They called him the Moonless.
Cursed Alpha.
The wolf who couldn't shift.
A freaking ghost.
Liora Vale? Yeah, she didn't buy into ghost stories. Monsters, though? Oh, she believed in those. Hard not to, after what she'd seen.
She was eight—just a scrawny kid, hiding under her mother's cloak, soaked in blood, watching her whole damn world burn. And there he was. Strolling through fire like he was death come to collect. Gold eyes, jaws snapping, claws ripping through her dad like he was nothing but tissue paper. Nobody dared say his name after that night, but Liora couldn't scrub the image from her mind, no matter how hard she tried.
Kael Draven. That's what folks whispered. Alpha King gone off the rails.
After the massacre, he pulled a vanishing act. The Council swooped in, took over. They handed Liora a new name, a new story, a shiny little dagger, and a job to do.
"Track him. Kill him. End the bloodline," Commander Thorne had grunted, shoving the dagger—silver blade gleaming—into her fist two weeks back.
So here she was, following the sour scent of old ash and something nastier, all the way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The stories said the Moonless prowled here. Maybe he did. Maybe he was just another ghost.
The trees here? Black as sin, chewing up the moonlight until everything looked swallowed. She crouched in the weeds, sniffing the air for any hint of him. Anything to prove the rumors weren't just campfire crap.
Nada.
Not a single bird. Not a squirrel. Not even a breeze. Just a silence so thick it pressed on her skull, mixed with the stench of rot and old, sick wood.
Her hand tightened on the dagger. Good metal, this one—silver and steel, blessed under the hunter's moon. Meant for monsters.
Her heart thudded—once, twice, picking up speed as she crept past the first tree. Everything changed in a blink.
Cold slapped her skin. Her breath turned to fog. The grass under her boots withered as she moved, leaving a trail of death behind. The forest didn't want her here. Felt like it was watching. Judging.
Stay sharp, she told herself.
She'd trained for this since forever. Blindfolded, she could still fight. She could track a mouse through a thunderstorm. She could kill before most wolves even knew she was there.
But this place? Nah, something was off. The longer she stood there, the heavier her limbs got—like the forest was slowly dragging her under, one inch at a time.
Then—there.
A noise behind her. Not really a step. More like a shift, or maybe a breath? She spun around, ready.
Nothing.
Her pulse jackhammered. Instinct screamed run, but her brain held her ground.
And then—
"Liora."
Her name. Whispered—almost a warning.
She dropped low, blade up. The voice didn't come from behind. It was in the woods, deep in the dark she couldn't see through.
"Who's there?" Steady. She kept her tone even.
No answer.
She edged back. Mist curled around her boots, sticky and cold.
Another step. The fog climbed higher.
And then—bam—chaos. Out of nowhere, something slammed into her, all claws and muscle, sending her flying. She crashed into a tree, back cracking, dagger spinning off into the brush.
Her ribs lit up with pain. She sucked in a breath and looked up.
He was already on her.
Pinning her.
Kael Draven.
Yeah, she knew him. Didn't matter that he looked nothing like the demon from her nightmares. He was taller, broader, jaw shadowed with scruff, hair dark as midnight. Should've been a king, not a monster.
But those eyes—hot gold, burning like wildfire, wild and ancient and hungry.
And his scent—earth after rain, pine smoke, and something—wolf. Something darker.
"You shouldn't be here," he growled, voice rough as gravel. He pinned her wrists, leaned in, eyes searching her face like he was looking for a secret only she had.
His skin? Way too hot.
And then—lightning. Not real lightning, but it tore through her anyway.
Her body jerked. Heart hammered. Her wolf—silent for years, locked away by old scars—woke up.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
She hadn't felt her wolf in ages. Trauma does that. Turns you into a ghost yourself.
Until now.
Until him.
Kael's gaze narrowed. Something flickered—recognition? Shock?
She bit off a gasp, tried to knee him, but he was faster. He blocked her, trapping her. Too damn strong.
"You're..." His voice trailed off. Like he couldn't finish the thought.
"Get off me," she spat.
He didn't budge.
His weight, his heat—overwhelming. Her wolf clawed to the surface, desperate to get out, to meet him, recognize him, something primal and stupid and wild.
He felt it too. She could see it in his eyes.
"Who sent you?" he rasped.
She stared him down. Didn't answer.
Instead, she spat in his face.
For a second, he just stared at her.
Then he wiped it away. Let her go.
She dropped to her knees, lungs burning, dirt under her nails as she scrambled for her dagger. He didn't move. Just stood there, watching.
"You're the Council's hunter," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
No going back now.
"Oh, so you're the cursed Alpha?" She scoffed, springing up, blade flashing. "Guess I should just end you here, huh?"
He barely flinched. "But you won't."
She squeezed the hilt, knuckles white. "Wanna bet?"
His mouth twitched, almost like a grin. "If you were gonna do it, you'd have already."
She breathed in, shaky. Damn him.
"Why'd you say my name?" Her voice dropped, small now.
No answer.
Just one step closer from him.
She snapped the blade up, warning.
He stopped, hands loose at his sides. "I knew you'd show."
"Yeah? You psychic now?"
Kael just glanced up at the moon, all brooding. "The curse told me."
Her brow creased. "What curse?"
He met her gaze, and there was something wild in his eyes. "The one wrapped around my wolf. The one that wrecked everything. It whispered your name in my dreams two nights ago—right before the wind shifted and I caught your scent."
A cold tremor ran down her back.
"You're out of your damn mind," she muttered.
That smile—sharp, crooked, not friendly at all. "Maybe. Or maybe you're not just here by chance, hunter. Maybe the gods have a sick sense of humor, sending my mate to finish me off."
Mate.
That word just sucker-punched her. Right in the ribs.
No way. Not possible.
Her whole body screamed against it. She was here to settle a score, not—whatever this was.
Except—
Her wolf was awake, prowling, practically purring. Traitor.
"No," she spat, stumbling back. "You're wrong. This is just some sick game."
He looked at her, dead calm. "You know you feel it."
"I don't feel a damn thing."
Liar. She felt everything. Heat, the pull, some weird ache she'd never known, something thrumming inside her, louder than her heartbeat.
His face hardened. "Go on, then. Try to forget. You won't. You'll be back. They always come back."
She snapped, "Who?"
His voice was just a breath. "Fated ones."
He turned, melted into the trees, gone before she could blink.
She stood there, blade still up like an idiot, heart pounding.
Silence crashed in.
The forest waited, holding its breath.
And Liora realized—yeah, her whole life just split clean down the middle.
Before Kael.
After.