The air in the moonlit clearing thrummed, not just with ancient energy, but with the palpable tension of a thousand wolves holding their breath. Tonight, under the gaze of the full moon, Damien Blackwood would ascend as the Alpha of the Silvermoon pack.
And I, Elara, on the cusp of my eighteenth birthday, was a nobody. An Omega. A speck of dust in the grand constellation of our pack's power. Yet, my heart hammered against my ribs with a foolish, secret hope. Tonight, the Moon Goddess would reveal my mate.
I watched from the back as Damien, magnificent and terrifyingly handsome, knelt before the Alpha Stone. Beside him, radiating smug triumph, stood Selena, an Alpha female from a neighboring pack, her crimson dress a flag of victory planted firmly in his territory. She was his intended, his political alliance, his perfect match in power and ambition.
When Damien stood, anointed by moonlight and declared Alpha, a wave of raw power washed over us all. His gaze, now glowing with silver light, swept across the crowd. For a single, earth-shattering moment, his eyes found mine.
Lightning. A jolt so powerful it stole the air from my lungs. A golden thread, shimmering and divine, erupted from my soul and connected to his. In that instant, I knew. He was mine. The scent of pine and winter frost flooded my senses, a scent I knew I would crave for eternity.
Mate. The word was a silent, soul-deep scream of recognition.
I saw the shock on his face, the momentary, breathless recognition. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a mask of sheer horror.
The pack elder, a wizened wolf named Alistair, stepped forward, his old eyes having missed nothing. A murmur rippled through the crowd. An Alpha and an Omega? An unprecedented, shameful mismatch.
"The bond has revealed itself," Alistair announced, his voice grave. "But it is a bond of imbalance. Such a link, if left untended, will weaken the Alpha and destabilize the pack."
My blood ran cold. What was he saying?
Alistair turned to Damien, his expression grim. "Alpha Damien, the Goddess has tested you with your first trial. To secure your reign and prove your strength, this flawed bond must be publicly and physically severed. You must cauterize the link. You must brand her with the Mark of Rejection."
A collective gasp swept through the clearing. A branding. It was an archaic, brutal ritual, reserved for the most heinous of traitors. It was a fate worse than death.
My gaze flew to Damien, my heart pleading with him. No, please, don't do this.
But Selena, her eyes glittering with victory, was already in motion. She moved to the ceremonial fire, retrieving a long, silver rod from the coals. At its tip, a rune—the symbol for "severance"—glowed a menacing, cherry-red. She presented it to Damien with a triumphant smile, as if offering him a scepter.
"Do it, my love," she purred, her voice loud enough for all the nearby elites to hear. "Show them your strength. Show them you belong to me."
Damien's jaw was a hard line, his knuckles white as he took the branding iron. He wouldn't look at me. He couldn't. He walked towards me, each step heavy, final. The crowd parted before him like a wave.
I was frozen, a trapped animal watching its executioner approach.
He stopped before me, the heat from the iron scorching the air between us. I finally saw his eyes, and what I saw shattered the last of my hope. They were filled with a cold, terrifying resolve. A muscle in his jaw twitched, a flicker of what I mistook for cruel satisfaction. He was going to enjoy this. He was going to break me to prove his love for her.
"Give me your arm," he commanded, his voice a low, emotionless growl.
I couldn't move. I could only shake my head, hot tears blurring my vision.
With a sigh of impatience, he grabbed my wrist, his grip like steel. His touch, which should have felt like coming home, was a manacle, holding me in place for my punishment. He forced my arm straight, my palm facing the sky.
"Please," I sobbed, the word torn from my throat. "Damien, please don't."
"You are not my mate," he bit out, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn't understand. "You are a weakness the pack cannot afford."
He lowered the glowing brand.
The world narrowed to a single point of agonizing sensation. The sizzle of my own flesh, the acrid smell of burning, and a pain so absolute, so all-consuming, that it eclipsed even the agony of the rejected bond. A scream, raw and inhuman, ripped from my lungs as the rune was seared into my skin.
It was over in a second, but it would last an eternity. He released me, and I collapsed, clutching my arm. There, on the tender flesh of my wrist, was a hideous, blistered, weeping wound—a permanent, ugly scar that screamed to the world: Unworthy. Unwanted. Rejected.
Through a haze of pain, I looked up. Damien was standing over me, his face a mask of stone. He dropped the still-hot branding iron to the ground with a clang. Then, he turned his back on me, walked back to Selena, and took her waiting hand. He raised their joined hands to the crowd, a silent proclamation of his choice, of his power, of his new Luna.
The pack erupted in a roar of approval. They were cheering for their powerful Alpha, who had so decisively cut out the weakness in their midst. They were cheering for my destruction.
That was the last thing I saw. The sight of him, my fated mate, holding hands with another woman over my broken body. The world spun into a black, painless void, and I welcomed the darkness as a final, merciful release.