The moon was high and bright, casting long silver shadows across the neutral woods. I stood at the edge of the tree line with Denver. A few wolves from the neighboring Oak Creek pack were stretching and laughing nearby. They didn't care about Ironveil politics. They didn't care about missing Lunas or angry Alphas. They just wanted to run.

I let my clothes drop to the damp grass. I closed my eyes and let my inner wolf push forward. The shift was smooth and fast. Bones cracked and reformed, muscles shifted, but it didn't hurt. It felt like waking up from a very long nap.

My wolf shook out her russet fur. She let out a soft huff of breath into the cool night air. For seven years, my runs had been scheduled and polite. I always stayed at the back of the Ironveil pack, making sure the omegas and the elders kept up, while Atticus led the charge at the front. I was the caretaker. The placeholder. Not tonight.

I took off. The cold autumn wind whipped past my ears. I pushed my paws hard into the dirt, running faster than I had in years. Denver ran right beside me, her sleek gray wolf snapping playfully at my heels. We tore through the thick trees, dodging branches and leaping over fallen logs. My lungs burned in the best possible way. There was no hierarchy out here. There was only the dirt, the wind, and the speed.

When we reached the top of the ridge overlooking the valley, I stopped. I looked down at the silver river cutting through the landscape below. My chest heaved. For the first time since I was sixteen years old, I wasn't waiting for anyone. I was just me.

Then, the air changed.

It got heavy. The casual, yipping chatter of the Oak Creek wolves died instantly. My wolf's ears pinned flat against her skull. The scent hit me a second before I saw him. Pine and storm. It was so thick and furious it tasted bitter on my tongue.

He didn't even slow down to warn us. Atticus burst through the tree line like a freight train. He shifted mid-stride, his human clothes tearing to shreds as his massive midnight-black wolf hit the ground. He was huge. Two meters of pure, terrifying muscle and dominance.

The Oak Creek wolves whimpered. A few of them immediately dropped to their bellies in the dirt, exposing their necks to his overwhelming Alpha aura.

I didn't submit. I didn't even lower my head.

I shifted back to my human form right there on the ridge. I stood bare-legged in the cold grass, quickly pulling on the oversized flannel shirt Denver had left on a rock for me. I buttoned it slowly, keeping my hands perfectly steady.

Atticus stalked toward me. His glowing yellow eyes were locked entirely on my face. He let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated deep in my chest. He was projecting his aura, pushing that heavy, crushing psychic weight onto my shoulders to make me kneel. My knees trembled under the pressure, but I locked them tight.

He stepped closer, backing me up until my spine hit the rough bark of an oak tree. He planted his massive front paws on either side of my head, trapping me against the wood. His hot breath fanned over my face. Through the brick wall in my mind, his wolf was screaming at mine. *Mine. Submit. Come home.*

But my wolf just sat down behind that mental wall and stared at him. She didn't care about his size anymore. She only cared about the jasmine and cedar she had smelled woven into his jacket three days ago.

I looked up into his wild, furious eyes. I didn't drop my gaze.

"You're going to want to back up," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it carried perfectly in the dead silent woods.

He snapped his jaws, a sharp, angry sound. He leaned in closer, his wet nose brushing my collarbone. He wanted me to cower. He wanted me to remember who he was and who I was supposed to be.

I just stared at him. "Do it," I whispered, my voice dripping with ice. "Bite me. Drag me back by my hair in front of half of Oak Creek. Let them all see the great Alpha King lose his mind over a woman he never even marked."

He froze. His ears twitched. His eyes flicked to the side for a fraction of a second. The neighboring wolves were watching us, wide-eyed and completely silent. He was a politician as much as he was an Alpha. He couldn't attack an unranked woman in neutral territory without starting an inter-pack war or ruining his flawless reputation.

I placed one flat hand against his massive, furry chest. I pushed. He didn't budge, but he didn't bite me either. I ducked under his heavy shoulder and stepped out of his trap.

"Let's go, Denver," I called out.

I didn't look back. I just walked away, leaving the most powerful Alpha in the region standing frozen in the dirt, trapped by his own pride.

