Alpha Remus lingered last. His gaze lifted up the slope where a lone figure stood against the rain, small and unmoving before Yuna’s tomb. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
“Let’s go,” he muttered finally.
The Moonvale cars sped away through the storm. The world fell silent, save for the pounding rain and one heartbeat-Aysel’s.
She stood before the tombstone, staring at her grandmother’s serene smile etched in stone. The rain stung her skin, cold as judgment.
“Is this my punishment?” she whispered hoarsely. “But Grandmother… you were theirs too. Why?”
Her voice broke. “If I give you my life, will it make it right?”
Her body shivered violently, heat and chill warring beneath her skin. Her wolf keened somewhere deep within, lost, unanchored-adrift like a leaf on dark water. She swayed, vision swimming, and at last her knees buckled.
Before she could fall, a shadow moved-a large black umbrella unfolding above her, a strong arm catching her as she collapsed.
The scent hit her first: smoke, storm, and Alpha dominance.
“Easy,” his voice murmured, deep and steady as thunder. “Aysel Vale. You’re safe. You’re coming home.”
Rain slicked the sharp lines of his face, softening the usual edge of his power. In the reflection of his silver eyes, the moon burned like fire through the storm clouds. Aysel’s lashes fluttered once before she went still, surrendering to the warmth of his hold.
Third Person’s POV
At the Blackwood Pack.
Damon had been restless since dawn. His wolf had sensed something wrong long before his mind caught up-an ache that pulsed beneath his skin, raw and wild, like a storm trapped inside his chest. He had paced the marble floors of the Alpha’s hall for nearly an hour, claws threatening to breach, before he finally gave in.
He snatched his car keys from the counter and strode toward the door. Even if Aysel had tried to anger him the last time they met-leading her neighbors to nearly hand him to the human enforcers-today of all days, he couldn’t stay away. No matter what had come between them, she shouldn’t be alone. Not on this day.
Just as he reached the threshold, a thought struck him. He turned back, crossed to his study, and opened the drawer. Inside lay a small box wrapped in dark velvet. Within it-a pendant of silver and moonstone, shaped like a fang-his gift for her.
For years, since the death of Luna Yuna Ward, the Moonvale wolves had forbidden mention of Aysel’s birthday. It fell on the same night the Luna was lost, and mourning had devoured celebration. But Damon had never obeyed such silence. Every year, he had found a way to steal Aysel out under the moonlight-to make her laugh, to remind her she was alive.
The last two years he had failed her. Because of Celestine. Because duty had kept him chained elsewhere.
This year, he swore he wouldn’t fail again.
But the moment he reached the entryway, his mother appeared-Lady Blackwood, regal as frost and twice as sharp. She blocked his path, eyes like pale silver blades. “Where are you going in this weather?”
“Out,” he said, voice clipped, wolf pacing beneath the words.
“Your grandfather’s lunar day is soon. You promised to help me choose his offerings.”
“Later, Mother.” His eyes glowed faintly gold.
“Not now.”
Her tone cut through the air. “What business could be so urgent? The Moonvale wolves are holding a burial. You have no right to intrude.”
He bared his teeth, frustration rising. “Don’t I? Do you even remember what day it is for Aysel?”
Lady Blackwood’s expression hardened. “And what will Celestine think if she hears of this? You running to her rival’s side again?”
“I don’t care what Celestine thinks.”
“You should,” she replied, voice cool, ancient. “When the two of them clash-and they will-whose side will you take?”
His answer came without pause. “Aysel’s.”
The silence that followed was heavier than thunder. Lady Blackwood regarded him for a long moment, then sighed. “You’re too much like your father. Fine. Go if you must-but remember this: if you go too soon, you’ll only fan the fire. Let her fall first… then be the one to catch her.”
Her words stung, but he said nothing. By the time he finally left, two hours had passed-two hours that would soon weigh on him like a curse.
The drive to the Moonvale cemetery was long, the rain endless. Lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the dark forest that guarded the burial grounds. The roads were slick and nearly deserted; even the lesser wolves kept to shelter. Damon’s wolf pressed close beneath his skin, restless, growling, urging him faster.
He called Fenrir Vale on the way, his voice already edged with dread.
“What?” Damon’s tone was sharp enough to cut steel. “You left her alone there? In this storm?”
Fenrir’s voice was low, weary. “She struck Celestine in front of Luna Evelyn. What could I do? She refused to come back.”
Damon barely heard the rest. His claws flexed against the steering wheel. “You know that place is isolated! No shelter, no taxis-she’s alone out there!”
Fenrir hesitated, guilt creeping into his tone. “She might’ve caught a chill. I’ll send someone from our house to check-“
“No need,” Damon snapped. “I’ll find her myself.”
He hung up and slammed his foot on the pedal. The forest blurred past, the scent of rain and earth thick in the air. His wolf snarled inside him, fierce and anxious. Too long. You waited too long.
When he finally reached the cemetery gates, the world was gray and drowning. The scent of lilies and wet stone filled the air. As he stepped out of the car, his senses sharpened-ears twitching to every distant rustle, eyes glowing in the stormlight.
Then he saw them.
