Chapter 1
Sera
That smell—I'd never forget it for as long as I lived.
Not just blood. It was rust mixed with dirt, the warm liquid that sprayed across my face when my father went down, carrying that pure, almost tragic finality of life ending.
It clung to me like a greasy film, seeped into my pores, telling me, "Sera Connelly, the New Moon Pack was gone.
You're not a pack princess anymore. You are merchandise now. "
I stood on a platform draped in red velvet, like livestock waiting to be sold. A silver shackle locked around my ankle—cold, cursed. I felt it burning into my skin, that sizzling pain crawling up my nerve endings, reminding me what I was now—a slave on the auction block.
The stares below felt like dozens of clammy hands pawing at me. Powerful males from other packs, their eyes holding no respect, just greed and appraisal, like they were picking through rotting meat at a market.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The weasel-faced auctioneer rubbed his hands together, voice like nails on a chalkboard. "From the ashes of the New Moon Pack! Look at that body, that skin! The perfect addition to any lord's bedchamber!"
Laughter erupted—hyenas tearing into prey. A month ago, when I was still the New Moon Pack princess, I'd have crushed these chains to dust and flattened every bastard down there.
I tried to summon my Moonbane magic. Focused, reached for that power flowing through my blood. But I got nothing. Dead silence. It was completely suppressed, like a drugged guard dog that couldn't even wag its tail. I bit down hard on my tongue, tasting blood, using the pain to stay present.
I was the last ember of the New Moon Pack. Even if only ashes remained, the pride in my bones wouldn't bend.
But memory was an uncontrolled beast. Once it broke free, it tore at my sanity without mercy. I didn't resist. I let myself fall back into that dark morning.
Our territory, New Moon's sacred ground, drowned in a black tide.
It wasn't a war. It was a slaughter.
I watched Fang Pack's witch healers close in, holding vials that glowed with sickly green light.
Poison designed to suppress my Moonbane magic.
Moonbane—my gift that could devour an enemy's power and convert it to my own, the foundation of my pack's strength.
Now they were ripping it out by the roots.
The needle pierced the skin at the back of my neck. I felt that surging power inside me drain away, drop by drop, until nothing remained.
My father, the mighty Alpha, was bound to the burning totem pole, soaked in blood. His fur no longer wore that silver-gray glory—it was dyed the dark brown of despair.
"Run! Sera! Survive!" His voice shredded, followed by the sickening crack of breaking bone.
I didn't get away. They dragged me here.
"Sold! Congratulations, Lord Alfred! She's all yours!"
With that hammer strike, my life hit rock bottom.
They hauled me from the slave market to this pack sprawling across the hillside like a coiled beast. The main house reeked of suffocating luxury.
They stripped me naked. Expressionless old women scrubbed me with scalding water and harsh-smelling soap until my skin turned raw, like meat ready for carving.
They dressed me in white—fabric so thin it was practically transparent. I felt air brushing directly against my thighs.
The exposure made me want to vomit.
The cloth rubbed against the intact wolf mark on the back of my neck. My wolf whimpered beneath my skin, reminding me over and over: don't submit, find a way out, you're a warrior with Moonbane power, not a toy to be played with.
They brought me to the banquet hall. Crystal chandeliers cast light that stabbed my eyes.
The long table overflowed with delicacies, but all I smelled was hypocrisy.
Men and women raised wine glasses, laughing and chatting about which territory had the most valuable ore, which pack had the strongest fighters.
Alfred—the old man about to become my "husband"—walked over, swirling his glass. He wrapped an arm around my waist. His palm's heat seeped through the thin fabric, making my stomach churn.
"Don't be scared, little pet." His voice was low, reeking of alcohol. "Stay with me, and at least you won't end up like your people—tossed in the wilderness for the vultures. I'll take good 'care' of you."
"Everyone!" Alfred raised his glass. The noisy hall gradually quieted. Every eye turned toward me—curious, contemptuous, mostly just cold indifference.
"Let me introduce my newest acquisition. Sera Connelly, from the New Moon Pack. My eleventh bride. After all, beautiful things are worth collecting."
Eleventh. I wanted to carve that number on his tombstone as the summary of his life's achievements.
