"He looked me in the eye, called me unworthy, and walked away. But the moment he rejected me… he cursed us both."
⸻
The full moon loomed above the forest like a watchful eye — cold, silver, and impossibly still. Its glow spilled down through the pine canopy, catching in the smoke curling from the bonfires below. The wind stirred, brushing my cheeks like a whisper of fate, carrying with it the scent of burning cedar and the metallic hint of blood from earlier offerings.
I stood at the edge of the Moon Circle, alone.
My fingers traced the worn hem of my cloak, a threadbare garment handed down through too many seasons. Unlike the other wolves who arrived in groups, laughing and adorned in jewels and finery that reflected their status. I hadn't bothered with jewelry or elaborate braids. What was the point? The thin silver chain around my neck—my mother's only legacy—felt heavy against my collarbone, a reminder of everything I'd lost.
Tonight was the Ceremony — the sacred ritual where each wolf of age would be called forward to meet their mate. For most, it was the night their lives began. For me, it felt like the final nail in a coffin I'd been buried in for years.
The pack had gathered in full force, hundreds of werewolves forming tight circles of kinship and alliance. Firelight danced across their faces, illuminating their excitement. The air hummed with anticipation—this was, after all, the most sacred night of our calendar. The night when the Moon Goddess blessed her children with the greatest gift of all: a mate. A partner. A future.
I'd spent the day alternating between hope and dread, pacing my small cabin until the floorboards creaked in protest. My wolf had been restless, clawing beneath my skin, sensing something momentous approaching. I'd tried to calm her with whispered reassurances, but she knew better. We both did.
"Look," someone muttered nearby, "she actually showed up."
I didn't turn. I knew the voice — Brenna, a she-wolf who loved reminding me I didn't belong. Born to the elite Hunter bloodline, she never missed an opportunity to establish the vast chasm between our stations. Her pack sisters snickered behind cupped hands, but I kept my gaze fixed on the bonfires, pretending the flames fascinated me.
"I'm surprised they even let her participate," another voice added. "It's not like anyone would want to be paired with an omega."
"Maybe they'll match her with one of the loners from the southern territory," a third suggested. "The ones too weak to form their own packs."
I clenched my jaw, forcing my expression to remain neutral even as their barbs found their mark. I'd had years to perfect this mask of indifference. Years of absorbing their casual cruelty without reaction. Showing pain only invited more.
In truth, I couldn't breathe.
My hands trembled under the sleeves of my worn cloak. My heart beat too fast, uneven and frantic, like it was already trying to escape what was coming. The scent of fear—my fear—threatened to seep from my pores, and I knew the stronger wolves could smell it if I didn't control it. Weakness was blood in the water to them.
I wasn't supposed to be here.
Not really.
I was an omega, the lowest rank in the pack. No family, no allies, no status. A healer by blood, but barely trained, rarely used, and often ignored. I'd spent most of my life fading into the background, surviving off scraps and silence.
My parents had died when I was seven—a hunting accident, or so the Alpha had claimed. I'd been raised by the pack's nursemaid until I was old enough to fend for myself, then promptly forgotten. My healing abilities had manifested early, but without proper guidance, they remained unpredictable, sometimes powerful, often unreliable. The pack healer, Elder Marion, had taken me under her wing briefly, but even she kept her distance, as though my lowly status might somehow taint her respected position.
But even omegas got a chance at fate.
Even I was allowed to dream.
Last night, I'd sat by my small window, watching the waxing moon and allowing myself, just for a moment, to imagine a different life. What if my mate was kind? Someone who saw me? Someone who'd want me?
What if I mattered… just once?
The thought was enough to make my stomach twist with both hope and dread.
I caught my reflection in a puddle formed by yesterday's rain. My dark hair hung loose around my shoulders, my only concession to the occasion. My eyes—a shade too golden for a normal wolf—looked back at me, wide and wary. My mother had possessed the same unusual eyes, I'd been told. A trait of our bloodline, now nearly extinct.
"Is that what you're wearing?" Brenna's voice cut through my thoughts. She'd edged closer, her pack sisters flanking her. Her gown was a deep emerald that matched her eyes, adorned with silver thread that caught the moonlight. "I suppose it doesn't matter. No need to dress up when no one's waiting for you."
I kept my gaze forward. "The Goddess sees beyond clothing," I said quietly.
