Chapter 147

Lauren

The sacred grounds shimmered like something out of memory—untouched, timeless, holy.

It was time, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it, even if I was swelling with pride.

Lanterns swung gently from the low-hanging branches, their golden light dancing through the leaves like stars caught in a slow waltz. The air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs, wildflowers, and the faint smoke of moon-blessed incense that curled in lazy spirals toward the night sky.

The Moon herself hung full above us, round and watching, her pale glow bathing every leaf, every stone, every soul that had gathered to witness what should’ve been a perfect beginning.

Owen stood at the heart of it all, calm in a way I could hardly believe. His ceremonial robes—soft silver over charcoal, lined with symbols of our bloodline—clung to his broadening shoulders like they’d always belonged there. His hood was down, his hair brushed back, the flicker of firelight reflected in eyes that looked far older than his years. There was power in his silence as he walked through the crowd to the small stage of wood ahead. Confidence in his stillness. He looked just like his father. He was ready.

And yet, I felt it—that mother’s ache. That knowing.

Alexander walked behind him, ever the mountain—silent, proud, always watching. The Alpha King loomed nearby, his expression unreadable, arms folded across his chest. Abigail and Theo stood on either side of me. The pack filled the clearing in reverent silence, generations of wolves standing shoulder to shoulder under the eyes of their Goddess.

Everything was as it should be. And yet—

I stepped forward, just enough to brush my hand against Owen’s passing arm.

He turned to me, just slightly.

“Whatever happens,” I whispered, soft and steady, “you’re ready.”

He didn’t smile. But something in his eyes flickered—thank you, or I know, or maybe just I hear you. Then he turned away and walked toward the stage.

The Alpha ceremony, the next in line formally taking on there role as the next generations leader.

The clearing quieted until even the crickets stilled. Time slowed.

The tall moonstones around the clearing shown white and marble like tonight in the moonlight, like a monuments at the edge of the glade—veined in silver.

When Owen stopped on the stage, the moonlight felt strong. Or maybe I only noticed it it.

Not a sound—a pulse. The moonlight catching fire, and I felt the Goddess lean closer. She was watching intently, here with us.

Owen took a deep breath. Then he spoke.

“I vow… to guide this pack with courage, not cruelty. With honor, not pride.”

His voice carried—not loud, but full. Certain. His wolf stood just beneath the surface. I could feel it.

“I vow to protect the legacy of our blood, to never forget those who walked before me, and to never betray those who walk beside me.”

The light around him grew brighter, glowing like stars caught in it’s light.

“I vow to be a shield, not a sword. To lead with heart and strength. To place my pack above myself—”

He paused. Just briefly.

The air shifted. The trees seemed to exhale. The wind stilled.

The Moon pulsed brighter overhead.

And then—

A scream. Everyone seemed to jump, looking back over the crowd for the scouce. Then another scream as people seemed to fall to the ground, choking in the back.

Chaos, as the crowd surged forward.

A hum—low and unnatural—shivered through the ground, through my feet, into my bones. Not divine. Not sacred. Wrong.

I stepped forward instinctively. “Owen—”

Beneath us, black smoke erupted.

It pulsed with rot, thick as ropes, twisting outwards like roots starved for blood. They coiled through the sacred ground, climbing over the altar, snaking across the ceremonial symbols we had carved hours before.

Gasps echoed. Someone screamed.

And then—more wolves dropped.

One by one, bodies hit the grass. Some mid-shift, bones snapping back and forth between forms. Some couldn’t shift at all—caught in limbo, howling in pain, eyes rolling white, coughing like they were choking.

They couldn’t… transform. Suck as humans. What was… happening.

Abigail tripped forward in the surge of panicked bodies, clutching her skull. “Mom!” she gasped, her voice shaking. “My head! I—”

“Abigail!” I grabbed for her but the smoke rose all around us.

Theo grabbed her shoulders, steadying her, but he was staggering too. I could feel it rising—this tearing, ripping sensation deep inside. My wolf—myself—coming undone.

The bond was fraying.

The sacred link between the wolf and the human soul was breaking.

Alexander surged forward, trying to steady Owen, who had fallen to his knees. The Alpha King shouted something from the stage—panic and blame and fury in one breath, helping nothing. “This is her doing!” he screamed. “She’s cursed the land—this is the witch’s mark!”

I spun. “It’s not me!”

But I knew whose it was.

On the edge of the clearing, that reddish toned hair peaking through the lining. A machine in her arms, billowing out this smoke.

Gingi.

This had her hand all over it. The rot. The timing. The pain. Not magic. Not curse.

Science.

My breath caught. The symptoms, the collapse, the severing—it wasn’t divine sabotage.

It was biological.

A poison—something designed in her lab. Something engineered to take wolves apart at the seams. To sever their essence from their animal.

A ceremonial bomb. She was trying to break the bond we had to the moon.

She’d planned this.

And somewhere out there—hidden, watching—she was savoring it.

“No more chosen. No more divine,” her voice echoed over the chaos in the clearing. She looked unhinged, lost, more wild and emotional then I’d ever seen her as she laughed to the sky.

“Let the wolves crumble with their precious traditions.

My last experiment! Theo my baby are you proud of me! GrimMaw, my love, help me see this through!”

A thousand things snapped into place in my head but I coudln’t act fast enough

I grabbed Abigail, trying to pull her upright, but the smoke passed through us like a wave—a living smoke, thick and jagged and sentient. It lashed toward us.

Theo saw it first.

“Run!” he screamed.

He pushed Abigail toward me—just in time—and was swallowed by it.

His scream tore through the woods, and I’ll hear it until the day I die.

Abigail shrieked, fighting me, clawing to get back to him. “Theo! No—Theo!”

“Abigail—GO!”

I dragged her backward, heart in my throat. The smoke curled toward us again, reaching.

And with nothing left—

I yanked her behind me, taking off into the woods but my mind was filling with prayer.

Goddess, if you ever loved us—now. Save them. Take me. Just don’t let this be the end of the pack! Please! Protect us!

Nothing. No answer and I huffed, my eyebrow furrowing.

Girl, I swear to god you better answer! I’m sick of your goddess horsecrap! Quit being useless and help us!

The wind halted. Everything stilled.

And then—light.

Bright. Radiant. Piercing.

A silver column of moonlight tore through the dark sky and blast of blinding light nearly stoped us in our track. Everything outside it melted into shadow, rot curling back like it was afraid of the purity.

Inside the light—it was just us. Just me, Abigail and her.

And then the voice came. Not in sound—but in our bones.

“You ask for purification.

So needy.

But Fine, my blood.

Though, Only one of you may walk away intact—

if that is your wish.”

I froze.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no no—there has to be another way!”

And then Abigail yanked my arm.

Blood at her temple. Fear in her eyes. But resolve in her soul.

She looked up.

“Let it be me,” she said.

I choked. “Abigail, don’t—”

She turned to me. “You’ve lived your life, Mom. You built this pack. You led us through war. But mine’s just starting. She gave me life, right? Maybe this is how I can save the pack. Maybe this is what I was meant to do—”

“Abigail, no—”

She squeezed my hand. Still holding on.

And then the light pulsed again.

So bright, I couldn’t see.

So loud, I couldn’t hear.

Just the Goddess remained.

“Choose. As many of you’re pack aren’t strong enough to survive this… tranfomational loss.”