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Chapter one

Serena

T he forest didn’t feel right tonight.

Shadows stretched too long beneath the towering pines, reaching like twisted claws over the rain-softened earth.

Each sound—the trill of crickets, the heavy flap of an owl’s wings—itched against my skin.

The air was too still, too heavy, and my instincts whispered what I didn’t want to admit: I wasn’t alone.

I halted mid-step, boots sinking into the damp, mossy earth, and reached for the blade strapped to my thigh. My fingers tightened against the leather hilt as I scanned the trees around me. Nothing. No movement, no scent… but my wolf stirred anyway, restless beneath my skin.

It wasn’t paranoia.

It was survival.

They called it “patrolling,” but I wasn’t stupid.

I wasn’t guarding the border; I was being thrown to it.

This was punishment dressed as duty—a convenient way to dispose of me at the edge of the Silver Ridge borders, where I couldn’t draw attention to myself.

They knew I’d rather run a hundred miles solo than endure another hour as the unwelcome outcast in our camp.

Even my father, the great alpha of Silver Ridge, didn’t bother pretending he wanted me there.

I exhaled sharply and rubbed at the crescent moon etched into my wrist. It gleamed pale against my skin, faintly illuminated by the deep lavender wash of twilight. Crescent moon. Stars. Such an innocent mark for something that had made me an outcast in my own pack.

My father, brilliant and distant as ever, had told me it was my birthright.

That I was special. For a child desperate for approval, those words had been intoxicating once.

But the truth had turned sour by the time I was old enough to understand.

The curse was something more—a scar, a reminder of ancestral sins, and I was marked to pay the price.

Those born bearing the mark must find a way to break the curse, or they’ll never be able to form a true mate bond.

Without a mate, sometimes the marked grow wild with fury and rage, making them a threat to themselves or others.

Like a real ticking time bomb. It was also a signal to my packmates that I wasn’t one of them. Not really.

I could handle the whispers and the stares, even the isolation. I'd stopped craving acceptance years ago. But every time I caught my father’s gaze—hard, sharp, and shadowed with exhaustion—I saw the weight of his disappointment and the fear of what I might become. That, I couldn’t forgive.

“You’ll never be free,” his voice murmured in my head, a ghost of his latest admonishment that haunted me still. “You’ll wander like a lost soul until fate decides otherwise. That’s what you are, Serena. A burden the pack must carry.”

I snorted in defiance, fists clenching around the blade as I kept walking. Screw him. Screw all of them. If the Silver Ridge pack saw me as a burden, then they didn’t deserve my loyalty. Loneliness had teeth, but so did I.

Still, the forest hung heavy tonight—heavier than usual.

I crouched low to the damp earth, calming my pulse as I took in a deep breath. The air should’ve been clean, full of the familiar scents of pine sap and decaying leaves. But beneath that, so faint it pinched against my awareness, was a scent I didn’t recognize—sharp, smoky, metallic.

And getting closer.

I didn’t have time to react.

The beast erupted from the tree line with a snarl, a blur of brown fur and barreling muscle that came straight for my throat. My knife was in my hand in an instant as I twisted away, narrowly dodging its snapping jaws. There wasn’t time to think—just to survive.

I lashed out, the blade finding its mark against the wolf’s shoulder, and it howled. Before I could strike again, more shadows emerged from the trees, their glowing eyes locking on me with terrifying precision. They shouldn’t have been here. They weren’t supposed to be here .

“Stormvale wolves,” I hissed, my voice raw as the snarl of my inner wolf surged to my throat.

The Stormvale pack knew our borders as well as we knew theirs.

The Silver Ridge wolves were certainly no friends of the Stormvale pack, yet we weren’t their typical targets, either.

The origins of our hostility had faded into obscurity, with no recent raids or battles for territory.

.. until tonight. They’d crossed the border into Silver Ridge, which meant they weren’t here for posturing or empty threats.

They’d come armed, coordinated, and determined for blood.

Why?

Rumors of rising tensions had crept through Silver Ridge for weeks, but no one took them seriously.

Until now. Two wolves charged me from opposite sides, their movements fluid and terrifyingly synchronized.

My boots skidded against the slick earth as I dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding a set of snapping jaws that passed just inches from my neck.

A feral growl ripped from my chest as I tossed the blade aside and let the shift take me.

