The sun sank fast beyond the horizon, and the clouds overhead thickened into a heavy, dark veil. The castle—ancient and unmoving—had stood for years, ringed by valleys, mountains, and wide, beautiful meadows, far from the distant city.
In the heart of the stronghold, beneath the open sky of the central courtyard, every member of the Slayer Pack had gathered. The space was vast enough to hold the thousands who filled it, their voices rising and falling like a restless tide.
Among them stood Damon, the future Alpha, and at his side Tracy, his future Luna. Soft smiles curved across their faces as they, like everyone else, lifted their gaze to the sky and waited for the moon.
When it finally surfaced—bright and commanding—the courtyard fell instantly silent. Every eye turned to Damon and Tracy, excitement tightening the air.
All except Alexander.
She had been forced to the edge of the crowd, pressed against a stone pillar, forbidden from stepping even a meter closer. Earlier, when she'd tried to move in, she'd been shoved back so hard she hit the ground. The bullies had laughed, mocking her, calling her fat.
Now she didn't dare try again. She clung to the pillar with both arms, her body tense, her stomach twisting with nerves. While the others waited for their chosen mates with anticipation and hope, Alexander's face held only worry. She had little faith in what the night would bring—only the dread that whoever fate chose for her would treat her cruelly… or worse, hate her outright.
Soon the elders of the council appeared on the balcony, staring down with expressionless faces—except Gideon Alexander, who was grinning from ear to ear.
He tilted his head toward the sky and squinted. "It is time."
Moonlight flooded the square, then poured down in a silver beam over Alpha Damon. The crowd went silent, holding its breath as every gaze locked on Tracy, standing proudly at his side.
For a heartbeat, Tracy smiled.
Then that smile faltered—slipping into confusion, then anger, then raw hatred—because the next shaft of moonlight fell not on her, but on her half-sister, Alexander.
Tracy barely had time to process it before Alpha Damon, standing beside her, let out an involuntary growl—deep, primal, uncontrollable.
"Mate."
Alpha Damon's pupils burned red as he stared at Alexander.
Tracy's heart dropped. The truth hit like a blade: Alexander was his mate. Alexander would be the future Luna.
She couldn't accept it.
"Nooo!" she screamed.
The sound cut through the night, sharp enough to make ears ring—but the shock that gripped the crowd was so heavy no one moved. Tracy spun and bolted from the city centre, sprinting straight for the gate.
All around, whispers rose like smoke. Everyone stared at Alexander as if she were a curse made flesh. She had already made history once—the first Slayer-pack girl to come of age and fail to transform.
Alexander fidgeted under Alpha Damon's gaze. He looked at her like he wanted to tear her apart. If looks could kill, she would have been buried already.
She swallowed hard and stepped back.
"My daughter!" Jezebel's scream snapped the crowd out of their trance.
Alpha Damon jerked as if waking from a spell. His head whipped around, searching—too late. The castle's heavy doors had been thrown open. He shifted instantly, the transformation rippling through him, and with three powerful leaps he vanished into the darkness.
A chill crawled up Alexander's spine. She felt eyes on her—burning holes through her back.
She turned.
Her stepmother stood rigid, staring with bloodshot eyes full of something far worse than fury. Alexander froze, terror knotting her throat.
The night descended into chaos. Her parents rushed out in pursuit of Tracy. Warriors poured from the castle and flooded the forests. The sacred bonding night—the night meant for celebration—rotted into panic and bitterness.
No one cheered. No one sang. The Luna crown was not placed on Alexander's head.
Instead, she stood there afraid to breathe.
Three hours passed before the search party reached the cliff's edge. Everyone halted, peering down into a dark pit swallowed by fog.
Jezebel dropped to her knees and reached toward something caught on jagged stone—a ribbon, torn and soaked in blood.
She clutched it to her chest and wailed, "My daughter!"
Her cry shook the night itself. A heavy gloom settled over the castle like a storm cloud.
They searched until the moon finally sank from the sky.
Tracy was declared missing… and presumed dead.
The news shattered the Slayer pack—and the hatred that followed surged toward Alexander like a tide. Fingers pointed. Voices accused. Grief demanded someone to blame.
And for them, that someone was Alexander.
Alexander stayed hidden in her room, too restless to sleep. All night she paced between the little stool by the window and the thin mattress on the floor, back and forth, back and forth—until the first hint of dawn.
The creak of her door snapped her upright. Her heart dropped. Fear pinched her face tight as two council messengers stepped inside. The badges on their chests told her exactly who they were. Color drained from her skin, and she curled her fingers into her palms until her nails bit.
"Come with us, Alexander. Your presence is requested in the council hall," one of them said evenly—though the disgust in his eyes was anything but neutral.
Alexander lowered her head and followed.
In the corridor they ran into Jezebel, who had been wailing ever since Tracy was declared missing—and dead. The moment Alexander saw her, she shrank back as if the air itself had turned sharp.
Jezebel's stare locked on her, brimming with murder. She bared her fangs, claws flashing as she hissed, "You cursed child. You killed my daughter!"
She surged forward—
"Enough!" Gideon's voice thundered from somewhere far beyond the walls, stern enough to stop her in place.
Jezebel held back, but her eyes kept spilling venom.
The messengers marched Alexander out of the house and into the streets. People turned as she passed, pointing, cursing. Someone spat. Another muttered a slur under their breath. Each step felt heavier than the last.
At the council hall, they brought her to the towering doors. One messenger gave a curt nod toward the entrance.
"Go in."
With trembling legs, Alexander climbed the stairs. The doors stood open, revealing high-backed chairs arranged in judgment, and the broad, unmoving silhouette of Alpha Desmond. The sight made her shake harder—fear sinking into her bones until her legs felt like stone.