Aveline’s POV
The sala of the Thorndike packhouse smelled faintly of pinewood and lavender polish, the kind of scent that always reminded me of home. I sat cross-legged on the long couch, the cushions swallowing me whole, my phone still warm in my palm. I shouldn’t have opened the damn thing, I told myself again, but curiosity had gotten the better of me.
Alaric.
The screen was littered with his name. Drunk texts, drunk calls, even voicemails I refused to open. His words were messy, half the letters swapped or missing, like he couldn’t even keep his own fingers steady.
“Ali… I’m sorr… I… shoul’ve never… gods, I still…”
I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt. With a sharp exhale, I pulled out the tiny SIM card and stared at it resting in my hand. This little chip was the last thread tying me to him, to everything that almost destroyed me.
“Good riddance,” I muttered under my breath.
I stood, crossed the sala, and tossed the SIM into the trash bin near the hearth. My heart felt lighter instantly, as if I’d just cut off a chain that had been dragging me under. Never again. Not in this lifetime. Alaric Vandolph could drink himself into oblivion for all I cared.
That night, restlessness gnawed at me. My wolf paced inside me, unsettled, agitated. The walls of the packhouse felt too close, too suffocating. So I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and slipped out into the night, my bare feet quiet on the earth as I walked toward the woods.
The moon was high, casting silver light through the pines. Crickets sang their endless song, and an owl hooted in the distance. I inhaled deeply, letting the cool air cleanse me, letting it seep into the cracks of my weary soul.
Then I heard it.
A snarl. Sharp, vicious, carrying the promise of blood. My body stiffened, my wolf ears pricking up though I was still in human form.
Another snarl. Louder. Then the thunder of bodies colliding.
I followed the sound, heart pounding, until the trees opened up into a clearing. That’s when I saw them—two wolves locked in a brutal fight.
One was broad and massive, his fur bristling like shadows come alive. The other was smaller, still strong, but compared to the beast towering over him, he looked like prey.
It wasn’t a fight. It was a massacre.
The larger wolf moved with terrifying precision, every strike deliberate, every bite calculated. The smaller wolf’s yelps tore through the clearing, raw with desperation. But within moments, he faltered. Blood sprayed across the grass.
“No,” I gasped, too shocked to move.
With a final snap of powerful jaws, the massive wolf struck the killing blow. The smaller body crumpled, twitching before it stilled. Slowly, painfully, the dead wolf shifted back to human form—a man I recognized. One of the Lycans who had sought refuge in Thorndike. His lifeless eyes stared up at the stars, unseeing.
My stomach twisted. He had been under our roof… and now he was gone. Just like that.
The killer wolf lifted his head. His chest heaved, his muzzle slick with blood. His eyes locked onto me.
I froze. My body screamed at me to run, but my feet rooted themselves to the earth. My wolf inside went wild, howling in a way I had never heard before.
Because in that moment, something shifted.
The bond.
I felt it slam into me like lightning, rushing through my veins, into my very marrow. Heat bloomed in my chest, spreading fast, curling into my fingertips. The mate bond. The unmistakable tether of the Moon Goddess.
My breath caught.
“No,” I whispered. My lips trembled as I said it.
The wolf’s eyes glowed faintly, golden and fierce. He felt it too—I could see it in the way he stilled, the way his massive frame shuddered as though the world had tilted beneath him.
A murderer. The Moon Goddess had tied me to a murderer.
The wolf growled low in his throat, but it wasn’t directed at me. It sounded conflicted, tortured. Then, without another glance, he turned. Muscles rippling under his dark fur, he bounded into the trees and vanished, swallowed by the night.
I stood there, trembling. My lungs burned, but I couldn’t force air in.
“This can’t be real,” I muttered. I pressed a hand to my chest, where the bond still pulsed like a brand.
The murdered Lycan lay before me, blood soaking into the soil. The metallic tang coated the back of my tongue. My wolf whimpered inside me, torn between fury and recognition, between the instinct to mourn and the instinct to chase.
I sank to my knees, staring at the lifeless body, and felt rage claw up my throat. The Moon Goddess must be laughing at me. First Alaric, now this? Was this some kind of curse on my life.
My father’s voice echoed in my head from earlier, “The Lycans are restless. Some seek peace, but not all are to be trusted.”
And here I was, staring at the proof. One Lycan dead. Another, my supposed mate, running into the night with blood on his paws.
When I finally stumbled back toward the packhouse, dawn was beginning to lighten the horizon. My shawl clung to me, damp with night dew and sweat.
Inside, the packhouse was still and quiet. I slipped through the doors and up the stairs to my chamber, my hands still shaking.
I couldn’t tell anyone. Not yet. How could I? Hey, Father, Mother, I just witnessed one of our new guests being slaughtered by my fated mate. No. I would be locked away, pitied, feared.
I gripped the edge of my bed, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a mess, my eyes wild, my lips pale.
And all I could think was, the Moon Goddess chose him for me. A killer.
I pressed my forehead to the cool wood of the bedpost, whispering through clenched teeth, “I won’t accept this. I won’t.”
But even as I said it, the bond hummed stubbornly in my chest, reminding me of the truth I didn’t want to carry.
That somewhere out there, in the depths of the Thorndike woods, my mate was running. And he had blood on his hands.
