The library of the Blackthorn pack was a cathedral of shadows.
Rows of shelves stretched higher than the eye could follow, each one groaning with tomes older than kingdoms. Dust hung in the air, stirred by the faintest breath, and the smell of leather and parchment wrapped around Aria like smoke. She had not been here before—few were granted access—but Rowan had unlocked the doors at Damian's command, his expression unreadable as he left her inside.
"You'll find no comfort here," he'd muttered, and the heavy doors closed behind her.
But Aria wasn't searching for comfort. She was searching for answers.
Her fingers trailed along the spines of the books, tracing faded letters, strange symbols that tugged at something deep inside her chest. The night after training, she hadn't been able to ignore it anymore—the way her voice had stopped the rogue, the shimmer in her skin beneath the moon, the hum of something ancient in her blood. It wasn't normal. It wasn't human.
And if she didn't understand it before the trial, it would kill her.
She pulled a thick volume from the shelf, its binding cracked, its title faded to nothing. When she opened it, the script inside was jagged, runes that shifted when she tried to read them. Her pulse quickened. She didn't know the language, but some part of her—buried, instinctive—recognized it.
The letters rearranged themselves until words emerged. Moon-bound. Shadow-marked. The blood of the forgotten line.
Her breath caught. She turned the page, and an illustration stared back: a woman with silver eyes standing among wolves. Not leading them, not fighting them—commanding them. Wolves bowed at her feet, their muzzles lowered, their bodies bent in submission.
Aria's chest tightened. Her reflection stared back from the page, distorted but undeniable.
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice snapped through the silence, and Aria spun, clutching the book to her chest. Damian stood in the archway, his expression caught between anger and something else—fear.
"I had to know," she whispered.
His jaw tightened. He strode forward, plucking the book from her hands before she could protest. His eyes scanned the page, and for a moment, all the power of the Alpha drained away.
"You found it." His voice was hoarse. "The legend of the Moon-Blessed."
She blinked. "Moon-Blessed?"
Damian closed the book with a snap, as though afraid even the walls might hear. He dragged a hand down his face, then met her eyes. "It's a story mothers tell their pups. A curse disguised as a myth. Humans touched by the first moon, bearing power even wolves couldn't control. They vanished centuries ago. Some say the packs destroyed them. Others say the bloodline was buried, hidden. But…" His gaze swept over her, heavy with truth he didn't want to speak. "You carry it."
The air between them thickened, the weight of destiny pressing down.
Aria shook her head. "No. That's impossible. I'm just—"
"You're not just anything," Damian cut in, his voice sharp, trembling with something close to desperation. "Don't you see? This is why the council fears you. Why they demand the trial. If you are Moon-Blessed, then your power belongs to no one. Not even me."
The words pierced her. Not even him.
She turned away, her chest aching. "So what am I supposed to do? Walk into that trial and hope the moon decides I'm worth keeping alive? Or let them kill me before I can even understand what I am?"
Silence stretched, filled only by the rustle of pages as the book slipped from Damian's grip and landed on the table with a dull thud. He stepped closer, his hand brushing her arm, the touch grounding yet fragile.
"You survive," he said finally, his voice a vow. "And I'll make sure of it. Whatever you are—Moon-Blessed, cursed, human—you're mine. And I won't let them take you."
Her breath caught at the rawness in his tone. The bond pulsed, tightening, as though the moon itself approved. But even as his words wrapped around her, the shadows of doubt whispered. Could he truly protect her from destiny, from a council that feared her, from a bloodline cursed by history itself?
Before she could answer, the library doors slammed open. Rowan strode in, his face pale, his composure fractured.
"Alpha. They've called for you. The elders. It's urgent."
Damian's body stiffened, his hand falling from her arm. "What now?"
Rowan's gaze flicked to Aria, then away. "They know. About her. About what she is."
The silence that followed was sharper than any blade.
---
The council chamber burned with torchlight, shadows thrown long and jagged across the stone. The elders sat in their places, their eyes fixed not on Damian this time, but on Aria.
Elder Selene leaned forward, her lips curved in something that was not a smile. "So. The whispers are true. The girl carries old blood. Tell me, Alpha—will you claim her power for the pack, or allow it to consume you both?"
Aria's stomach turned. Claim her power? Like she was a weapon, a thing to be wielded. She opened her mouth to speak, but Damian's voice struck first.
"She is not a weapon," he said, low and dangerous.
Selene's brows rose. "No? And yet, history tells us otherwise. The Moon-Blessed bent wolves to their will. They commanded packs not with loyalty, but with force. It is no wonder their kind were destroyed. Would you risk our people for your bond?"
Murmurs spread through the chamber, fear and hunger mingling in equal measure. Roran's voice cut through, calm but unyielding.
"There are two paths, Alpha. Bind her power to the pack—or end it. There is no middle ground."
Aria's breath caught. Her knees felt weak, her heart pounding as though it would shatter. Bind her? End her? The words tasted like chains and ash.
Damian's fists clenched at his sides. His voice thundered. "I will do neither. She will face the trial. And if the moon deems her worthy, she will stand beside me. Not as a weapon. Not as a curse. But as my mate."
The chamber fell silent, the weight of his declaration pressing against every stone. The elders stared, unreadable, but in their eyes Aria saw it—war.
If she survived, the pack might bow. If she failed, they would bury her.
---
That night, Aria stood again at the window of Damian's chamber, the book of legends heavy in her hands. She traced the silver-eyed woman on its pages, her reflection mingling with the ancient ink.
"Moon-Blessed," she whispered. The word no longer felt foreign. It felt like a key.
Behind her, Damian's presence filled the room, silent and fierce. He didn't speak, but when his hand came to rest on her shoulder, she leaned into it, letting his warmth shield her from the cold.
The trial loomed closer. And now, she knew—it wasn't just about survival. It was about proving whether the blood of the forgotten line would rise again… or burn to ash beneath the moonlight.
---