A tall male figure was descending the mountain path, carrying a limp woman in his arms. Rain streaked across the man’s dark coat as he opened the door of a black Rolls-Royce and set her inside. The woman’s face was hidden-half-buried against his chest, the hood of his coat shielding her completely from view.
Still, as the wind shifted, a trace of scent drifted toward Damon-wild moonlight tangled with crushed white roses. It struck something deep and wordless inside him.
He couldn’t place it, but his wolf stirred restlessly beneath his skin, claws flexing in silence.
By the time he drew another breath, the car was already gone, swallowed by rain and mist.
It took him several heartbeats to move. Then, with a snarl building in his throat, he ran-up the muddy hill, past the iron gates, through the sheets of rain that soaked him to the bone. His wolf half-surfaced, claws tearing through the wet soil as he searched for her scent.
But she was gone.
Only the graveyard remained, silent and cold. A wilted bouquet of lilies lay half-buried in the mud-hers. He knelt beside them, rain streaming down his face, chest rising with ragged breaths. The world smelled of loss.
He had waited two hours too long.
Under the storm’s hollow roar, Damon bowed his head. The scent of her lingered like a ghost-sweet, fading, and unbearably familiar.
He and Aysel-two wolves bound by the same cursed moon-were once again a heartbeat too late for each other.
Aysel’s POV
The car’s interior was warm, but my clothes were soaked, clinging to my skin like a second skin. I sat on his lap, Magnus’ scent all around me, a mixture of earthy musk and something darker-dangerous and calming all at once. His arm was around my waist, keeping me close, while he used a towel to gently wipe away the rain that still clung to my face.
“I’ve soaked your car,” I murmured, the words coming out slow, heavy with exhaustion.
He didn’t respond immediately, just continued drying my face with a softness that didn’t match his usual edge. “Mm, so, I’ll punish you next time,” he said, the low growl in his voice vibrating in my chest.
“Punish?” I leaned back into his chest, the scent of wet earth and rain mixing with his. “I thought you were away, overseas?”
I recalled that Magnus wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. Yet, here he was, right beside me.
“Yeah,” Magnus replied, his voice so calm, almost detached, as though the world was a game he always won. “But when I remembered today was important…” He trailed off, eyes hardening slightly as he looked out into the rain-soaked night. “I couldn’t stay away.”
“Important?” I asked, the word a mere hum of curiosity as I nestled deeper into his warmth.
“The future Mrs. Sanchez’s birthday.” His words were laced with an unexpected tenderness, though there was a flicker of something darker behind them.
I felt a pang in my chest at the mention of birthdays. It was a day that held no meaning for anyone else in the world-except for Magnus.
I was lost in the scent of him, the scent of the rain, and the warmth that enveloped me like a blanket. But then, as though I was finally waking from a fog, I noticed something beside me-a large, carefully wrapped cake sat on the seat next to us, the soft pink frosting and elegant design unmistakable.
“Magnus,” I murmured, a touch of disbelief in my voice. “You’re aware they say this is a day that shouldn’t be celebrated, right? It’s a cursed day. They say it’s… unlucky.”
He scoffed, low and filled with dismissive laughter. “Who says that? They’re all idiots. If a day brought you into this world, it’s the most precious day there is.”
His fingers tilted my chin up gently, his eyes locking with mine. I could feel the pressure of his gaze-his dominance wrapped in that quiet, yet firm assurance. “Tell me, my Luna… Does it make you happy, celebrating today?”
I swallowed, a strange sensation rising in my chest. The warmth from his touch, his words, the bond I couldn’t explain… it all wrapped me in a cocoon of safety, and I nodded, though I felt as if my own heartbeat had shifted slightly off track.
He smiled, a slow, predatory smile, and reached up to stroke my hair. His touch was rough, but it carried that same hidden tenderness that always seemed to reach deeper than I wanted it to. “Good. Then that’s all that matters.”
I couldn’t stop the small, tired sigh that escaped me as I let myself relax into his embrace. It felt safe here. It felt like home, even if it wasn’t.
Then something shifted in the air. Magnus had that look again-the calculating one. I tilted my head slightly, catching his sharp, amused smirk. “Are you this good to all your partners, Magnus?”
His hand gently pinched my cheek, and I found myself caught off guard. “I don’t have that many fiancés, Aysel,” he replied with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I blinked slowly, something stirring in my gut. Fiancé. Was this really all just about an agreement, a contract, a match of convenience? The thought left me cold, but then again… I had come to terms with this arrangement long ago.
Still, something about it didn’t sit right with me. I forced myself to breathe deeper, to ignore the gnawing feeling in my chest, and instead, I leaned further into him, relishing the heat that radiated off his body.
Magnus didn’t notice my shift in mood-he was already focused on something else, a glint of something unspoken passing through his eyes as he glanced at the cake. Then he looked at me, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been quiet… What’s on your mind?”
I hesitated, staring at the cake. “Shouldn’t you be worried about how… Celestine might feel?” The question hung in the air, biting at the edges of my consciousness.
Magnus’ chuckle was dark, a low rumble that reverberated through his chest and settled in my stomach. “Celestine? She can think whatever she likes. I’m here with you.” His hand moved from my face to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my damp hair, and his voice dropped to a low, possessive tone. “I’m not going anywhere.”
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