The fire in Kael's fireplace had reduced to ash hours prior, but he'd not yet arisen to stoke it.
He sat alone in the darkness, shirt lying on the floor, chest damp with sweat. The bond between him and Selene still lingered beneath his skin—frayed now, an exposed nerve that hurt in the air. He couldn't sleep at night without shutting his eyes and seeing her in the forest. Not Luna, sobbing and trembling as he remembered, but the storm-weathered woman who stared him dead in the face and told him he meant nothing to her any longer.
She hadn't been joking.
Kael clenched his teeth, running a hand through his hair. He had lived through wars, watched friends die at his feet, and made choices that mattered in lives. But this—this—was the one mistake he couldn't fight out.
The door creaked quietly behind him, and then the hesitant, aware step of Rowan.
"Still awake?" the Beta whispered.
Kael didn't reply.
Rowan strode into the room and hesitated by the firepit. He studied the cold ash, then the Alpha. "Rest now. The council will meet in the morning."
"I may withhold my presence."
Rowan's brow raised. "They will notice."
"Let them notice."
Quiet. Then: "She rejected you, did she not?"
Kael didn't respond.
Rowan let a breath escape. "I warned you she could."
Kael's head jerked back up, eyes flashing. "You think I do not know what I did?"
No," Rowan told him. "I think you still don't know what you didn't do."
Kael rose to his feet, muscles tense. "I trusted the Council. I trusted the evidence. I didn't see the whole picture."
"You didn't look," Rowan said quietly.
That hurt more than it ought to have.
Kael swung away, fists clenching. "You think I don't torment myself every day over that? I saw her die, Rowan. I heard her scream.".
"And still you signed the report." Rowan's voice did not rise, but it was steel-wrapped in velvet.
"You didn't even question why no trial was held. Why the Moon Priestess wasn't present? You just accepted it."
Kael swallowed. He remembered that day with sickening clarity—the uproar, the pressure, the rumors. The Elders had said she was cursed. That she had turned. That her bond had grown unstable.
He hadn't fought. He hadn't struggled. He'd faltered.
And they'd brought her to the clearing before him.
"I was defending the pack," Kael whispered.
"You were defending your reputation," Rowan said. "And you lost both."
Kael dropped back into the chair, his head in his hands. "She said I let them kill her."
Rowan didn't speak for a long time. Then, quietly: "Didn't you?"
Silence again.
Kael sensed the truth bearing down on him as if a knife was pressed beneath his ribcage.
The worst part?
He still had no idea whether he deserved to be forgiven. Whether he was worthy of the bond. He didn't even know whether he was worthy of the connection.
And yet. It still drew him in. Still simmered.
"She's different," he said at last. "Cold. Cleverer."
"She was always clever. You simply liked her when she kept silent."
Kael scowled at him.
Rowan returned it to him, in equal balance. "If you want her again, Kael, it won't be with flowers and regrets. You'd have to become someone she would choose. Not someone who hopes to be chosen."
Kael stared into the firepit, at cold ashes that would not ignite.
"I don't know if I can."
"Then let her go," Rowan said, turning to leave. "Before you burn her down again."
The door closed softly behind him.
And Kael sat alone—Alpha of a pack, master of nothing.
The Crimson Moon fortress was carved out of the belly of a Blackstone cliff, towering above the valley like an ever-watchful god. Inside, firelight flickered off crimson banners, and weapons were suspended like trophies from the walls.
Caden Blackwood leaned against the end of a magnificent obsidian table, fingers interlocked, eyes fixed on a map pinned with minuscule silver pins. His wolves stood in the back—quiet, in waiting. None of them talked unless addressed. None but one.
"You're quiet," a crisp, female voice said. Out of the corner of the room came a woman dressed in dark blue—Maris, his advisor and so-called blood sister. Her eyes were tilted, calculating, and as lethal as his. "You didn't get what you wanted, did you?"
Caden did not raise his head. "No. She said no."
Maris arched an eyebrow. "And you let her walk away?"
He smiled lazily. "Did I?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You're playing a long game."
"I always am."
Caden finally stood, rolling his shoulders. The air shifted. Even his wolves leaned back as his energy filled the room—calm, cold, commanding.
"She's not like the others," he said, moving toward the fire. "She doesn't crave protection. She craves control. That's the difference."
"Then why approach her like she needed saving?"
"To find out if she'd spit it back at me." He whirled, eyes appearing slightly red under the dim lighting. "And she did. Which means she's worth playing for."
Maris tilted her head. "Do you plan on claiming her?"
Caden didn't answer at first.
"She's Kael's destined mate," Maris interrupted, looking at him cautiously. "That bond does not break just because she hates him. You know what it did to his father when the bond was broken."
Caden's expression darkened. "Kael doesn't deserve her. He had her loyalty and lost it as if it was nothing to him."
"And you're not going to use her for the same reason?"
"No," Caden declared. "I'm going to give her something real. Power. Voice. Legacy.".
"She might bite off your hand trying to take it."
"I hope she does."
Maris stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "And what if she doesn't bite? What if she never comes willingly?"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Then I'll change the game."
He turned back to the table, flicking one of the silver tokens across the map. It struck the edge of Kael's territory and rolled off.
"Soon," Caden said. "She'll see what Kael is. What the Council is. And she'll come to me—whether she wants to or not."
Maris studied him. "And if she doesn't?"
He smiled again, colder this time.
"Then I'll take her anyway."
That night, Selene slept not at all but slumped.
Into blankness. Into trance.
And into the light.
She was standing in a sea of infinite silver, stars whirling above, time stilled. In front of her, the Moon Goddess reappeared—radiant, motionless, face unreadable.
"You've begun," the goddess said. "And already, the pieces move quicker than you can follow."
"I didn't bring their notice," Selene said. "I didn't bring any of this."
"No," the goddess agreed. "But power never walks unseen."
She moved closer. "Kael burns. Caden waits. And something very old awakens in the bones of your pack."
Selene raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You are not the only reborn."
Silence.
And then: "Free will is a flame, child. Brilliant. And all-consuming."
The goddess vanished before Selene could demand more.
But her voice remained, burning deep within Selene's bones.
Selene awoke with a gasp.
In the distance, a howl rose—long, low, and unfamiliar.
Not Kael's.
Not Caden's.
Something else had joined the game.
And it was hungry.