Selene woke to the scent of pine and smoke.
Her eyes fluttered open to a high ceiling of carved wood, where moonlight filtered through an open skylight. The walls were stone and timber, warm and unfamiliar. Somewhere in the distance, water trickled and wolves howled.
For a moment, she lay still, her thoughts slow to catch up.
Then it all rushed back.
Chains. Cassian's verdict. The carriage.
The wolf.
The memory of her losing her baby.
Her hand flew to her stomach, trembling.
But there was no life there—only the old ache. The cruel memory.
She sat up, wincing. Her dress had been changed—now soft linen, dark gray, lined with fur. Her hair had been unbraided and rebraided neatly, her skin scrubbed clean of blood and grime.
Someone had touched her.
She swung her legs off the bed and stood—too fast. Her knees buckled.
A voice caught her.
"You're awake."
She turned sharply.
Rhydian stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable. That same unnatural stillness clung to him—the kind only predators carried. He wore a black tunic now, sleeves rolled, revealing arms lined with faded scars and inked symbols. His green eyes glowed faintly in the candlelight.
"Where am I?" she asked hoarsely.
"Safe," he replied. "You're in the Nightfang stronghold. No one can touch you here."
She looked around the room again, suddenly aware of how quiet it was. No palace servants. No echoes of footsteps outside. Just distant howls.
"You kidnapped me," she whispered.
"I rescued you," he said with a faint smirk.
"I didn't ask for your rescue."
"You didn't need to. You were about to be executed."
Her throat tightened.
"I've already died once."
They stared at each other.
"Rest," he said. "You'll need it before the Moon Council meeting."
"I'm not meeting your people. I'm going back."
"Back?" Rhydian stepped forward. "To the man who sent you to die in a cell? To the court that cheered when you bled? Is that where you think you still belong?"
Selene clenched her fists.
"It's my empire."
"It was," he said quietly. "Now it's your cage."
Before she could reply, a knock echoed on the door.
"Alpha," a woman's voice called. "She's awake. Should I bring the cloak?"
Rhydian didn't look away from Selene.
"Give her a moment," he said, then called back, "Lyra—wait outside."
Selene arched a brow.
"Who's that?"
"A warrior," Rhydian said simply. "She was the one who caught you when you passed out. She'll help you get ready."
"I'm not some prize you need to dress up."
"No," he agreed, stepping closer, "but this pack needs to see that you're my mate."
Selene took a step forward, fire flickering behind her silver eyes.
"I don't care if I am your mate, If you don't take me back," she said, her voice sharp with warning, "Cassian will come looking for me. And when he does, it won't just be me he punishes—it'll be your entire pack."
Rhydian's lips twitched—not in amusement, but something colder.
"You still believe he would start a war… for you?"
Selene hesitated. Then looked away.
"I never said that," she muttered.
He took one step closer, his gaze cutting through her like a blade through silk.
"Don't worry, little moon," he murmured, voice low and sure. "If you're afraid they'll trace your escape back to me…"
He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the heat of him against her skin.
"I've already taken care of everything."
Selene's breath hitched.
"W-what does that mean?"
His green eyes glinted.
"It means you're dead to your empire. And as for the guards who transported you… they won't be talking."
He turned toward the door, his voice like steel wrapped in silk.
"You're safe now. Even from the past."
And then he was gone.
The door opened again.
Selene looked up as a woman stepped inside—tall and battle-sure, dressed in dark leathers that fit like second skin. A silver streak ran through her raven-black braid, and her amber eyes gleamed with warning as they swept over Selene.
She recognized her instantly.
"You're the one who—"
"Caught you before you cracked your skull open?" Lyra finished coolly. "Yeah. That was me."
She walked in without waiting for an invitation, her boots silent against the stone floor.
"Lyra, right?" Selene asked, watching her warily.
"Correct. And before you ask, no—I'm not here to poison you."
She dropped a folded cloak and neatly arranged garments onto the edge of the bed.
"I was ordered to help you get ready."
"By Rhydian."
"By my Alpha," Lyra corrected sharply.
A silence settled between them—tight and bristling.
Selene stood a little taller, chin raised.
"You don't like me."
"I don't need to like you," Lyra replied as she unrolled a sash with practiced ease. "But I know your kind. Highborn. Fragile. Always bleeding drama and expecting the world to care."
