They bound her wrists in silver and called it a blessing.
They dressed her in white.
White, like innocence. White, like surrender. White, like bone.
The fabric clung to her skin, thin as mist and nearly as cold. Despite the freezing temperature, her pale skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat.
Across her chest and hips, red silk ribbons were knotted in ritual patterns and embroidered with symbols she couldn't read… but she knew their meaning. Everyone within the packs did.
The Bride of the Mountain.
…A bride that was not a bride at all.
Her pseudo-packmates did not meet her eyes as they bound her wrists in ceremonial cords—woven silver and strands of wolf hair soaked in wolfsbane.
Then, as the final mockery of a rite meant only for Lunas and Alpha brides, a crown of thorns and black feathers rested crookedly on her head.
No one spoke her name. Very few even knew she had a name. Only whispers of "curse," "witch," or "too dangerous to keep."
No one looked at her. Not even the ones whose wounds she had healed or whose children she saved. They walked ahead of her, not beside her… because they were not mourning. They were celebrating.
For themselves.
Because to them, she wasn't a girl. She wasn't even cursed—she was the curse.
It hadn't always been this way; there were whispers long before the accusations.
Solenne hadn't spoken a word since she was four—but people claimed they heard voices when she looked at them too long or experienced strange dreams after crossing her path.
Unfortunately, one of those voices spoke loud enough to turn baseless fear into law.
A respected elder, a man with chronic illness who once denied her healing, swore she was a witch. He spread the word that she stole voices and that her silence was the mark of a curse.
The Thornehowl Pack, whose lands she resided on, felt she was a stain on their reputation.
She had no mate, and she had no family left to shield her after her mother passed when she was fifteen. And, although her spirit bore the unmistakable ache of the wolf, no Alpha had ever called her one of their own, leaving her practically pack-less.
In a world ruled by the howl and the bond, there was no place for someone like her. Not when the Alpha Court turned their eyes away, and Pack Law had no rules for a girl who did not speak.
Then, when Solenne was twenty-two, there came a drought, which was followed by famine. It affected big and small packs, with thousands of wolves falling ill and starving.
Rivers dried. Crops failed. Prey vanished. The spiritual rituals of the Alpha Court yielded nothing… so the Elders decided a blood price must be paid.
Which is when they remembered Solenne—the cursed one. Whose dark, sorrowful tale was whispered across the eastern packlands. They whispered about the blood moon that she was born under…
And they spoke of "offering her to the mountain."
It was a false bonding ritual to offer her as a mate to the long-dead, feared Alpha King.
It would be a mercy, they said.
…But no sacrifice sent to the mountain had ever proven successful.
It was just a convenient sacrifice—a chance to rid themselves of a girl who had always been more of a burden than she was worth.
A weak she-wolf who never truly belonged.
And so, under orders from the Alpha Court, the Thornehowl Pack took her to the mountain alongside a few elders to help assist in the ritual.
The path to the altar was lit with oil lanterns. Shadows flickered as she walked barefoot through the snowy forest trail, her toes numb and turning blue with frostbite.
She was escorted by cloaked elders in bone masks and followed by a handful of pack members.
One of the masked elders—the High Voice—spoke above the rest.
"Under the eye of the moon, we return her. Flesh to flesh. Blood to blood. She will join with the Alpha Beyond."
'Lies.' Solenne thought bitterly.
They led her to the altar within a large enclave on the side of the mountain. The slab was made of obsidian and veined with crimson… beckoning her.
'This is where my life ends.'
Fear engulfed her body, but she couldn't reverse time. She shook off the shiver that ran down her spine and took a deep breath.
So be it if her fate was to die in a useless sacrifice.
'I could kill them all with one word,' she reminded herself with a dark amusement. 'Yet here I am, letting them leave me to die instead.'
At least she could face the Moon Goddess in the afterlife without regrets, knowing she didn't kill a bunch of innocent, albeit misguided, people… she need only stand before judgment with one life on her hands.
The High Voice ushered her to lie down on the slab, and she followed without resistance.
The stone pulsed like a heartbeat the moment her skin touched it.
Solenne froze.
Something… someone was listening.