That's when I felt a different gaze.
Not like the others with their condescending amusement. It held cold scrutiny. My heart lurched like something had struck my chest. I followed the feeling, scanning past the mingling crowd to the far end of the long table.
In that instant, all the blood in my body seemed to freeze, then surge backward the next second, flooding my eyes and making my vision blur then sharpen.
It was him.
Even after ten years. Even though he'd shed his boyish features and now wore a perfectly tailored dark suit, broad shoulders, upright posture—I'd know him anywhere. That was the silhouette I'd traced in countless late nights, the pillar that kept me standing.
Joy crashed over me like a tsunami. Goddess, was I dreaming? The person who'd pulled me from drowning ten years ago, the one I'd secretly loved for a decade, the faith that kept me from breaking even through capture and humiliation—right there in front of me!
My heart slammed against my ribs. I instinctively wanted to walk toward him, but then I looked down at this white dress and remembered Alfred's hand roaming my waist. My joy drowned instantly in massive panic and shame.
Who was I? The eleventh bride bought by this estate's owner. What right did I have to approach him? I'd only disgrace him.
Alfred seemed to notice my reaction. His arm tightened around me as he walked toward that end of the table. His steps were steady, carrying that absolute power, each one reminding me: I belonged to him. I was his property.
"Damon," Alfred's voice held a barely concealed note of showing off. "Come meet one of your future 'mothers.'"
He was this old man's son? Fate had played the cruelest joke—I'd become the stepmother of the man I loved!
Damon's gaze finally landed on my face.
In that instant, the hopeful smile just beginning to form on my face—one I hadn't even noticed—froze completely, then shattered like a dropped mirror.
These weren't the cold eyes that held hidden warmth from my memories.
The eyes before me held no surprise, no warmth of reunion.
Just naked disgust and scrutiny, like looking at mud stuck to a shoe that wouldn't shake off.
Not even a ripple. He looked at me like I was furniture that didn't concern him, or a disease-carrying insect.
My heart felt like an invisible hand had squeezed it tight, then hurled it into an icebox. That plunge from the clouds hurt a thousand times more than being pinned to the ground when captured. Had he forgotten me? Or did he remember, but considered it shameful?
Then the woman beside Damon caught my attention.
She was stunning—beautiful like a finely carved porcelain doll. Blond hair twisted into an elaborate updo, every strand radiating nobility. She wore a gorgeous deep-V gown that perfectly showcased her superior figure.
Inferiority wrapped around my neck like vines, tightening until I could barely breathe.
Look at me—this transparent white dress, silver chains still on my ankles, like a beggar.
While she was an elevated princess. They looked perfect together, like divine couples stepping from a mural, perfect enough to crush hope.
And I was just a stain beneath their feet, a joke about to become an old man's plaything.
The moment my gaze met Damon's again—
An indescribable force from the depths of our souls exploded between us.
The air ignited with crackling electricity.
A visible silver aura—like the purest moonlight, like boiling steam—erupted from us as the center, spreading wildly outward.
It felt like the universe's first cry at creation: ancient, sacred, irresistible.
Every light in the banquet hall dimmed. Only that aura between us blazed blindingly bright.
The fated mate bond had been forcibly activated.
My wolf let out a deafening howl. She was ecstatic, wanted to burst through my skin, wanted to rush over, wanted to nuzzle his hand, wanted to show him her belly. It was a call from the soul's depths. My wolf was telling me: it's him! Our mate!
She couldn't wait to connect with her mate, couldn't wait for her mate's protection and comfort.
But my mind went blank. Fated mate? Was this the Moon Goddess's compensation? In this pit of despair, she'd given me one last thread of hope?
The entire banquet hall fell deathly silent.
Those aristocrats who'd been laughing and chatting looked frozen under a collective spell. They stared wide-eyed at the silver band of light growing brighter between Damon and me, expressions shifting from shock to disbelief to an absurd schadenfreude.
"Fa-fated mate?" Someone stammered, breaking the silence, voice strangled.
"Oh my God! You can't refuse the Moon Goddess's chosen mate. Duke Selen gave up his Alpha position because his fated mate didn't have Moonbane magic. Looks like Damon will have to give it up too."
