The howls came first.
Low and deep, not the kind that warned of danger—the kind that promised it had already arrived.
Selene Marrow was still halfway through binding a gash on a child's leg when the sky outside turned red. Not from the sun. From fire.
She pushed open the door of the small healing hut and stepped into chaos.
The northern watchtower had already collapsed, flames licking the sky. Screams rose from every direction shouted orders, begging voices, the pounding of feet. Then came the scent of wolves not her kind.
These weren't pack wolves.
These were raiders.
And worse they were Blackfangs.
She turned to run, but it was already too late.
A figure moved through the smoke like death in motion. Not rushing. Not shouting. Just walking, like he didn't need to do anything else.
He was massive black coat, combat boots, and eyes that burned like molten silver. Blood already soaked the side of his jaw, and his hand gripped a blade as casually as if it were a spoon.
Selene froze. Her wolf, weak and rarely heard, whimpered once in the back of her mind.
He looked at her like she was nothing. Then turned away.
But the second he did, someone else grabbed her from behind.
A sharp blow to her head dropped her to the ground. She didn't black out but she wished she had. Everything spun. She kicked, screamed, bit but there were too many. And no one came to help.
The men laughed. "Victor said bring back any unmated females. This one's got fight. The boss'll like that."
She was shoved into a caged truck with three others. Girls. Younger. Crying. Selene didn't cry.
She watched the trees blur past as they left the only home she'd ever known behind.
It took days.
They were moved from truck to cell, cell to cart. They were barely fed. The ones who cried too much were taken away. They didn't come back.
By the fourth day, Selene stopped talking. Her eyes said more than her mouth ever could: Touch me again, and I'll kill you. Somehow. Some way.
It wasn't until the sixth night that she saw him again.
They called it an auction. But no one paid with coin.
Selene stood with her hands chained in silver beside two others, forced to her knees on a marble floor lit by torches and moonlight.
There were wolves watching from the shadows dozens of them, all male, all dominant. Some in suits. Some with scars. All of them smelled like blood and arrogance.
A robed man stepped forward, holding a glowing brand. "The Blood Moon has risen. Tonight, fate claims its own."
The brand touched her shoulder.
Pain. White, blinding, soul-tearing pain.
She didn't scream. She bit down on her tongue so hard she tasted copper.
When the glow faded, the mark on her skin was clear a crescent moon surrounded by flames.
There was a pause. Then murmuring. Uneasy.
"Moonblood," someone muttered. "It can't be."
Another voice: "She's dangerous. Kill her now."
The robed man turned toward the crowd. "Who claims her?"
Silence.
Then he stepped forward.
That same wolf. The one from the raid. Black coat. Silver eyes.
He didn't look at her. He didn't even speak.
He just walked up the steps, met the brand-bearer's eyes, and let his claws extend.
He slashed his own palm and pressed it to the back of her neck.
It burned like acid.
The bond hit.
Her vision blurred. Her skin seared. Her heart stuttered.
And still, he didn't look at her.
Claimed. Just like that.
Later, when she was dragged to his estate—his prison—she finally spoke.
"You didn't even ask my name."
He closed the door behind her. "Don't need it."
"You don't even want me, do you?" she asked, voice shaking but steady.
He turned his head slowly. For the first time, their eyes locked.
His voice was low, rough. "No."
"Then why—"
"Because I was ordered to. And because when the time comes, it'll be easier to kill you if I never let myself care."
Silence fell like a blade between them.
Selene met his stare. "Then next time, don't mark someone you're too much of a coward to finish."
His eyes flared but he didn't answer.
He just walked out, locking the door behind him.
And Selene sank to the floor, heart pounding, a brand on her skin and a death sentence in her soul.