LOGINMICHAELA'S POV The Moonshade Root earned its name because it grows only where moonlight reaches the forest floor. The people of ancient times believed the Moon Goddess hid the first Moonshade Root within the Northern Wilds as a gift for those willing to brave the darkness. The vampires called it the Silver Curse because of its extreme toxicity to their species. During the era of the united territory of Lyvros, Moonshade Roots had been far more accessible than they are now. It seemed the people of Lyvros possessed a far greater understanding of the Northern Wilds. Or maybe they had simply been braver than the wolves of this age and were therefore willing to venture into the wilderness to retrieve the rare plant. Whatever the reason, Moonshade had been one of the factors that helped tip the scales in favor of the werewolves during the Crimson War. Rubbing my temples with my thumb and forefinger, I close the book and lean my head back against the wall of the study. It is hopeles
MICHAELA'S POV There are three ways to survive a disaster. The first is preparation. The second is luck. The third is denial. Personally, I have always preferred denial. Not because it works. It absolutely does not. But there is something comforting about convincing yourself that a terrible thing isn't happening while it is actively happening. Take today, for example. Thousands of werewolves and humans are staring at me. Representatives from neighboring territories are staring at me. The council is staring at me. The giant screens are staring at me. Somewhere out there, there is probably a boy staring at me. A girl. A mother. A father. All of them trying to predict my fate. All of them calculating the odds of this human embarrassing herself in a spectacular fashion. And despite all available evidence to the contrary, a small part of my brain still insists that if I simply avoid making eye contact with anyone for long enough, the Luna Trials might somehow forget I e
MICHAELA'S POVRepresenting the currently absent Alpha, Mason delivers the opening speech, which, I suppose, is to be expected of him as Beta.Still, nothing prepares me for the sight of it.Mason.Being serious.Truly serious.Not a joke in sight.It is, quite frankly, unsettling.He welcomes the pack members, the council, and the representatives from neighboring territories before offering a formal apology for the Alpha's absence due to health-related circumstances.Despite myself, a snort escapes me before I can stop it.I'm grateful the massive screens are currently focused entirely on Mason and his speech.The whole thing sounds rehearsed.Professional.Responsible.I barely recognize him in that moment.Mason continues speaking as though he hasn't spent his entire life making terrible jokes at every available opportunity and inappropriate moment.Murmurs ripple through the arena at the mention of Damon.Some attendees look disappointed.Others concerned.Others openly suspicious
MICHAELA’S POV The moment we reach the end of the aisle and step into the center of the arena, the noise hits me from every direction.Loud.A constant roar of voices bouncing off stone.Hundreds of conversations blending into one overwhelming wave of sound.And just as overwhelming are the eyes.Hundreds of them.Fixed directly on me.Now that I'm standing here, it is impossible to ignore just how many people have gathered for this.I slowly turn in a circle, taking in the arena in its entirety as my pulse quickens.From the entrance, I had thought the place looked large.From the center, it feels enormous.Stone terraces rise in wide circles around the arena floor.Not completely full.Large gaps remain between sections of spectators, a lingering precaution from the plague protocols introduced months ago.Even so, the turnout is staggering.Entire families occupy the terraces.Warriors stand along the upper levels.Several healers in white uniforms are stationed throughout the aren
MICHAELA'S POV I know Damon was here at some point during the night. Maybe he only just left. I reach across the bed, and my suspicion is immediately confirmed. The space beside me is still warm. His scent lingers in the sheets and pillows, wrapping around me like a memory that hasn't quite faded yet. I inhale deeply before letting out a slow sigh and rolling onto my back to stare at the ceiling. I haven't slept much. Couldn't. I spend most of the night tossing and turning, my thoughts running in circles until exhaustion finally takes pity on me and drags me into a few hours of restless sleep. I don't know what I'm feeling. Maybe that's the problem. Fear. Anxiety. Excitement. Dread. Everything seems tangled together into one impossible knot sitting in the middle of my chest. All I know is that it's the morning of my trials. And I barely sleep. I'm exhausted. I miss him. And I'm fairly certain I'm developing a headache. With a groan, I force myself out of bed. No ov
DAMON'S POV The sound of Michaela's footsteps fades slowly. Silence settles over the entryway. I remain where I am, my gaze fixed on the hallway long after she's gone. My hands slide into my pockets as I force myself not to follow. From the corner of my eye, I see Cole lean against the opposite wall. She had asked us to stay here while she went in first. And although every instinct I possess had rebelled against the idea of letting her walk in there alone, I'd understood. This isn't a battle I can fight for her. It isn't even a minute before the silence is broken. "What happens if she loses the trials?" Cole asks quietly. My gaze shifts to him. He's watching me. Not casually. There is no warmth in his gaze. No friendliness. Just the same restrained dislike that I have come to expect from him. To his credit, he keeps it leashed. Barely. And just as quickly, the emotion disappears behind a carefully neutral expression. A lesser man might have found t
Damon doesn't move a muscle.His eyes remain on mine.I tilt my head slightly, just enough to see who just entered the room.I don’t recognize her at first.But there’s something about her that tugs at the edges of memory.Long blonde waves spill over her shoulders as she steps in, blue eyes sweepi
“Well…” she says carefully. “He is not in a very good mood.” I turn to Coby and tell him I'd be back as soon as I can to finish up his crown. He nods absently, too invested in weaving the poppies into something that would hold. I don’t ask any more questions. Emory doesn’t offer any more answers
Damon doesn’t slow. The world blurs past in streaks of stone and shadow, the air sharp against my wet face. My body feels too heavy. Too light. I don’t know where we are until we stop. A door slams open. “Dorion.” Damon’s voice cuts through everything—sharp, leaving no room for refusal
If Dad could see me right now, he’d probably be disappointed. All those years of training, and here I am—panting like a dying animal after a few rounds of sparring. But the truth is— Dad didn’t train me for this. Whatever this is. He trained me to anticipate rhythm. To understand my opponent