Selene stepped forward, her voice cool but steady.
"I never asked your Alpha to save me."
Lyra met her eyes, unflinching.
"Doesn't mean he didn't want to."
Her tone was even—but beneath it, Selene caught something else. Sharp. Territorial. As if just the sight of her standing there, alive, was a challenge.
Lyra picked up the cloak and handed it over without ceremony.
"Put this on. They're waiting."
"Why bother?" Selene muttered, her fingers fumbling with the silver clasp. "They won't trust me."
"Then don't ask for their trust," Lyra said, stepping behind her. "Make them fear you instead."
She began braiding Selene's silver hair, her movements efficient and just a bit rough. Not cruel—but not gentle either.
"Hold still. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't use a brush."
Selene scoffed softly.
"You're not very good at subtlety."
"And you're not very good at survival," Lyra shot back. "But here you are."
She tied off the braid with a strip of dark silk and stepped back.
"You're ready."
Selene turned to the mirror and blinked.
She looked like someone else—stronger, colder. Not the woman Cassian had chained. Not the girl the court spat on.
The council chamber was carved into the mountain itself—a great, circular hall of dark stone and fire-lit sconces, with high vaulted ceilings and a giant moon-shaped crest etched into the floor.
Selene walked in beside Lyra, each step echoing like a challenge. The fur-lined cloak hugged her shoulders, her silver braid resting between her shoulder blades. Depending on who was watching.
She felt the stares before she saw them.
Wolves.
Dozens of them—men and women, older and younger—seated on stone benches in a wide circle. They watched her with narrowed eyes and silent suspicion, some with open hostility.
They could smell what she was.
Human.
Not one of them.
And worse… their Alpha's mate.
She wondered, distantly, if any of them had ever killed a human before.
If they'd do it cleanly.
If they'd make it quick.
Rhydian stood at the far end of the chamber, next to a massive ironwood chair carved with moon runes. His presence was magnetic, commanding. The moment Selene entered, his green eyes found hers—but he didn't move. Didn't smile.
Just watched.
"She shouldn't be here," one voice growled—a lean man with grizzled hair and a scar across his throat.
"She's a danger," another snapped. "What if the empire comes looking for her? What if she leads them here?"
"She reeks of royalty," a woman said coldly. "Like something that's never bled in the woods a day in its life."
Selene didn't flinch.
She stepped forward into the circle's heart. The air was colder here, thinner somehow. Or maybe that was just her imagination.
"My name is Selene Virellia," she said, voice clear. "And I didn't ask to be here."
The murmurs grew louder.
Lyra remained by the door, arms folded, her expression unreadable.
Selene turned to Rhydian.
"Tell them. Tell them I never asked for this."
He didn't blink.
"You didn't," he said at last. "But fate doesn't ask."
Fate.
What a lovely lie.
Rhydian moved toward her, descending the stone steps. The pack parted instinctively. When he reached her side, he placed a hand on her shoulder—not in comfort. As a claim. Selene stiffened. Her instinct was to pull away. But this time, she didn't. If the wolves needed a reason to fear her, let them start here.
"She is mine," he said to the pack. "Chosen not by me. Not by her. But by the moon itself."
"A human?" someone spat. "That's what the moon sends us now? A broken crown and a palace ghost?"
Selene's fingers twitched.
A ghost.
Maybe that's what she was.
Something no longer alive, just wearing skin and memory.
"Enough," Rhydian growled, and the walls themselves seemed to vibrate.
Selene's breath caught. Not in fear—but in awe of the raw force behind him. He didn't need to shout. He was a storm already halfway through destroying the world.
"She is under my protection," he continued, voice like thunder laced in steel. "Anyone who questions it, challenges me."
A deadly silence followed.
Then—
"Then maybe she should prove she's worth protecting," Lyra said.
Selene turned to her.
Lyra's arms remained folded, her golden eyes sharp.
"Let her trade her silks for scars. Then we'll see what the moon saw in her."
The pack murmured in approval. Nods. Smirks.
Selene looked at Lyra. She recognized that tone. The same one Cassian had used when he handed her over to be caged.
She could say no.
They wouldn't stop her from walking away.
"Fine," Selene said, her voice steady. "Then show me what it takes to survive."
Because maybe—just maybe—she wasn't meant to survive.
And if she wasn't, she wanted to make damn sure someone earned the right to kill her.
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