She could feel it in her bones, the unignorable sensation of being observed from the shadows.
The High Voice raised his hands. "We offer her freely, by law and blood. Let her silence echo into the mountain and bind the curse anew."
Two more masked figures approached, bearing an ancient, silver dagger edged with old runes that shimmered in the dim light of their oil lamps.
Solenne didn't flinch as they bared her shoulder.
She didn't even move when the blade kissed her skin.
But her magic did. It recoiled inside her body, shooting pain from the top of her head, down to her toes. Sparks danced under her ribs, and her heart stuttered.
'No.'
She felt the altar shift beneath her. A sound echoed through the ground… but the elders didn't react. It was as if she was the only one who heard it.
The High Voice increased his applied pressure, and the blade pierced deeper. Solenne's blood ran in thin streams, soaking into the altar's grooves, tracing old paths.
"Let the false bond seal the gate. Let her womb carry the price."
The final line. The lie that turned the ritual into a desecration. A forced mimicry of the sacred mating rite.
Then the High Voice leaned down, pressing a clawed hand over the wound, sending another bolt of twisted agony through her body.
"She is his now. Let the mountain claim its bride."
…And as quickly as they had come, the elders and Thornehowl Pack members left the scene.
She was left to bleed out, which would complete the ceremony.
There was no apology; none of them even turned back to look at her. She listened as the crunch of their footsteps in the snow faded into the night.
Snowflakes drifted through the broken ceiling, landing on her lashes as she stared at what she could see of the empty, clouded sky. She flexed her fingers once against the chains.
Not to escape, just… to feel something that was still hers.
Blood and time were lost into the night. Darkness started to envelop her vision as she bled out when something drew her back to her body. The wind howled once, long and mournful.
Then silence… a deep, lonely silence that weighed on her chest.
The altar pulsed with energy, and the stone cracked, slow and seismic beneath her. A dull thud echoed from beneath. Then another.
Solenne held her breath, struggling to maintain consciousness as warm red oozed from the wound on her neck.
And then rubble flew everywhere, exploding against the cave walls as a hand burst through the stone.
Not cold. Not lifeless. Pale, but strong.
Large fingers splayed against the altar she lay upon, its veins pulsing with faint golden-red light. The runes around the stone ignited in flame, brightening the area and raising the temperature.
Solenne fought the encroaching darkness encircling her mind as she scooted herself off the obsidian slab and away from the emerging figure. She scrambled back, barefoot and breathless, as the altar split down the middle, the stone groaning loudly.
…And then he rose.
Tall. Broad. Frightening.
His skin looked like it was carved from ash and starlight, lined with glowing runes. His waist-length silvery hair clung to his shoulders, tangled and damp with grave dust.
And his eyes—golden, molten, furious—locked onto hers.
He was beautiful, even covered in rubble and half-dead. Covered in ancient wounds that had yet to heal and scars that told stories older than the mountain... he was breath-taking and frightening all at once.
The large man staggered forward, and the runes on his body flared brighter. His breath was loud and ragged.
"Where is she?" he rasped.
Solenne didn't move from her place in the corner of the cave. She eyed him distrustfully, certain that he would be her demise.
His gaze sharpened. "Mate."
He closed the distance between them and reached for her, slow and unsure. His calloused fingers brushed the freshly burned false bond mark seared onto her chest, making her wince.
The mark ignited in reaction to his touch.
Solenne gasped, and her knees gave out. The world tilted… and the Hollow King—the first Alpha King—looked down at her, his eyes wide with confusion and rage.
"You again..." He growled hatefully before collapsing at Solenne's feet.
Solenne fell to her knees, the adrenaline wearing off. She couldn't move anymore, so her only option was to pass out on the cave floor beside this beast.
He was huge, over a foot taller than her, and thrice her weight in pure muscle.
'The Hollow King…' Solenne realized, 'Is not a legend or a myth… he is real.'
'And he has awoken to take me.'
The last thing she felt was the warmth from his body.
A presence beneath the world. A soul half-mad, bound in silence, buried in pain.
…Awake again.
The mountain held its breath as the abyss swallowed Solenne, and she came to terms with the fact that she met something far worse than death that night.