An hour later, I was back in my cramped apartment, toweling off my damp hair. My phone buzzed loudly on the kitchen counter. It was Denver. Then it buzzed again. And again.

I picked it up and hit dial. She answered on the first ring.

"Are you okay?" I asked immediately.

"I'm fine," Denver breathed. Her voice was tight, and I could hear the adrenaline shaking in her words. "I just left the pack house. Atticus called me into his office the second he got back."

I gripped the phone tighter. "What did he do?"

"He tried to Alpha-command me," she scoffed, though her breath hitched a little. "He was still in his torn pants from the shift. He was pacing behind his desk like a feral dog. He used the tone, Lyra. The full Alpha register. It was so heavy the glass on his office windows was actually rattling. He demanded to know exactly where you were staying and who you've been talking to."

My stomach dropped. "Denver, you didn't have to—"

"I didn't tell him shit," she interrupted fiercely. "I stood right there, looked him in his bloodshot eyes, and told him I don't answer to him when it comes to you. I'm a Gamma's daughter, Lyra. I know how to brace for an aura. I wasn't going to roll over for him."

"He could punish you," I whispered, guilt gnawing at my edges.

"He dismissed me," she said quickly. "He just waved his hand and told me to get out. He looked... sick, Lyra. Like he's actually losing his mind. But I wanted you to know right away. He's not just going to wait for you to come back anymore. He's actively hunting."

I looked at the locked apartment door. The three cheap deadbolts suddenly looked very flimsy.

"Let him hunt," I said quietly into the phone. "He doesn't know what he's looking for anymore."

We hung up. I set the phone down and walked over to the window. The rain was starting to fall, slicking the dark streets below. The bond in my head was no longer just scratching at the wall. It was slamming against it, furious and desperate, bleeding panic into my mind.

I pulled the blinds shut, turned off the lights, and let him bang on the door in my head all night long.

Denver slammed my apartment door so hard the cheap wooden frame rattled. She didn't even take off her jacket. She just marched straight into my tiny kitchen and slapped a thick manila folder onto the counter.

"He stalled," she snapped, her chest heaving.

I was standing by the sink, washing a single coffee mug. I turned off the tap and dried my hands slowly. I looked at the folder. It was the legal brief we had spent until two in the morning drafting. It demanded the immediate release of Buster to my custody.

"Tell me exactly what happened," I said. My voice was quiet.

Denver paced the short length of my living room. Her gray eyes were flashing with pure, unadulterated Gamma rage. "I walked right into the Beta's office. Marcus looked like he hadn't slept in a week. I dropped the brief on his desk. I cited human property law. I cited neutral territory pack law. I told him Buster isn't a wolf, he holds no rank, and he legally belongs to you."

"And what did Marcus say?"

"Marcus actually looked relieved for a second," Denver scoffed, crossing her arms. "I think he just wanted the dog out of the pack house. He reached for his pen to sign the release. But then the door opened."

I didn't need to ask who walked in. The faint, ugly scratching against the brick wall in my mind flared up just at the thought of him.

"Atticus," I whispered.

"Atticus," Denver confirmed, her upper lip curling in disgust. "He didn't even look at the paperwork. He just looked at Marcus and used that low, heavy Alpha tone. He told Marcus to file the brief in the trash. He said Buster is Ironveil property now. He said if you want your dog back, you know exactly where the pack house is. You can come fetch him yourself."

I stared at the manila folder.

For seven years, Buster was the only pure thing in that massive, suffocating house. He was the only one who greeted me without caring about my lack of a mark or a title. He just loved me. And now, Atticus was using him. The most powerful Alpha in the region was holding a golden retriever hostage just to force my hand.

"Lyra?" Denver asked softly, stepping closer. "Are you going to cry? Because if you want to cry, I will break a plate or something. We can be mad."

I reached out and touched the edge of the folder. My fingers were perfectly steady. I didn't feel like crying. I felt a cold, hard click deep inside my chest.

"No," I said flatly. "I'm not going to cry over a man who thinks a dog is a chess piece."

I took the folder and slid it into a drawer. I didn't yell. I didn't throw anything. I just added it to the list. The long, invisible list of reasons why I was never, ever going back.

