responsibility to make sure everyone is safe." She smiled again, that same luminous, practiced smile, and leaned close enough that her scent washed over me, sugared almond, too sweet, with that thread of cold ash underneath. "Still, you make it look effortless." I couldn't help but return the smile, but my gaze betrayed me. It drifted across the room to Neva. She had moved away from the bar entirely, retreating to the far wall near the entrance to the foyer. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she watched us with an expression that had gone past irritation into something colder. Something I didn't recognize. A pang of unease settled beneath my ribs, but I brushed it off. She had to understand. This was simply part of what it meant to lead a pack. The Moon Oath my father swore was not optional, and the debts we carried under the Goddess's eye were not the kind a wolf could set down. When the main course was served, platters of slow-braised venison and wild river-trout carried in by the den's stewards on silver trays, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Neva had never been this angry. Not like this. She had always understood the obligations, the weight of my father's promises, the impossible balance I had to maintain. She had never made things difficult. "Neva, want some of the trout?" I called out across the room, trying to break the ice that had formed between us. She looked up. Her expression was neutral, controlled, the face of a woman who had decided exactly how much of herself she was willing to show. "No, I'm good. Thanks." Her voice was steady but distant, as if she were speaking to a stranger. Before I could respond, Ivar leaned forward in his chair and raised his voice with theatrical warmth. The gunmetal-and-juniper of him sharpened as he spoke. "Come on, Neva. You can't just stand over there all night. Join us. Dorian's practically running the whole hunt over here." Neva smiled. It was polite, precise, and completely empty. "Really, I'm fine." She set her untouched glass of wine on the nearest surface. "I think I'm going to head home." "Already?" I straightened in my chair, genuinely surprised. "It's still early." "I've got work tomorrow." She smoothed the front of her dress with both hands, a gesture of finality. "Tell Ivar happy Moon Blessing Day for me." She looked at me then, and her eyes were dark and quiet and stripped of every trace of warmth they used to hold. It was like looking at a photograph of someone I once knew. "Wait." I stood immediately, my chair scraping against the stone floor. "Let me walk you out." "There's no need. I'll be fine." Her voice was firm, the kind of firm that left no room for negotiation. A tightness coiled in my chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Somewhere beneath it, my wolf had gone to its feet, watching her go, a growl building low and then dying because I gave it no command. "Neva, come on. We barely got to talk tonight. Can't you stay a bit longer?" "I can't. I really need to go." A thread of frustration pulled taut beneath her words, and then she turned. Just like that. She walked toward the door without looking back, her heels striking the polished stone in a rhythm that sounded like a countdown. I watched her disappear through the arched doorway into the foyer, her frost-and-birch scent thinning, fading, gone. And my stomach twisted into a knot I couldn't untie. What was going on with her? Ciara looked up at me from the table, her lower lip trembling, her eyes glassy with the threat of tears that seemed to materialize whenever the moment required them. "She seems upset. Are you sure everything's okay?" "Yeah, she's fine," I replied, but my voice lacked conviction. I was still staring at the empty doorway. "I can't help but feel like I'm causing problems." Ciara pressed her fingers to her lips, her brow creasing. "I'm sorry about my injury yesterday. I didn't mean to come between you two. I'm sure she was deeply hurt that your Mating Ceremony got postponed. The Moon-Bound Union. I would feel the same way, too." "You're not causing anything. Neva knows that." I sat back down, but the chair felt wrong beneath me, like the room itself had shifted. "It's just... she's tired, I guess. I'll send word to her." I pulled my communicator from the inside pocket of my jacket and typed with both thumbs: Neva, let me know when you get home. We need to talk. I sent it. The message failed. A small red mark bloomed beside it, mocking and absolute. I frowned. Tried again. Failed again. I pressed the call rune and lifted the communicator to my ear. It went straight to the silence at the end of the line, that flat tone reciting her number back to me as if I didn't already know it by heart. I lowered the communicator and stared at the dark crystal in disbelief. Neva had cut me off completely.