"What if she has Moonbane magic?"
"Impossible. She's a slave from the auction block who can't even break ankle chains. How could she have Moonbane? Damon's heir position is finished."
"Maybe Damon should take a page out of his father's book and marry a few more. One more decoration in the household hardly matters."
Those comments were like dull knives slicing back and forth between Damon and me.
Their words dripped with contempt and mockery, crushing my last shred of dignity.
But I didn't care. I only looked at Damon.
He was my fated mate. That meant he had to protect me, meant I wouldn't have to marry that old man, meant I had a chance to stand beside him!
I felt Damon's body stiffen. He stared at that silver band connecting our souls, disgust in his eyes reaching its peak, mixed with something I couldn't read... panic. Not panic over love, but panic over destruction, fear of losing everything he'd fought for.
My wolf froze.
That extreme excitement transformed into confusion.
She whimpered in my veins like a puppy suddenly kicked by its owner.
She didn't understand why the scent that made her feel so close, so desperate to depend on, carried such intense malice.
She curled up, burying her head in her paws, releasing low, wounded whimpers.
Damon turned toward the woman who'd been holding his arm. She gripped his arm tighter, knuckles white, seeking shelter or declaring ownership, telling everyone: this was her mate. Damon seemed encouraged. He took a deep breath, chest heaving violently.
"Enough!"
His voice wasn't loud, but it struck like a hammer, shattering all the whispers. The entire hall fell silent again. You could hear a pin drop.
"My mate will only ever be Lillian."
Each word scraped from between his teeth was wrapped in ice. He paused, gaze sweeping across my face written with despair and pleading, mouth curling into a cruel, contemptuous arc.
"I will never be a waste of space who thinks with his lower half like my father."
"As for this so-called 'fate'..." He laughed coldly, eyes full of mockery, like he'd heard the century's biggest joke. "It's just a cheap trick Moon Goddess decided to play. I, Damon Blackwood, don't need this joke defining my future."
Every sentence was a hammer blow pounding my heart. I felt something inside me snap. Shame, despair, and that damned instinct—still madly beating, still wanting to get closer to him despite this trampling—wove into a massive net, strangling my breath.
The bond sensed my collapse, sensed Damon's rejection. It no longer just glowed. It began to tighten like a living chain, forcibly pulling us closer, compelling Damon to approach me, to fulfill that damned destiny. The pulling sensation was so intense I felt my soul tearing in half.
"Damon..."
I almost begged, voice hoarse and unrecognizable. Tears finally broke through, flooding down my cheeks. "I don't want to marry him. Look at me, please..."
My wolf was crying, calling for her Alpha.
"Help me, please..." I reached out, fingertips trembling, trying to touch him, trying to grasp this only lifeline.
Damon fought wildly against this instinct. He tried to step back, tried to personally sever this damned fate.
But the price for defying a fated mate's will was brutal and tangible.
With teeth-grinding sounds of dislocating bones and cloth tearing as muscles expanded, a massive gray wolf instantly replaced the man in the expensive suit.
Not human Damon. His most primitive, instinctual wolf form.
Gray fur sleek and powerful, every muscle line containing explosive force.
Those gray-blue eyes now held vertical beast pupils—cold, bloodthirsty, yet showing hints of confusion and struggle deep within.
He was twice the size of a normal wolf. Just standing there created invisible pressure.
Surrounding guests stumbled backward, screaming. Wine glasses shattered everywhere.
But the fierce giant wolf didn't attack. It walked toward me, massive body casting me in shadow. Then it lowered its head, using its wet, cold nose to gently, tentatively nuzzle my neck.
The gesture was incredibly tender.
Then it extended its rough tongue, licking my wolf mark on the back of my neck over and over. My wolf, wrapped in his pheromones, became quiet and content.
This was the pack's most primitive form of comfort.
I stood frozen, letting that rough tongue brush my sensitive skin, tears flowing harder. What was this? What the hell was this? His body acknowledges me, but his soul spits on me?
I raised my hand, gripping the gray wolf's neck fur tightly. I couldn't push him away. I even buried my face in his thick, warm fur, greedily breathing in that scent belonging to him.