The forest had never been so silent.
Even the wolves knew not to speak his name that morning.
Damian stood at the edge of the valley, where mist curled over the torn ground. The battle against the rogues was over, but the scars remained — on the land, on his pack, and in the hollow ache behind his ribs where the bond should have burned.
Aria was gone.
She hadn't run. She hadn't been taken. She had walked away, and every step she took had torn the mark between them a little more, until it was nothing but ash beneath his skin.
He could still feel her faintly — a flicker, like a heartbeat underwater — but it wasn't the same. It was distance. A horizon he could never reach.
"Alpha," Eli said quietly behind him. "The council wants to meet. They're… concerned."
"Concerned?" Damian's voice was low, dangerous. "About what?"
Eli hesitated. "They saw her. What she did at the temple. The light. The storm. They say she's no longer just your mate. They say she's—"
"Say it."
"—something else."
Damian turned slowly, his golden eyes sharp as blades. "She's Aria. That's all that matters."
But even as he said it, his heart knew he was lying. The girl he'd fallen for under the blood moon was gone. What walked out of that temple wasn't just her. It was something beyond her — divine, untouchable.
And gods didn't belong to wolves.
---
Aria stood at the edge of the river, watching her reflection ripple across the water.
The silver in her veins pulsed faintly, glowing through her skin in threads that caught the sunlight like veins of starlight. When she blinked, the world shifted — she could hear everything now. The rustle of roots, the whispers of wind, the quiet heartbeat of the forest.
But the bond — the heartbeat that wasn't hers — was fading.
She tried to summon it, to reach through the space between them, but it slipped away like smoke.
You cannot hold both, the goddess's voice murmured in her mind. Power and love. One will consume the other.
"I didn't ask for power," Aria whispered. "I only wanted him."
And now you have neither.
The words cut deeper than any blade.
---
That night, the pack gathered in the courtyard. Fires burned low, their light flickering across wary faces. Whispers rippled like shadows — about the Moonborn girl who could bend light, about the Alpha whose bond was dying.
Damian sat at the head of the long table, silent. His Beta stood beside him, but even Eli's steady presence couldn't hide the unease in the air.
"She's a danger to us," one of the elders said, voice trembling but loud. "We've all seen it. The goddess marked her differently. If her power grows—"
"She is one of us," Damian interrupted.
"She was," the elder corrected, "before she became something else. You felt it, didn't you, Alpha? The bond breaking. The mate link dying. Tell us — is she even wolf anymore?"
Damian rose, slow and deliberate. The weight of his authority rippled through the air, pressing down until the elder's breath caught.
"You forget yourself," Damian growled. "Without her, half this pack would be dead. She saved you when the rogues tore through our borders. You owe her your lives."
"Perhaps," the elder said, voice trembling. "But who will save us when she turns on us?"
Damian slammed his fist against the table, the wood splintering beneath his hand. "Enough."
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.
He turned away, chest heaving, eyes glinting like molten gold. The rage wasn't just for them. It was for himself — for the helplessness, the emptiness, the unbearable ache of a bond that no longer answered him.
---
Later that night, he found himself in the ruins of the training yard. The moon was high, silver and cold, painting his scars in pale light.
He threw a punch into the air, then another — his fists cutting through the darkness. Sweat streaked down his chest, but no matter how hard he struck, he couldn't drown the ache.
He could still see her. The way she'd looked when the light burst from her skin — radiant, untouchable.
He hated the goddess for taking her. He hated fate for binding them. But most of all, he hated himself for not being strong enough to follow.
"Breaking your bones won't bring her back."
The voice was soft, female.
Damian turned — and there she was.
Aria stood at the edge of the yard, wrapped in a cloak of shadow and moonlight. Her hair shimmered faintly, every strand alive with a light that wasn't human.
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them trembled.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice low.
"I had to see you."
He stepped closer, every muscle in his body taut. "You left."
"I had to."
"Because of her?"
Aria looked down. "Because of what I am now."
He reached out, fingers trembling. "You're still you."
She shook her head. "No. You don't feel it, Damian? The bond— it's barely there. I can't sense your emotions anymore. I can't even tell when your heart stutters."
He grabbed her hand, pressed it to his chest. "Then feel it now."
For a moment, she did. The steady rhythm beneath her palm, warm and human. Her eyes fluttered shut.
"I don't want to lose this," she whispered.
"Then don't."
Tears glimmered at the corners of her eyes. "You don't understand. The goddess didn't just awaken my power — she's testing me. If I keep clinging to you, it'll kill me. Or you."
"I'll take that risk."
"I won't."
The words shattered something inside him. He stared at her, the pain raw, unguarded. "You think I can survive without you?"
"You have to."
She turned away, but he caught her wrist. "Look at me, Aria. Please."
When she finally did, the goddess's light flickered in her eyes — silver and endless.
"You're not my weakness," Damian said. "You're my reason."
She smiled — soft, broken. "Then let me be your reason to live, not to fall."
The air around them shifted, the faint hum of divine energy rising again. The light in her veins glowed brighter, spilling across her skin like liquid moonlight.
"Aria," he whispered, fear creeping into his voice. "What are you doing?"
"Setting you free."
He shook his head, stepping forward, but she pressed her palm against his chest — over his heart. The mark on her neck flared once, searing bright.
Pain tore through him — not physical, but deeper, the ripping of something sacred. The bond.
"No," he gasped, clutching her wrist. "Don't—"
"It's the only way," she said, tears streaking down her cheeks. "If I don't, the goddess will destroy everything you love."
The light between them burned. The air screamed.
And then, silence.
Damian fell to his knees, breath shuddering. The mark on his neck — their mark — was gone.
Aria stood over him, shaking, the last trace of light fading from her skin. She looked hollowed, devastated.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I love you too much to let fate decide for us."
Then she vanished — dissolved into light that scattered across the courtyard like ashes of a dying star.
---
When Damian finally lifted his head, dawn was breaking.
The bond was gone. The goddess was silent.
And for the first time since the blood moon, the Alpha of Black Moon Pack was truly alone.
But beneath the grief, buried deep, something else stirred — rage.
Because if the gods thought they could take her from him forever…
They had just declared war.
---