There is a common theme among wolves: those who live share a relentless desire to stay that way—to protect their pack. The 12th family, my home, taught me this truth with every act of defiance, every life lost, every second they stood beside me, knowing my father had betrayed both the crown and the goddess.
–Diary of Elsbeth Moonchild, Alpha of the cursed Southern Pack
--
ELSBETH.
The sun kissed my cheek, soft and warm, wrapped in the embrace of my lover—my mate. It had been a very long time since I'd felt this safe, since I'd had a night without the nightmares that plagued me just outside my peripherals and that made me feel a bit hopeful. This was a gamble but I'm on the right path, I can feel it in my bones. Annicka, my wolf, is still silent but I can feel her there lurking quietly in the back of my mind. I don't know if she can't speak to me at this point or she just won't but his large body is coiled around me like a blanket. His scent—intoxicating. The pull of a fresh mate bond has its claws buried deep in my belly, distracting me --if only momentarily from her loss.
He sleeps soundly, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek soothing something primal in me. A soft smile played on his lips, peaceful and unguarded, and I can't help but admire him. His face is a masculine masterpiece—the kind of beauty sculpted by the Moon Goddess herself. His chiseled jaw is strong but inviting, shadowed by the faintest kiss of stubble that had seemingly appeared overnight. The sharpness of his features can't be dulled, not even by sleep. His lips, full and a shade deeper than his pale skin, parted slightly like an invitation I didn't know I was waiting for.
I have to suppress the sudden urge to kiss him.
I wish he'd open those eyes—smouldering and wild—reflecting the green of pine needles, the same scent I now breathed as mine. Last night, the intensity of that gaze had set my heart on fire.
Even now, his brow was lightly furrowed, as if lost in thought even while dreaming. For all his sharp edges, there was a softness to him—a gentleness that drew me closer. Or maybe it was just the lingering afterglow of the many orgasms he'd coaxed from me, like a poet crafting the perfect verse.
His body was magnificent. Taller than me, broad-shouldered, his strong arms wrapped around a chest that rose and fell with the rhythm of sleep. Muscles shifted beneath the thin sheet, his form carved like marble. His arms were the perfect contrast—hard muscle beneath soft skin, a promise of restrained power. His legs were long, lean, beautifully proportioned.
I'd never seen him outside this room but I could imagine the way he moved—graceful, silent, like a predator aware of every inch of his body and how it commanded the space around him. But it wasn't just how he looked that bewitched me—it was how he felt. How he moved through the world with a magnetic presence I couldn't tell apart from our bond. His mere existence stirred something deep in me, as though he held the power to make my very soul tremble with a single smile.
I didn't know how long I stared before his eyes finally opened, catching me in a gentle look. He nuzzled into the crook of my neck and breathed me in.
"Els, love. Good morning." His words rumbled in his chest, and I felt them against my skin like the purring of a great beast. I sighed and nestled in closer, repeating the question I'd whispered to him last night.
"What should I call you, love?"
He laughed, low and rough. "My name—Fenrir—would be a good place to start."
Fenrir. I tasted it like a rare truffle, rich and dark, letting it melt on my tongue.
I shook my head teasingly. "No, no. That won't do."
"Oh?" he murmured, kissing the side of my neck. "What'll you call me then?"
I gasped as his lips grazed the mating mark, fire shooting through me.
"I'll call you Fen. My Fen," I whispered, breathless, feeling his smile curve against my skin.
I was a heartbeat away from claiming him again when a knock at the door shattered our bubble. I growled instinctively. He chuckled and called out, "Come in!"
An elderly woman entered with slow, careful steps. Her maid's uniform was plain, but pristine—not a single wrinkle or crease. She moved with an easy grace, a quiet dignity that only age and experience could bestow. In her hands, she carried a tray laden with food, and her presence radiated calm, like a hush in a sacred place.
She smiled warmly at me and bowed. "My queen, your council is gathering. There's been another incident."
Fen rose at once, nodding in acknowledgment. I didn't expect him to show such deference to a servant—and yet he did. My father had always taught me to show equal respect to all, from the highest noble to the lowest hand. That Fen did the same warmed my heart in unexpected ways.
As she exited, so did the comfort of his warmth beside me but I wouldn't have that. I growled at him threateningly and he turned bewildered bright green eyes on me.
"Els?" He asked, searching my face before I pressed my naked flesh against him.
"Fen" I whispered, my tongue trailing down his chest like a naughty secret. He groaned, "You heard Marie, the coun--"
My mouth found his cock, alert and hard and the words died in his throat. I smiled at my silent victory. I licked and sucked my way up his shaft before taking the tip in my mouth entirely.
He tasted sweet, like the last remnants of our sex the night before. He groaned before he grabbed me, yanking me up and claiming my mouth with his.
