LOGINSera's POVThe room is quiet now. Greta sits in the chair beside my bed, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes distant. The afternoon light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, casting long shadows across the floor.Selena, Damian, and Gracia left hours ago. The children went with them. It's just us now—two women who have known loss, who have carried grief like a second skin."Tell me about yourself," I say softly. "About your daughter. Your mate. How many grandchildren do you have?"Greta is silent for a long moment. I think she might not answer. Then she lets out a slow breath, and her eyes grow distant."My father was an advisor at Silvermoon," she begins, her voice quiet. "He advised Alpha Aldric. My mother was the personal maid of Luna Margaret… Damian's grandmother. They were trusted. Respected. They had everything they could ever want."I wait."But they were greedy," Greta continues, her vo
Selena's POVThe morning light streams through the tall windows of Sera's chamber, soft and golden. I sit beside her bed, my hands pressed gently to her chest, the warmth of my gift flowing through her body. Her breathing is easier now. The color has returned to her cheeks. Every day, she grows stronger.Greta stands nearby, holding a small cup of dark liquid. Gracia is on the other side of the bed, his hand wrapped around Sera's, his eyes fixed on her face with an intensity that makes my heart ache.I pull my hands back, the glow fading. "She's improving. The poison is weakening. Another few days, and she'll be able to sit up on her own."Gracia's shoulders sag with relief. "Thank you, Luna. I don't know how to…""Don't," I interrupt gently. "Just be here for her. That's enough."Greta steps forward with the cup. "I've prepared a new herbal remedy. It's bitter, I won't lie, but it will help her."Sera eyes
Damian's POV"I won't be able to kill her if this is happening…"I freeze. My body goes still. My heart pounds against my ribs.I peer slowly around the corner. It's Mary. She's standing in the dark edge of the hallway, her phone pressed to her ear, her back to me. She doesn't see me. She doesn't know I'm there.I press myself against the wall, barely breathing, straining to hear every word."I know, I know… but she's getting better. That Silvermoon Luna is healing her faster than I anticipated. She's talking, laughing… she hasn't done that in years. If she keeps improving, I won't be able to…"A pause. She listens to the person on the other end."I understand… I understand. But you need to give me more time. I can't… I can't do it now. Not when this Silvermoon pups is here."Another pause. Her voice grows sharper, more desperate."What do you mean I have to find a
Damian's POVThe night is quiet. Peaceful. Beautiful in the way only darkness can be when it holds no threat.I sit on the bench, my legs stretched out, my back against the cold wood. Beside me, Gracia sits with his elbows on his knees, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that has long gone cold. Across from us, Greta is wrapped in a shawl, her face pale in the moonlight.We have been listening to Gracia's past since morning. The sun rose, climbed to its peak, and fell into darkness. And still, we sit here, listening to the story of a man who has endured more pain than anyone should ever have to bear.I thought I knew suffering. I thought losing my parents at a young age, raising Maya alone, leading a pack through war—that was pain. That was sacrifice. I carried that weight like a badge of honor.But listening to Gracia, I realize how naive I was.He was a child when his mother was killed. A slave when he was s
Gracia's POVThe world stopped.Not in the way people say when they're surprised. Not in the way love makes you feel. No. The world actually stopped. I couldn't hear anything. Couldn't feel anything. Couldn't see anything except the body in my arms and the blood on my hands.Orin's body was still warm. His eyes were closed. His face was peaceful, like he was just sleeping. But I knew he wasn't. I knew he would never wake up. I knew he was gone.‘He's dead. He's dead… He's dead.’The words echoed through my mind, hollow and meaningless. I couldn't process them. I couldn't accept them. I just held him, my arms wrapped around his still form, my face burned by crying. I knew I was crying. But I couldn't feel the tears.‘Gracia… E-Eve, Esme and Arthur are… dead.’Sera's words cut through the void like a blade. I heard them. I understood them. But I couldn't feel them. I was hollow.
Gracia's POVThe field beyond the compound walls was a nightmare of chaos and blood.I ran through the shattered gate, my sword in one hand, a fallen warrior's rifle in the other. The West warriors were fleeing, but they were too many. Some had turned to fight, driven by desperation or loyalty to their dead Alpha. The Ironhold warriors surged forward, meeting them head-on.The battle was devastating. There was no order now, no formations, no strategy—just chaos. Guns fired from every direction, the cracks and booms deafening. Swords clashed, steel against steel. Wolves shifted, their massive forms tearing through enemy lines. Cars burned in the distance, their twisted metal frames blackened by flames. Snipers on the walls picked off enemies from afar, but there were too many to stop.The ground was slick with blood. Bodies lay everywhere—some Ironhold, some West. I stepped over them, my boots squelching in the mud and gore. The a
I wake up to sunlight and the smell of something cooking.For a second, I forget where I am. Think I'm back home, in my tiny room, with Dad making breakfast downstairs. Then I see the white walls, the unfamiliar ceiling, the fireplace with cold ash in it.Right. Silvermoon. Damian's house. Not dead
I can't breathe.Caden stands in the middle of Damian's front yard like he owns it, he does owns everything. His dark hair catches the morning light. His ice-blue eyes sweep over the Silvermoon pack members with that look I know too well—the one that says *you're beneath me* without him having to o
I wake up in a bed that's not mine.That's my first thought. Before I open my eyes, before I remember anything—just that the sheets smell different. Like pine and something else. Something clean and sharp.Then everything comes rushing back. The rejection. The run. The rain. The wolves.I sit up so
My hands won't stop shaking.I press them flat against my thighs, but the tremors just move up my arms. The white dress my mom wore thirty years ago feels too tight around my ribs, or maybe that's just my lungs forgetting how to work."You'll ruin it." My dad's voice comes from behind me. Soft. Car







