Shadows flickered across the walls of Lillith’s chamber as she sat beside the frost-covered window, gripping the dimly glowing crescent-shaped pendant her mother had entrusted to her before she departed from the palace. A soft, rhythmic glow pulsed against her palm, a reassuring presence that reminded her of the Moon Goddess’s guidance and the sacred lineage flowing through her veins.
She had battled to remain with the Bloodmoon Pack, foolishly clinging to the notions of love and solemn vows. "I love him," she had begged her family, desperation in her voice. "Please, let me stay. I’ll be safe. I promise!"
Xavier, the second eldest of her brothers, had been the most unyielding in his opposition, his furious gaze burning into her. “They’ll never protect you the way we can, Lillith! You’re the ice princess, for the Moon’s sake. Do you honestly think they even comprehend what you are? Do you understand what’s at risk?”
Yet, she had disregarded his warnings, choosing instead to put her faith in Damien’s ability to keep her safe. After all, he had once been her savior—three years ago, during a kidnapping attempt orchestrated by a rebel faction. That day, when he pulled her back from the edge of death, she had convinced herself that he was her fate.
Her knight in shining armor.
But now, she barely recognized the man she had once cherished. The truth was harsh and inescapable: Damien was not her protector. He was her ruin.
Morning arrived, accompanied by a fever that stubbornly refused to subside, her body once again betraying her. Each step to the pack’s infirmary felt heavier than the last, yet she forced herself forward.
The healer, an elderly woman with streaks of silver running through her hair, examined her with a gentle touch. “Your body is still responding to the loss,” she murmured, sympathy shining in her eyes. “You must rest, child. Your recovery isn’t over yet.”
Lillith gave a slow, lifeless nod, but she knew that no amount of rest could mend the gaping wound inside her chest. The absence of her child—the last link she had to a future—was an agony that would never fade.
Upon returning to the pack house, she found it unsurprising that Damien was, once again, nowhere to be found. Mira, the only person she could still confide in, met her at the entrance with an uneasy expression.
“He’s with her again,” Mira whispered, her tone cautious.
Lillith tensed, already knowing exactly who "her" referred to.
“Did he mention when he’d return?” she inquired, her voice unsettlingly composed.
Mira hesitated, her eyes shifting away. “They’re planning their wedding. The pack… they were ordered to keep it from you.”
For a fleeting moment, it felt as if the ground had been ripped from beneath Lillith’s feet. Then, without warning, she let out a sharp, hollow laugh that resonated through the empty corridor. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He needed me to remain naïve and submissive.”
Her voice softened, laced with an unshakable determination. “But I’m done, Mira. I’m leaving.”
That night, unable to find sleep, Lillith wandered downstairs in search of a drink of water. The pack house lay in eerie silence, the air thick with an unsettling stillness that sent shivers creeping down her spine.
As she neared the kitchen, hushed voices carried toward her from the shadows.
“I still can’t believe someone actually killed him,” Selene’s sickly-sweet voice slithered through the dimness. “The prince’s death… Do you think—”
“Enough,” Damien cut in sharply, his tone edged with urgency. “We shouldn’t be discussing his death here.”
A chill crawled up Lillith’s spine. They were speaking about Victor—her brother.
Selene let out an impatient scoff. “You’re far too cautious, Damien. What about the princess?”
Damien’s voice dropped, his words indistinct but tense. “… difficult… locate…”
Her pulse pounded, unease settling deep in her chest. Why were they speaking about her family?
The floor creaked beneath her weight, and the voices halted abruptly.
“Who’s there?” Damien’s sharp, commanding voice sliced through the silence.