***

The next morning, my phone buzzed on the nightstand at exactly eight o'clock.

It was my mother. She called every single morning without fail. I sat up in bed, pulled my knees to my chest, and hit accept. I put her on speaker.

"Lyra, sweetie," her voice floated out of the phone. It was warm, but it was heavy with a desperate, frantic kind of anxiety.

"Morning, Mom," I said, resting my chin on my knees.

"I couldn't sleep," she started, her voice trembling slightly. "I was praying to the Moon Goddess all night. Lyra, you have to stop this. You have to go home."

I closed my eyes. Here it comes.

"People are talking," she pleaded. "You are throwing away the Goddess's ultimate gift. A fated mate is sacred. Yes, Atticus made mistakes. All powerful Alphas stray, Lyra. It is in their nature to seek dominance. But you are meant to be the Luna. You have to secure the Ironveil bloodline. If you reject this bond, you are cursing yourself."

Her words weren't malicious. That was the worst part. She genuinely believed every syllable. She was raised in a pack where a woman's worth was measured entirely by the strength of the Alpha who claimed her. She survived her life by bowing her head, and it terrified her that I was lifting mine.

"I know, Mom," I said quietly.

"A she-wolf without a pack is nothing but a rogue," she cried, her voice breaking into a soft sob. "The Goddess doesn't forgive this kind of pride. Please. Just go back and apologize. He will forgive you. He will mark you."

"I know, Mom."

I said the words, but they meant absolutely nothing. I wasn't agreeing with her. I wasn't fighting her, either. I was just letting her panic wash over me, refusing to let it sink into my skin. I loved my mother, but she was speaking a language I refused to learn anymore.

"There is a Pack Alliance Banquet tonight," she sniffled, changing her tactic. "It's on neutral territory. I received the guest list. You have an invitation. Please, Lyra. Just go. Show your face. Don't let the other packs think you are hiding in shame. Go, and maybe Atticus will be there. Maybe you two can just talk."

I looked at the thick, embossed invitation sitting on my cheap coffee table. I had been ignoring it for days.

"Okay, Mom," I said softly. "I'll go to the banquet."

She let out a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the Goddess. Wear your blue dress, sweetie. The one Atticus likes."

I hung up the phone.

***

Denver arrived at my apartment at six in the evening. She brought a garment bag slung over her shoulder and a fierce, unapologetic grin on her face.

"We are not hiding tonight," she declared, unzipping the bag and laying the dress on my bed.

For seven years, my closet at the Ironveil pack house was a sea of midnight blue, black, and silver. They were the pack colors. I wore what Atticus liked. I wore what blended into the background, so I wouldn't outshine the Alpha.

I looked at the dress Denver brought.

It wasn't blue. It wasn't silver. It was a deep, rich emerald green. It was made of silk, with a cowl neckline and a slit that ran up the thigh. It didn't look like a Luna's dress. It looked like a weapon.

I stripped off my sweatpants and slipped the silk over my head. The fabric felt cool and strange against my skin. Denver stepped behind me and zipped it up.

I walked over to the cheap, cracked mirror hanging on my closet door. I stopped breathing for a second.

I stared at the reflection. For the first time since I was sixteen years old, I didn't see the 'placeholder Luna.' I didn't see the quiet girl who baked muffins for the council and ignored the smell of another woman's perfume on her mate's jacket.

My shoulders were back. My dark hair fell in loose, heavy waves down my back. The emerald green made my eyes look sharp and dangerous. I didn't look like I belonged to Atticus King.

I looked like Lyra Wilson.

My inner wolf stirred. She didn't cower. She stretched her legs and let out a low, satisfied hum of approval.

"You look incredible," Denver whispered, standing behind me in her own sleek black dress. "You look like you're about to ruin someone's life."

I grabbed my clutch from the bed. Deep in the back of my mind, the brick wall I had built over the bond gave a faint, ugly shudder. Atticus was out there. He was going to be at that banquet. He was angry, he was desperate, and he was hunting for his lost property.

I looked at myself in the mirror one last time.

"Let's go," I said, my voice steady and cold.

Let him hunt. Tonight, I wasn't prey.