Draven had not slept.
Sleep required silence—and the bond inside his chest had become a wound that would not close.
It throbbed with her presence, distant yet unmistakable, like a pulse echoing through stone. Every time he tried to still his thoughts, it surged instead, dragging fear and need through his veins until his hands shook.
She was alive.
That truth should have steadied him.
Instead, it was tearing him apart.
The council chamber lay in ruins behind him.
Cracked stone. Blood drying in dark streaks across the floor. The elders' voices still echoed in his skull—accusations masked as concern, fear dressed up as tradition.
You endangered the pack.
You lost control.
You showed weakness.
Draven bared his teeth at the memory.
Weakness.
They had never seen weakness before tonight.
He stalked through the corridors of the stronghold, boots striking stone with lethal purpose. Wolves shrank back as he passed—warriors, scouts, even betas lowering their gazes instinctively.
They smelled it on him.
The blood.
The bond.
The crack in his control.
A beta fell into step beside him, nervous energy rolling off her. "Alpha… the outer scouts report movement near the eastern border."
Draven didn't slow. "Who?"
"Unclear," she said quickly. "But the scent—"
"Say it."
She swallowed. "Another Alpha."
His vision sharpened.
Malrik.
The name surfaced without effort, dragged up by instinct and memory. A rival whose territory pressed dangerously close. A wolf who smiled too easily and watched too closely.
And now—
Near her.
Draven's claws slid out halfway before he forced them back. The bond reacted violently, a spike of rage and fear slamming into his chest so hard he had to brace himself against the wall.
She was in danger.
Or worse.
Someone else had found her first.
"Mobilize the hunters," he ordered coldly. "I want every trail, every whisper of moon magic reported to me directly."
The beta hesitated. "The elders—"
Draven turned.
The temperature in the corridor dropped.
"They no longer speak for me," he said quietly. "Do you?"
She shook her head instantly. "No, Alpha."
"Then move."
She fled.
Draven pressed a fist to his chest as the bond surged again—this time not pain, but something sharper.
Resistance.
He stilled.
That was new.
The bond had always pulled toward Elara—aching, demanding, relentless. But now it felt… strained. Like a rope pulled too tight, fraying under pressure.
As if she were pushing back.
The realization hit harder than any blade.
She was changing.
Draven's jaw tightened.
He had rejected her because she was weak.
Because the elders had warned him that an omega mate would fracture his authority, dilute his bloodline, invite challenge.
He had told himself it was mercy.
Now the bond screamed its truth at him.
You were afraid.
Draven growled low in his throat, the sound echoing down the corridor.
He had made his first mistake when he turned away from her.
He made his second when he let the elders touch her fate.
And now—
Now the world was responding.
A scout stumbled into his path, breathing hard. "Alpha—there's been an incident."
Draven's eyes flashed. "Where."
"Southern woods. Rogue wolves. They were drawn to a power surge."
His heart slammed violently.
"When?" Draven demanded.
"Less than an hour ago."
The bond flared so sharply Draven dropped to one knee, breath tearing from his lungs as foreign sensations slammed into him—fear not his own, pain not his own, and beneath it all…
Something cold.
Something awakening.
"She fought," the scout continued nervously. "Witnesses say the forest itself moved."
Draven's vision blurred.
She had used her power.
Without him.
Without his protection.
Without his permission.
A dangerous mix of pride and terror coiled in his gut.
"Get out," he snarled.
The scout fled.
Draven remained where he was, breathing hard, claws digging into stone as realization settled like a blade between his ribs.
If Elara learned to command her power—
If another Alpha guided her—
He would not be the one she ran to.
The thought was unbearable.
Slowly, Draven rose.
His voice was hoarse as he whispered into the bond, no longer commanding—pleading.
Elara.
For the first time since the bond had formed…
She did not answer.
The silence stretched, heavy and punishing.
Draven closed his eyes, the truth settling with brutal clarity.
He was no longer hunting a mate.
He was hunting the consequences of his own rejection.
And somewhere in the dark, the moon was teaching Elara how to live without him.