"I'll never be satisfied by anything less than all of you." He growled, his wolf hovering right behind his eyes like a flash of silver moonlight. How I wished Annicka would meet him, that the presence of our mate would reinvigorate her but none of this was truly ours. Not really. It was a glimpse into a life long gone.
I felt the wall at my back as he threw me against it at the same time his cock found me. It's lengths a delicious promise, each inch pressing me further into sheer bliss. His cock was like a drug I would never have enough of. If there was one thing that was true, I desired this man, this stranger, this mate in the most carnal way.
I wrapped my legs around his hips pulling him deeper. His left hand held up my ass while his right massaged my clit. For a second he stayed completely still, his length sheathed inside of me like a blade. His eyes searching mine, searching my face, like he was seeing me for the first time and then his face settled. His lips curled up into a wolfish grin and his cock ricocheted against my g-spot like a sledgehammer.
I bit into his chest to stifle my scream of pleasure. His blood tasted like power and promise.
---
The throne room was rougher than I remembered. In my time, it had been a symphony of polished marble and silk—now it was still young, unrefined. The stone raw and imperfect, softened only by the rich, mismatched silks cascading down like waterfalls of colour, each bearing the emblem of one of the twelve houses. And yet, even now, it hummed with a quiet, unspoken majesty.
Bold crimsons, deep blues, regal purples—all fluttered in the torchlight, whispering history into the dreary afternoon. A reminder of the burden draped across my shoulders, of what I was here to accomplish.
The floor beneath my bare feet was polished marble, veined with smoky greys, obsidian black, and flickers of gold. It looked like stars scattered across dark water. The coldness beneath me hummed with magic—an ever-present reminder of this room's sacred purpose.
At the far end, the throne caught the torchlight like something born of legend: a towering sculpture of filigreed gold and carved stone. Its high back vanished into the shadows of the ceiling. Purple silks draped the armrests, bearing the mark of the 12th house. The house currently in power. My pack. My people were the current royal pack?
It caught my gaze like a challenge, a promise—to rule, to rise, to carry the legacy of the woman whose life I now inherited, and those who had come before. The throne was just a chair, yes—but it reminded me that true rulers must be born of both strength and grace.
I winced, suddenly self-conscious of my bare feet. Under dressed at my first counsel meeting.
The throne room of my childhood had always been a place of contrasts. Sharp stone met soft silk. Cold marble beneath feet, and history hanging in the air like incense. A space where rulers were forged and legacy whispered from every wall. A place where destiny waited in the shadows, patient and unyielding.
The only ancient thing that remained was the round council table. Its surface was worn smooth by centuries of touch—by the hands that had shaped the twelve tribes, forged peace, and carved war. Around it sat the council—formidable, timeless. One from each house, the oldest of our kind. Wolves whose bodies had begun to fade, but whose bond with the Moon Goddess had only grown stronger, sometimes gifting them with powers that defied understanding.
Among them, only one bore such a blessing.
Her face was a map of time, each wrinkle an epic carved in flesh. Her eyes crinkled with warmth but shimmered with knowing—knowledge that could bend the world if she chose to use it. Elder MoonChild of the 12th House. I recognized her instantly, even now, from the portrait that still hung in the entryway of our packhouse. Her name would still haunt the halls like a legend in the flesh for a thousand years.
Her once-vibrant red hair was now mostly silver with age. Her hands, though gnarled, rested steady on the table. She held herself with a quiet strength that spoke of an ancient power still coiled beneath her skin. I believed she could still shift into her true form and tear the world apart, if need be.
Beside her sat a man I didn't recognize. Younger than the others, he leaned forward as I entered. His face was all sharp lines and shadow, a battlefield etched in flesh. His eyes were wild, untamed, full of forest and fury. He looked like someone who belonged more to the wilds than these stone halls.
Only he and Elder MoonChild had removed their hoods, a mark of trust under our ancient customs. He had to be the head of the 1st House—the only house to never covet the throne. The impartial judge in our disputes and the healer when things go awry.
The others kept their hoods drawn, and a chill crawled down my spine. Their silence, their cloaked faces—it was a quiet declaration of mistrust. The wounds between our packs had not yet healed at this time. They didn't trust me, the throne, or each other.
"What's happened, Elder MoonChild?" I asked, turning my gaze to her. I nodded once to the man beside her. "Elder Whiteclaw."
Ten other hoods remained drawn. The only thing differentiating them being numbers etched onto the back of each chair. Today they were not in order, like someone had shuffled them, to keep everyone off balance. I couldn't help sparing another glance at Elder MoonChild at that thought. Meeting my eyes she gives me knowing smile back.
"Well?" I prompt, taking my seat on the throne, with my mate, Fen, standing besides me. His reassuring smell of pine trees and cinnamon keeps me grounded. Though I can't see the other elders faces, there's a nervous energy in the room that I can't quite pin down.