I had just folded the last shirt into my leather satchel when the chime of the doorbell sliced through the quiet of my room. I stilled at once. Night air drifted in through the open window, carrying the sharp scent of cedar smoke and frost. My heart stumbled in my chest.
Theo?
Hope flared before I could stop it. I grabbed my phone, scanning the screen for a missed call, a message, anything that hinted it was him.
There was nothing.
I released a slow breath and pushed the thought aside. Barefoot, I crossed the room, the floorboards whispering beneath me as I made my way to the door.
A large white box sat on the stone step outside—far bigger than any delivery I’d ever received. A silk ribbon, pale as moonlight and threaded with gold, was tied neatly around it. My name stretched across the lid in elegant, looping script, the kind of handwriting that felt intimate, deliberate.
No note.
No signature.
Only Arwen.
Something uneasy stirred in my blood—curiosity tangled with dread. I carried the box inside and set it on the table, fingers hesitating before loosening the ribbon. When I lifted the lid, I did so carefully, almost reverently.
My heart skipped.
The dress.
My dress.
It was exactly as I had once imagined it—years ago, when I was young enough to believe Alpha Lucien would one day claim me properly beneath the Moon. Before contracts replaced vows. Before ink replaced blood. Ivory silk gleamed softly, as though spun from moonlight itself. Lace sleeves draped delicately, intricate as ancestral runes woven by unseen hands.
My fingers shook as I traced the bodice.
There, stitched in fine golden thread, was a single name.
Arwen.
My throat closed. Tears burned behind my eyes.
Was this his way of apologizing? A wordless attempt to mend years of neglect and betrayal? Had Lucien finally decided to honor the bond he denied me—to stand with me beneath the Sacred Oak, to acknowledge me not as convenience, but as mate?
For one fragile moment, I let myself believe it.
I slipped the gown over my head, shivering as the silk settled against my skin, fitting me as if it had always known my shape. In the mirror, I barely recognized myself—pale, trembling, yet glowing with a quiet hope. My hand pressed against my chest as my wolf stirred faintly, yearning to be seen.
The door slammed open.
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
I gasped, spinning around.
Lucien filled the doorway, rage etched into every sharp line of his face. His scent flooded the room—smoke, iron, dominance—crushing and familiar. Before I could speak, he stormed toward me, a low snarl vibrating in his chest. His hand fisted in the fabric and yanked the gown from my shoulder so violently the seams screamed.
“Why is this in your hands?” he demanded harshly.
“I—I saw my name,” I stammered. “It was my design. I thought… is this finally our Binding? Before the pack?”
His laugh cut through me—short, sharp, ice-cold.
“Binding?” he scoffed. “Don’t embarrass yourself. You and I are already paired.”
“Then why this?” My voice cracked.
He held the gown away from me, disgust plain on his face.
“It’s not meant for you.”
The words landed like a death blow.
“It’s for Evelyn.”
My heart stopped.
“She deserves a ceremony. She deserves to stand as a bride beneath the Moon. She’s always dreamed of it,” he continued flatly. “And she’s ill. She doesn’t have much time.”
The room tilted. My wolf raged inside me, claws scraping against bone.
“That was my dream,” I whispered. “It always was.”
Bastian stepped in behind Lucien, his expression cruel, his wolf’s energy crackling with disdain. Evelyn followed, wrapped in blankets, her skin pale and luminous, every inch of her crafted to invite pity.
“For Moon’s sake, Arwen,” Bastian sneered. “Stop acting like the world revolves around you. You’re strong. She isn’t. Let her have this.”
Evelyn lifted her eyes to me, shimmering with unshed tears. “I only want it once,” she said softly. “To feel the Binding, even if it isn’t truly mine. I won’t take him forever. Just the ceremony. Just the dream. You can endure it. I can’t.”
“Endure what?” I asked coldly. “Lending you my husband? Handing over my future?”
None of them answered.
Their silence was confession enough.
“You disgust me,” I said quietly.
Evelyn recoiled, but I was already turning away. The gown slid from my body, pooling at my feet like shed skin. I left them standing there and returned to my room, fire blazing behind my ribs.
I ripped open drawers and chests, gathering everything—letters I once treasured, sketches of dresses I’d dreamed of wearing, photographs of Lucien holding me like I mattered. I carried it all outside to the iron barrel behind the pack house and struck a flame.
The fire leapt eagerly, devouring my past. Smoke curled upward, carrying the remains of my hope toward the Moon. My wolf writhed beneath my skin, grief and fury twisting together. I thought of broken promises, of false love, of lies dressed up as duty.
Ash swallowed the last page of my sketchbook when arms wrapped around me.
“Arwen,” Lucien murmured close to my ear. “I never intended this to hurt you so deeply. Please… forgive me. Just do this one thing for her. She’s dying. You’re stronger than this.”
I didn’t move. The fire reflected in my eyes, empty and bright.
“How about this,” he continued quietly. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you away. Just us. I’ll make it right. I swear.”
I was too exhausted to fight. “…Alright,” I whispered.
“Thank you,” he said, kissing my hair. I felt nothing.
Later, darkness lulled me into uneasy sleep.
Until his voice shattered it.
“Arwen! GET UP!”
I jolted awake to find Lucien looming over me, panic wild in his eyes. “We need you immediately. Evelyn needs blood. Yours. You’re the only match.”
My heart slammed painfully. “What?”
“She’s fading,” he snapped. “Don’t be selfish. Do something useful for once. Be her donor.”
The words struck like a physical blow.
Inside me, my wolf screamed—not in fear, but in burning, murderous rage.