Brenna's laughter was sharp. "Keep telling yourself that, omega. The Goddess favors the strong."
Before I could respond, the ceremonial drums began. Their deep, primal rhythm pulsed through the gathering, silencing all conversation. The beat matched my heartrate, thudding against my ribcage like a prisoner demanding release.
Every muscle in my body tensed, fight-or-flight instincts screaming at me to run. To slip away into the darkness of the forest and never return. What was the point of enduring this humiliation? Of standing before the entire pack only to be dismissed or, worse, paired with someone who would resent me for the rest of our lives?
My wolf growled in disagreement. *We stay. We face this. We are not cowards.*
A sudden hush fell over the crowd as the Elders stepped into the circle, their long robes catching the wind. Seven of them, one for each of the original pack bloodlines, formed a semicircle around the central fire. Elder Thorne, the oldest among them, raised a staff carved with lunar symbols. The firelight danced along its polished surface, illuminating the ancient runes that chronicled our history.
"Under the blessed eye of the Moon Goddess," she intoned, her voice carrying across the clearing despite her age, "we gather to witness the sacred bonding. Tonight, She reveals Her will. Tonight, She blesses our pack with continued strength through the union of souls."
The crowd murmured their response, a reverent chorus of "Blessed be Her will."
I mouthed the words, but they felt hollow on my tongue. How many ceremonies had I attended as an observer? How many times had I watched other wolves find their mates, their futures, their happiness—all while knowing my own turn might never come?
The ceremony proceeded with practiced precision. One by one, wolves were called forward. Some found their mates immediately, the recognition instantaneous and electric. Others discovered their destined partners were from neighboring packs, alliances formed through divine matchmaking. The crowd cheered for each successful pairing, howls of approval rising to the night sky.
I watched, trying to ignore the growing knot in my stomach. Each completed match brought my own turn closer. Or perhaps they would skip me entirely. Perhaps I would stand at the edge of the circle all night, waiting for a name that would never be called.
"Bring forward the next wolf," Elder Thorne announced, consulting the ancient scroll in her hands. She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she read the name. "Evelyn Hart."
A thousand eyes turned to me.
The sudden attention was like a physical blow. Whispers erupted immediately, a wave of disbelief washing through the gathering.
I swallowed hard, forcing my legs to move as I stepped forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, like the forest itself was trying to pull me back. The moment my foot crossed the border of the circle, everything changed.
The scent of the bonfires sharpened. The air grew dense. My skin tingled.
I was inside the ritual space now — where the magic of the Goddess flowed stronger than anywhere else in the world. My fingers itched. My heart pounded louder.
The magic of the circle was undeniable, even to someone as untrained as me. It pulsed beneath my feet, vibrating through the earth and into my bones. Ancient power, older than any wolf present, recognizing me as one of its children despite my rank. My healer's intuition, normally dormant unless actively called upon, flared to life. I could sense the energy patterns swirling around me, could almost see the threads of fate weaving themselves into existence.
*Please…* I thought desperately. *Just let it be someone.*
*Someone who won't reject me.*
*Someone who might, in time, learn to accept me.*
I didn't dare hope for love. Love was a luxury reserved for higher ranks, for wolves with something to offer. All I wanted was acceptance. A place to belong. A reason to exist beyond mere survival.
The crowd stood in near silence as I reached the center of the stone clearing. My breath caught in my throat, the pressure in my chest unbearable. I could feel my wolf stirring beneath my skin, alert. Restless.
*It's happening,* she whispered. *He's here…*
A scent hit me like a lightning strike.
Smoke. Pine. Steel. Moonlight.
The combination struck something primal within me. My pupils dilated. My skin flushed with sudden heat. My wolf surged forward so powerfully I nearly shifted right there in the circle.
My head snapped up, my knees going weak.
And there he stood — tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a black cloak with silver embroidery at the collar. His presence radiated danger. Power. Control. His dark hair was tousled by the breeze, and his eyes…
His eyes were like winter storms — cold, cutting, impossible to escape.
Alpha Kael Blackthorn.
The ruler of our pack. The most powerful wolf for a hundred miles. A man whose name was whispered with reverence and fear in equal measure.
A man who had never, not once in all my years in the pack, so much as looked in my direction.
The entire clearing seemed to shrink around us as our eyes locked. A spark surged in my chest, bright and blinding. The world fell away. My wolf roared.
*Mate.*