Chapter 1 The Ceremony

• Raelin’s POV
• The dress fits like it was made for me.
• Because it was.
• Silken white, with silver threading down the sides to catch the light of the moon—the same moon that’s supposed to witness our bond tonight. My bond. My ceremony. My moment.
• The one I’ve earned.
• I stare at my reflection and see a Luna. Hair braided back with white roses. Shoulders square. Eyes sharp. No blood on my hands tonight. Just elegance and power.
• “You ready, Raelin?” my cousin whispers as she peeks into the tent flap. “They’re waiting.”
• I nod once. I’m not nervous. I’m not scared.
• I’m ready.
• Darius and I have been through everything together. War. Famine. Political tension between packs. He promised me this. Not just the title, not just the bond—but us. I saw it in his eyes every time he touched me. Felt it in the bond that sings low in my chest.
• He is mine.
• And I am finally, officially, about to be his.
• The clearing is lit with lanterns and lined with wolves in human form, standing in silence. When I step onto the path, their heads turn. The dress clings to my legs, catching just enough air to billow like smoke. I hear murmurs—beautiful, strong, finally—and I hold my chin higher.
• I reach the altar.
• Darius isn’t there yet.
• Strange.
• But I stay poised. There’s no panic. Not yet.
• The Elder nods to me in greeting. “You look radiant.”
• “Thank you,” I whisper, voice clear, heart steady.
• Then the crowd parts. Footsteps. His scent hits me before I see him—cedar and frost. My lungs draw it in instinctively.
• Darius walks out from the trees, tall and composed, dressed in ceremonial black. A dagger belt cinches around his waist, the Alpha sigil glinting against his chest.
• But something’s wrong.
• He’s not looking at me.
• He’s looking at someone behind me.
• I follow his gaze.
• Mira. Standing near the front, her hair slicked back into a gleaming braid, lips stained crimson. She isn’t supposed to be up here. She’s not part of the circle. She—
• Darius steps past me.
• No.
• He doesn’t even pause. Doesn’t touch my hand. Doesn’t smile.
• My stomach drops.
• “Darius,” I say, soft but sure, a reminder—of where we are, of what this is.
• He turns then. Looks me in the eye. There’s nothing there.
• No warmth. No regret. Just cold.
• “I can’t do this,” he says.
• The Elder frowns. “Alpha—?”
• “I reject Raelin Thorne as my mate and Luna.”
• Silence.
• I don’t move.
• “I declare her unfit to stand beside me.”
• My breath leaves me in a hard punch. Not a gasp. Not a cry.
• But the kind of stillness you reach after being gutted.
• The clearing is too quiet. The trees, the wind, the lanterns—all waiting. Watching.
• Mira walks forward. Slides her hand into Darius’s. She does it slowly, deliberately. She wants me to see it.
• I do.
• And still, I don’t move.
• The bond in my chest twists, sharp and real. Not broken. Not yet.
• Because bonds don’t just snap like twigs. They rot. Decay. Die slow deaths in silence.
• My fingers curl at my sides. I meet Darius’s eyes and wait—for what, I don’t even know. An apology? Hesitation? Something to show this hurts him, too.
• But he doesn’t flinch.
• He holds Mira’s hand like it belongs there.
• And now the whispers start. The murmurs. The disbelief.
• I hear my name. I hear “rejected”. I hear “Luna no more.”
• I lift my chin.
• I look at Mira. Her smile is made of honey and poison.
• I smile back. No teeth. Just steel.
• I don’t scream. I don’t run.
• Instead, I turn.
• And I walk off the altar in silence, every step echoing louder than any roar.
• Behind me, the mating bond pulses once more in my chest.
• But it won’t for long.
• Not after this.