After my father’s moon-mending ritual, the Senior Bone-Mender told me that although the procedure had technically succeeded, the delay had weakened the bone’s lunar fusion. There would be lasting consequences.
My legs buckled and I collapsed onto the cold stone floor of the healer-sanctum. Tears poured down my face, unstoppable.
If Alpha Draven hadn’t commanded the entire Bone-Mender Circle to tend to Myrielle’s twisted ankle, my father wouldn’t have suffered like this.
When my sobs finally quieted, I sensed another presence in the stone passageway.
Calder—true heir of the Blackspire Pack, the Alpha-born son. My former neighbor.
He had always been aloof. As pups, every time I tried to approach him, he pushed me away. Even after he returned from warrior training at the Capital Moonscourt, he stayed distant. We were never close.
Now, his expression remained unreadable, but he extended a clean handkerchief without a word.
I blinked, dazed, before accepting it.
“I know you swore to my mother that you would sever your bond with Draven,” he said calmly. “But understand this—leaving him without endangering your pack won’t be simple.”
My fingers tightened around the cloth, but my voice held steady. “I know. But I’m still leaving.”
Calder’s dark wolf-eyes lingered on me for a long moment before he spoke again. “If you’ve truly decided, I can assist you. Dissolving the mate-mark, relocating your kin to another territory—even a new life beyond the borders. I can arrange all of it.”
My heartbeat stuttered. My throat tightened. I wanted to ask why he would help me, but I feared the question would make the fragile offer vanish. So I simply nodded.
He paused, then said casually, almost lazily, “When the time comes, all I’ll need in return… is Draven’s weakness.”
He turned and strode away. I clutched the handkerchief, the pain inside me slowly crystallizing into numbness.
The Blackspire Pack—once you entered, escaping was harder than getting in.
When Draven and I had just come of age, he had dragged me—almost desperately—to the Pack Bonding Shrine.
“Lunessa, I’m too weak right now,” he had whispered, eyes red, arms trembling as he held me close. “If we bind early, I can protect you. I swear I’ll give you a real mating ceremony later—grand and radiant—so no one dares disrespect you.”
I believed him. I never imagined that “later” would never come, that the ceremony he promised was never even planned.
And once the mate-mark was etched, escaping became almost impossible.
Leaving Draven wasn’t just ending a bond—it meant breaking the web of power and pack politics ensnaring me.
If I sought separation, the Elder Alpha would rage. Draven himself would never release me—unless I walked away with nothing and he willingly signed the unbinding rites.
But why should I leave with nothing?
I was the one who saved his life when he was bleeding out under the Blood Moon. I was the one who gave up my scholarship at Moonscourt Academy to remain by his side.
Why should the one to walk away empty-handed… be me?
Still, I knew Draven. He couldn’t distinguish love from guilt—he was addicted to repaying kindness.
Thankfully, Calder had promised to handle the rituals and parchments. All I needed was Draven’s alpha mark.
That night, I returned home with a basket of ingredients to brew moon-herb broth for my father.
The moment the broth finished simmering, I heard footsteps.
Draven entered—carrying Myrielle in his arms.
Her ankle was wrapped in glowing lunar gauze. She leaned into him, pale and delicate, as though the slightest breeze could shatter her.
“Lunessa, you’re home?” Draven frowned, worry flashing through his eyes. “You’re still not fully healed. You should be resting in the healer-sanctum. Let the house maid handle the cooking.”
I met his gaze evenly. “You sent all the maids to Myrielle’s manor to make her moon-desserts. Remember?”
It had been an offhand remark—Myrielle claiming she preferred my maid’s food over hers. The next day, Draven sent every maid we had to her estate, leaving me feverish, cooking alone.
He froze, realization flickering in his eyes. His expression tightened before he smoothly shifted the subject.
“Regardless… Myrielle didn’t want to remain in the healer-sanctum. She’ll stay here for a few days—until her injury recovers.”
“Do as you wish,” I whispered, turning back to the simmering pot. I refused to dwell on why Myrielle had abandoned her mansion full of servants just to be coddled by him.
My words made him stiffen. His brows pinched and he kept watching me, as though trying to decode what had changed.
Then Myrielle’s voice—soft as dew—broke the silence.
“Draven… I’m a little hungry. Lunessa’s broth smells wonderful. Do you think… I might have a taste?”
He immediately turned. “Lunessa, serve her a bowl. She ensured the healers tended to your father today. She wanted to make amends.”
Make amends?
The very wolf who delayed his ritual until he nearly ended up lame—now wanted to “make amends for it” by sipping my broth?
But refusing her would endanger my father.
So I lowered my head and ladled the broth.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Myrielle murmured, feigning distress. “This must be for Elder Silverhaze. I’ve caused so many troubles—I shouldn’t take a drop…”
“It’s fine,” Draven said quickly, soothing. “Lunessa doesn’t blame you. Right, Lunessa?”
His sharp gaze pinned me like a command.
My throat closed. No words came out.
Seeing my silence, Myrielle’s eyes gleamed with victory. She stepped forward, pretending to reach for the bowl.
“Lunessa, you’re so kind,” she cooed. “Draven and I grew up together. You’re his mate—I truly hope we can get along.”
Her hand brushed mine—soft, fragile.
Then, hidden from Draven’s line of sight, she pressed my wrist onto the scorching rim of the moon-forged pot.
“Ah—!” White-hot agony shot up my arm. My knees almost gave way.
“What happened?!” Draven rushed toward us.
In that split second, Myrielle released me—and knocked the bowl over.
Scalding broth splashed across my arms and chest. I screamed. A few drops hit her skin, leaving tiny red marks.
“Ah!” she cried dramatically, collapsing into his arms. “Draven, I only wanted to apologize… but Lunessa grew angry—she said she’d rather spill the broth than let me taste it! If I hadn’t moved, I would’ve been burned much worse…”
She showed him her faintly reddened skin, trembling like a frightened pup.
Draven’s face hardened.
“It wasn’t me!” I cried, showing my blistered hand. “She grabbed me—she pushed my hand onto the pot!”
But he didn’t even look.
“Lunessa,” he said coldly, “how could you be so vicious? Do you understand how important her hands are? Are you trying to ruin Myrielle’s healer training?”
“Draven!” I choked, tears blurring my vision. “Look at me! I’m the one burned—far worse than she is! Why won’t you believe me?!”
His glare turned sharp with disgust. “If she hadn’t dodged, she’d be the one burned. How could you stoop so low? It’s sickening.”
His words struck harder than any blow.
He turned away and cradled Myrielle protectively. “Don’t fear. I’ll take you back to the healer-sanctum.”
As I watched them, something inside me tore open.
Then Draven barked an order that shattered whatever strength I had left.
“Someone lock Lunessa in the cold cavern. Let her reflect on her behavior.”
The breath left my lungs.
He knew—he knew I feared the cold. He knew the cavern was kept eighteen degrees below freezing by lunar crystals.
And yet, he still chose to cast me into it.
So this was his love—the love he once swore would protect me.
