Chapter 1: The moon's prophecy
That night when the prophecy was uttered the moon had glared like silver in the heavens, more brightly than any of them had ever seen.
The elders muttered it was none other than the Moon Goddess herself, her eye upon the world below with judgment and promise in that eye heavy.
Kaelan Stormfang was not much more than twenty winters old at that time, and what is more, he was a new Alpha King and his throne was still hot with the death of his father. His kingdom of Lycanthria had fought and fought with warring packs over the years and the land was awash in blood and suspicions were everywhere. Wolves bit at each other throats too, in peace, hoping to prove the strength of their king.
In the holy Temple of Moonstone the Oracle was called forth in the fateful night. Older than any of the wolves, and more than old enough were her white eyes. But when she spoke her voice had the weight of fate.
"With power unsurpassed The Alpha King shall reign,
but thou shalt leave the heart of the wolf untrammeled.
Only when shadow comes and crown vibrates,
does the Moon send him his mate--
Very pure and very innocent of fang or of claw.
None will be able to pacify the beast but she.
And by their union, the kingdom shall last.”
The court was dead. Kaelan recalled the expression of uneasy glances that had exchanged the nobles when already meditating on whom would be the companion of such a bride, and how she would be used in effecting the opinion of the King.
Whilst he had had a neglect of them before. He had no time to prophecy, No time a mate to close With. Love was an item he could not afford. There was yet war on the borders, and in every day it seemed a fight to prevent the throne being wrested out of his hands.
However prophesies bite. And sit there and wait.
And years went on and the reign of Kaelan became legend. He was the wolf who never lost a fight, the king who crushed opponents at the single use of word. His wolf shape with its silver eyes and black fur turned into a nightmare of his rivals. But year by year the utterance of the Oracle ate at the corners of his thoughts.
He had had lovers--mere momentary, soon forgotten flings--still there had been none with whom he could have responded with all that primordial bond he felt at the touch of the Moon Goddess. No bond. No mate. Nothing peaceful of the wild tempest within him.
Then there came the signs.
First there was a change in the wind. Days upon days it bore the odour of fire and steel, the harbinger of war.
Second, the villages of the border said there were tracks in the forests--rogue wolves, that moved together in numbers that were too large to be chance.
And last of all.. dreams started.
They came every night without fail. A girl stood in the moonlight, her hair like spun gold, her eyes wide and unafraid. She wore no crown, no jewels, only a simple white dress that clung to her like morning mist. She did not speak, yet her presence quieted the roaring beast in his chest. When he woke, her scent—wildflowers and rain—lingered in his mind long after the dream faded.
The first night he dismissed it as a trick of the mind. The second night, he thought it the work of magic. By the seventh night, he knew.
The Moon was calling him. And somewhere out there, his mate was waiting.
Far from the capital, in a small border village called Grey Hollow, Elara Thorn tended to her grandmother’s garden in the fading light. The village was quiet that evening, the air heavy with the smell of pine and damp earth. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, humming softly to herself as she collected herbs for the healer.
Elara had never seen the capital, never stepped beyond the safety of Grey Hollow’s wooden palisade. Her parents had died when she was young, leaving her in her grandmother’s care. Life here was simple, predictable… and a little lonely.
Yet she was content. Or at least, she had been—until the unease began. For weeks now, she had felt watched, as though unseen eyes followed her every step. The forest, usually her sanctuary, seemed to breathe differently, its shadows shifting when she passed.
That night, the feeling grew stronger.
“Elara,” her grandmother called from the doorway, her voice edged with worry. “Come inside. Quickly.”
She obeyed without question. Her grandmother rarely sounded afraid, but tonight her hands trembled as she latched the door.
“What is it?” Elara asked.
“Rogues,” the old woman said simply. “The hunters found tracks in the east woods. Big ones.”
Elara’s heart tightened. She had heard the stories—wolves without a pack, savage and half-mad from living too long away from the bonds of kin. But Grey Hollow was far from any Alpha’s territory. Why would rogues come here?
Her grandmother didn’t answer the question she didn’t ask. Instead, she pressed a small dagger into Elara’s palm. “Keep this with you. And stay inside after dark.”
Elara nodded, though she wasn’t sure how much good a blade would do against a wolf.
The moon rose high and silver, bathing Grey Hollow in cold light. Somewhere in the distance, a howl split the night. It was not the mournful song of a lone wolf—it was a call. And it was answered.
By the time the first screams rang out, the village was already under attack. Shadows moved fast through the streets, fur bristling, fangs flashing.
Elara’s grandmother shoved her toward the back door. “Run! To the forest!”
“I won’t leave you—”
“Go!”
The command in her voice left no room for argument. Elara clutched the dagger and fled into the night, her bare feet pounding the earth. She didn’t look back.
She had just reached the treeline when a massive black-furred wolf leapt from the shadows, knocking her to the ground. Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow, its breath hot on her face. She raised the dagger, but the creature’s weight pinned her, its claws digging into her shoulders.
And then another shadow fell over them.
The wolf above her was ripped away with terrifying force. Elara scrambled back, heart hammering, just in time to see a sight that would be seared into her memory forever.
Another wolf—larger, darker, stronger ,more powerful—stood over her. The air around it crackled with dominance, a force so tangible she could feel it pressing against her skin.
The two wolves clashed, the black one moving with deadly precision, tearing into the rogue until it lay still. Then, with a shudder, the black wolf shifted.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair falling over those same silver eyes. His bare chest was streaked with blood—none of it his own.
He looked at her. And in that instant, Elara felt something inside her ignite. A pull, deep and primal, as though her soul recognized his.
The man’s voice was low, dangerous, and certain.
“You’re mine.”