Elara never planned to attend the Blood Moon Gathering. She only came because she'd been helping earlier in the day, and leaving before the event started would've drawn more attention than staying invisible in a corner.
The Silvercrest Pack House was alive with glittering lights, polished oak, and wolves dressed to impress. Laughter bounced off the stone walls, the scent of wine, pine, and musk mingling in the air. Music drifted from somewhere near the hearth, slow and elegant.
She kept to the edges, carrying a tray of extra glasses she'd been asked to put away and then quietly forgotten about. She didn't wear a dress like the others—just a clean black blouse and dark jeans. She didn't have a rank, status, or name people cared about.
That was fine. She preferred not being noticed.
She placed the tray on the refreshments table and turned to leave when it hit her.
Warm cedar smoke.
The scent curled around her lungs before she realized what it was. It slid across her skin like heat, burning into her bloodstream. Her wolf rose instantly, alert and disbelieving.
Mate.
The word wasn't a whisper—it was a pulse through every nerve she had.
Elara froze. She already knew who it was before she even turned—like her soul had recognized the bond before her body did.
Kieran Blackwood.
Soon-to-be Beta. Son of the current Beta. Well-liked. Well-trained. Well-bred. Everything she wasn't and was never meant to stand beside.
He was across the hall, leaning casually at a high table with a drink loosely held in one hand. His friends were mid-conversation when he stilled and his nostrils flared slightly.
His gaze snapped to hers.
Silver eyes. Sharp. Unmistakably aware.
A hush ran through her chest, her wolf holding its breath in fragile, wild hope. For a tiny second, it was just instinct and destiny colliding.
Then his expression shifted.
Not to awe. Not to shock. Not even to reluctant acceptance.
Annoyance.
As if the Moon Goddess had played a joke on him and he'd already decided he wasn't laughing.
One of his friends, Luca—a tall, broad-shouldered wolf with a reputation for being casually cruel—followed Kieran's line of sight and choked on a laugh.
"No. You're kidding."
Another wolf, Maera, a ranked she-wolf known for always standing at the right side of power, glanced over Elara with thinly veiled disdain. "That can't be real."
It was all happening too fast, too loud, too plainly.
Kieran pushed away from the table and approached her with unhurried, deliberate steps. The music continued, but to Elara it was just a dull thud behind the roar in her ears.
Some people noticed the way his eyes glowed. Mate recognition was rare, but unmistakable. A few heads turned, curious. They expected a claim. A declaration. At least a conversation.
He stopped two steps in front of her.
"Elara," he said, voice flat.
No warmth. No surprise. Just her name spoken like a fact that inconvenienced him.
Her heart jolted. He had never said her name before.
She straightened instinctively. "You feel it."
It wasn't a question.
Kieran considered her in a way that made it clear he'd already made up his mind. His jaw clenched, then relaxed, like rejecting her was as routine as exhaling.
"Unfortunately," he said.
The word sliced through her like a blade dipped in ice. Luca snorted behind him. Maera covered a laugh with her hand but didn't bother hiding the smirk in her eyes.
Kieran didn't lower his voice. He didn't step aside. He didn't even pretend to discuss it in private.
"I reject this bond," he said, with the same tone someone might use to refuse a drink they didn't order.
Silence fanned out from the small group. Not the whole room heard it, but enough did. Enough to whisper later. Enough to remember.
Someone at a nearby table muttered, "Moon help her." Another just stared, fascinated in the way people watched car crashes.
Elara stood very still.
Her wolf let out a soundless, sharp cry inside her—shock and heartbreak colliding like thunder. The pain came fast, a crushing ache that squeezed behind her ribs and spread down her spine like fire.
She made herself speak anyway.
"I accept your rejection."
The words scraped her tongue, tasting like blood and betrayal. They sealed the bond's death as quickly as it had appeared.
Kieran gave no acknowledgment. The rejection was done, and in his mind, so was she. He turned away before her heartbeat even steadied.
Luca clapped him on the shoulder as if he'd just passed on an unwanted chore. "Fastest bond arc in history."
Maera murmured, "Like anyone's surprised."
They walked off, laughing about something else before they'd taken three steps.
Elara stayed rooted in place until the pressure in her chest threatened to shatter her lungs. No tears came—not here. Not for them.
No one came to ask if she was okay.
No one told her to stay strong.
A few lingering glances flicked her way, quickly bored when she didn't collapse or run off crying.
She turned and walked out of the hall with steady steps, each one quieter than the storm inside her.
Only when the doors shut behind her and the night air hit her lungs did she breathe again—but it hurt.
She didn't break.
Not yet.
But the crack had started.
And the Moon, somewhere far above that house full of wolves, did not look away.