The change hit like a thunderclap—bones snapping, skin dissolving into silver fur, the forest suddenly hyper-sharp, colors brighter, smells overwhelming.

Rage pulsed under my skin now, replacing the sharp thorns of fear, and I didn’t hesitate.

I lunged for the nearest wolf, biting down hard enough to taste blood as my claws raked its ribs.

One down. Five more circling.

I was trained for defense, not a six-on-one assault. And definitely not for him.

The clearing fell deadly quiet when he stepped into the fray, his massive black-furred body radiating an aura that made my hackles rise. This was no soldier. No second-in-command. This was him.

The Stormvale alpha.

He stepped into the clearing like the storm had summoned him—massive, black-furred, and pulsing with dominance.

His eyes—ice-blue, ancient, and too intelligent—collided with mine.

My breath hitched. Not out of fear. Something worse.

Something primal. Something that made my wolf whimper and bare her throat.

I didn’t want to, didn’t mean to, but there was something in the weight of his stare that pinned me in place.

For the first time, I felt my wolf falter. Not out of fear, but something more dangerous: instinctive submission.

I shook my head, angry and defiant, and lunged for him.

Bad move.

His packmates rushed me from behind, one snapping at my hind leg while the others pinned my sides. I squirmed and fought as teeth sunk shallow into my shoulder, but a single, commanding growl from the alpha stilled me instantly.

I shifted back, panting and furious as mud and blood smeared my skin. The alpha’s pack mates shifted back and held my arms pinned with a bruising grip. My human body felt exposed here, but I refused to show weakness—not to my enemy, and certainly not to him .

“You’re a long way from home, alpha,” I spat, my voice laced with venom.

The Stormvale alpha tilted his head as he shifted to stand before me, his black fur giving way to broad, muscled flesh.

His body was built like the mountain he ruled—tall, broad-chested, scarred from battles he’d clearly won.

Intricate tattoos told the stories of those battles, his pack’s history, his life.

The alpha’s hair was dark and unruly, like night caught in a storm, and his eyes were colder than a glacier’s edge.

Every inch of him said danger. And yet, my mark burned under my skin like it wanted him anyway.

He crossed his arms over his scarred chest and tattered flannel, looking down on me with infuriating calm, as if I were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“Serena.” He said my name with deliberate cruelty, letting it settle into the air between us.

“How—”

“We make it a habit to know our enemies,” he interrupted, his voice low and sharp as a blade. “And you, little wolf, are very interesting.”

When I growled and lunged, he took a step back as a low chuckle escaped his throat, as if I had amused him somehow.

“Careful,” he warned, voice calm but thick with authority. “You don’t want to make this worse for yourself.”

“Go to hell.”

His lips twitched, a glimmer of amusement flickering across them before disappearing. “Bind her,” he ordered. The two men holding me hostage complied, snapping crude ropes around my wrists as their gloved hands worked quickly.

The second the wolfsbane-laced rope bit into my skin, a scream shot through my veins. It wasn’t pain—it was suppression. Like something holy was being strangled inside me. I fought, snarling and writhing, but it was no use.

“You’ll regret this,” I spat as they dragged me back to my feet.

“Quiet,” the alpha snapped, his expression unreadable. But just before he turned away, I saw something unusual: a mark.

It was a pale, faint crescent moon near his shoulder, peeking out from a tear in his shirt.

The air sucked from my lungs. My mark itched at the sight of his, a faint warmth rippling across my wrist where the crescent moon and stars were burned into my skin.

Impossible.

It couldn’t be.

It sparked under the moonlight like a glinting blade, and everything I knew about curses shifted beneath my feet. A Stormvale alpha with the same mark? That wasn’t just dangerous—it was heresy. Treason.

“What the hell are you?” I whispered, my mind tangled in a thousand questions no one could answer.

He glanced back at me then, his gaze narrowing briefly. The corners of his mouth twitched, but not into a smile.

“Your survival just got interesting,” he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

And damned if my cursed heart didn’t stutter.

But in the midst of my fury and panic as the Stormvale alpha led me deeper into unfamiliar forest, one thought took root in my mind and refused to let go:

Whoever this alpha was, he wasn’t just my enemy. He was something worse. A prophecy in flesh. A fate carved into my skin.