Queen Of The Forgotten Wolves

Chapter One

When Damien brought his sister in law Elara to the capital of the Nightfang Pack, he paraded her through the streets like a crowned queen, her two pups trailing behind her like precious trophies. He called it a new era. A fresh beginning.

But for Ayla and me, it marked our doom.

We were left behind in the forgotten bones of Frostmoor Ridge, where the wind never stopped screaming and the snow tasted like iron. The den was barely more than a hole in the mountain, its walls cracked from age and its hearth long dead. Ayla’s fingers were always cold. Some nights, I held them against my ribs and whispered stories just to keep the warmth from abandoning her.

Five moons.

Five moons of foraging through ice-choked earth for roots, trapping snow hares with bleeding hands, and bartering wolf pelts for half-rotted bread. I once carried Alpha blood. Now I gnawed on marrow like a starved mutt.

And then the scroll arrived.

Delivered by a crow with silver wax pressed over the seal. I held it with trembling fingers, my eyes scanning the elegant lettering.

Damien Nightfang, Alpha of Nightfang Pack.

No mention of us. No apology. Just an announcement.

The snowstorm that day was brutal. But I strapped Ayla to my back, tucked her frozen hands under my coat, and walked. One step at a time. One breath at a time. Toward a mate who had left us in the dirt.

By the time we reached the Black gates, my lips were split from the cold. My feet bled in my boots. Ayla barely stirred.

The guards looked at us like we were something foul left on their doorstep.

“You dare show your face here?” the Beta snarled, voice thick with contempt. “Alpha Damien doesn’t acknowledge rogues.”

I blinked, disoriented. “He’s my mate. I… I bore his daughter—”

“He has a Luna now,” the Beta spat. “And she doesn’t like strays.”

They dragged us. My knees scraped over stone and ice. My arms locked around Ayla’s tiny body as fists and claws rained down on me. I tasted blood, warm and thick.

And then I saw her.

Elara.

Wrapped in white furs stitched with silver. The Nightfang crest shimmered over her heart like a taunt. Her pups stood beside her, unflinching. Already marked as pack royalty.

She smiled when she saw me—serene, satisfied. Her eyes gleamed like a predator’s.

“Oh Selene,” she said sweetly. “You made it.”

She offered us sweetbread laced with golden nectar. I hesitated. Ayla didn’t. Her little hands clutched the bread, her teeth sank in like it was salvation.

Seconds later, her body jerked in my arms.

“Mommy—” she whimpered, her voice fragile. Her little wolf howling faintly.Then it was all convulsions and stillness and cold.

I screamed her name until my throat tore. I crushed her to my chest. I begged, pleaded, clawed at the earth like I could force the poison out of her.

And then I felt it.

Bitter and slow, sliding over my own tongue. The taste of betrayal.

My limbs turned to stone. Darkness folded over me like a cloak.

But before it took me, Elara leaned in.

“You should’ve stayed hidden,” she whispered, breath brushing my bloodied ear. “Damien marked me the moment he realized you were no longer his class. I wear his crown now. And for that to remain true… you must vanish.”

They didn’t even give us a burial.

They wrapped us in bloodstained cloth and hurled our bodies into Ravencall Gorge, the same pit where they threw disobedient rogues and disgraced omega mothers.

And Damien?

He didn’t look back. He stood at the cliff’s edge, arms wrapped around Elara like she was the center of his world.

“She’s gone,” he said. “Even if she lived, I would’ve cast her aside. That runt and her mother were never mine.”

The bond we made under the Blood Moon, sealed in sacred rites and soul-fire, meant nothing to him.

I died choking on grief. My last breath a whisper of my daughter’s name.

But death did not keep me.

When I opened my eyes, I was clutching herbs—wild nettle and thistle root—the same ones I’d gathered on the morning Damien was offered the Alpha title.

Ayla lay beside me, cheeks flushed, chest rising.

Alive.

A second chance.

I burned the herbs in a copper dish and sold the den to a tinkerwolf for coin. And I didn’t look back.

This time, I did not crawl toward the memory of love.

I ran in the other direction—toward power,towards home.

We crossed frozen plains and haunted woods, took passage in caravans that didn’t ask questions, survived long enough to reach the gates of Stormveil.

It rose from the earth like something carved from legend—stone towers rimmed with frost, banners whipping in the wind. The guards at the gate moved to stop me, spears raised.

“You think you can walk into Alpha Gideon’s Keep and claim blood?” the carriage master barked. “Stormveil doesn’t open for broken girls with wild stories.”

I ignored him.

I lifted Ayla into my arms and walked to the gates.

Kneeling in the snow, I felt the past rise like steam in my throat.

Because I wasn’t born a stray.

I was born Selene of Stormveil. Daughter of Alpha Gideon, heir to the Northern Clans. My mother—Luna of the Highborn Howl—died with a blade in her hands and fire in her heart.

I had once been a princess.

Until Damien.

I met him during a treaty hunt in the Ravenlands. I was restless. Reckless. I slipped away from my guards and found him half-dead in the riverbed, bones jutting from skin, eyes full of stormlight.

He spoke of shame and lost honor. I offered him healing. And my heart.

I marked him beneath a star-cloaked sky.

My father warned me.

“That wolf walks with ghosts. He will drag you down with him.”

I didn’t listen.

I gave him everything. My lineage. My light. Myself.

And in return, he unraveled me.

He fed on my strength. Twisted it. Hollowed me out until I was nothing but a title he no longer needed.

Then Elara came. His brother's widow.Pretty, perfect Elara. With her bright-eyed bastards and her hungry smile.

She wore the Luna’s mark like she was born for it.

When I returned, I was invisible.

Erased.

So I kneel here, five years older. Colder. My knees cracking in the ice. My hands raw.

And I whisper the words I never thought I would say again.

“Father… forgive me.”