Elin’s POV:

Once again, I was fucked senseless. My legs almost crumbling under me. Bracing myself against the full-length mirror, I shakily pushed off and managed to stand, my body feeling fragmented.

Adjusting my dress and smoothing my disheveled hair, I checked my reflection meticulously, ensuring no discernible trace of recent events lingered. Only then did I dare to pull open the dressing room door, emerging into the grandeur of the banquet hall.

“Elin?” My mother, Fiona, intercepted me almost immediately, her hand snapping around my wrist with practiced precision. Her expression was taut, brimming with irritation. “Where have you been? Late, flitting about—do you realize how much of an affront this is? Do you know the kind of judgment it brings upon us?”

“Apologies, Mother,” I muttered, carefully disentangling my wrist from her grip before daring a half-hearted explanation. “I wasn’t feeling well and needed a breath of air in the gardens.”

Fiona’s penetrating stare flickered, but she didn’t relent, as if she suspected a cloaked deception in my words. Her voice softened slightly, but the insistence remained sharp: “Regardless, Elin. Sinclair’s wife said she saw you earlier and commented on how well-matched you’d be with her son. This is not the opportunity to squander.”

“No, Mother. I’m not ready for marriage yet, and I won’t be coerced into it.” My refusal came swift, unequivocal, drawing an immediate cloud of disapproval to her features.

“Elin, you’re foolish not to make peace with reality. You have no wolf, no mate bond. There’s no point aspiring to what will never be attainable for someone like you. Marry a respectable man, settle into a tranquil, simple life—it would let me breathe easier, knowing you aren’t weighing down my every moment of existence.” Fiona’s tone grew steeped in impatience, her words like daggers plunged into the softest recesses of my soul.

Her disdain left me momentarily silent, bitterness pooling in my chest. How painful it must be to have your own mother yearn to be freed of you—a burden she could scarcely conceal in her hurried steps toward mingling with the aristocratic wives nearby. Their carefully curated indifference barely masked their unwillingness to indulge Fiona’s attempts at preserving the faded legacy of the previous Luna.

Sinking quietly into the shadows of a secluded corner, I sought refuge from the blatant hostility that permeated the room. Keeping my head low, I minimized my presence as best I could—no one here would deign to speak to me anyway.

A lilting, sweet voice rang out, lifting in a gentle melody. “Aaron, darling.”

His reply was smooth, low, brimming with casual affection: “Saira.”

I glanced up cautiously from beneath my lashes, drawn unwillingly by the magnetism of his voice. Under the crystalline brilliance of chandelier light, he stood tall, his imperious gait commanding attention. Aaron’s arms opened gracefully to welcome the centerpiece of tonight’s celebration—Saira, daughter of the Firemoon Pack’s Alpha. Her slender, radiant form fell into his embrace, her crimson gown pooling against his broad frame.

Aaron lowered his head to kiss her, his arm curling possessively around her waist—yet, with an uncanny flicker of movement, his deep blue gaze sliced briefly, deliberately, towards me.

Shaken, I ducked my head as if avoiding the sting of scorching flame. Did he mean to mock me? A soft laugh spilled from his lips, sharp and cutting. My heart dropped, heavy with shame.

I wanted nothing more than to escape—to push through the doors and keep running until the wilderness swallowed me whole and full-throated freedom greeted my arrival. I would rather face solitude, endure the cold isolation of rogue life, than remain a secret, a hidden sin cloaked in dishonor.

Perhaps the celestial gods heard my silent plea, for suddenly, a piercing agony thundered through my bones. In the labyrinth of my thoughts, a voice surged forth—a force both commanding and urgent.

“Elin, I am late in arriving. But now, I will emerge. I am your partner, your wolf, Istha!”

Thunderstruck, my body bristled with awareness, as if lightning had shattered me head to toe. The clarity flashed within—my wolf was stirring, awakening. Her name was Istha, a rare, breathtakingly pure snow wolf white as winter’s untouched canvas.

Strength roared up through me, power coursing like wildfire. Gone was the fragile girl who had kept her burdens buried; the tides were shifting. But with this transformation, came an intricate tapestry of unknowns.

My first shift was upon me, and the magnitude of it filled me with trepidation. Fiona had taught me little—nothing to prepare me for what now threatened to break loose in this moment, especially since my mother was absent and blissfully unaware.

Istha clawed from within, thrashing against the confines of my spirit. My gown strained at the seams, fabric splitting under the pressure. There was no time—I had to remove it, to find a solitary haven in the gardens where no one could witness the event’s raw elemental chaos.

I fled desperately, clutching my dress, leaving dignity behind in my haste. The glittering lights of the banquet blurred as I escaped into the vast dark expanse of the garden’s secluded retreat. There, shielded by towering wild hedge, I shed every layer until bare skin met cold, damp earth.

Pain struck like a lance again, searing, merciless. The tearing was unrelenting, peeling tender flesh and bone apart limb by limb. Istha advanced, struggling free—a miracle of moon’s light brought forth into this fractured, bleeding dimension.

Her fur blazed white-hot radiance, like freshly fallen frost gleaming in sunlight. Her sapphire eyes pierced with gemstone clarity, while her dainty pink nose spoke of gentle playfulness. She was everything—a divine incarnation of lunar grace.

“Dearest, I have waited for you too long,” I gasped through the blur of pain. The words escaped in shaky awe, exhaustion stealing my focus. And then, as darkness claimed me, I tumbled helplessly into its arms.

***

Opening my eyes to clinical sterility and an acute tang of medicinal scent, I found no trace of my wolf, Istha. She had not emerged fully—her awakening stalled, her vision vanished into thin air. Questions sprouted, heavy with uncertainty. Had everything reverted to the way it was before?

White walls framed my view; hospital instruments hummed faintly in the background. A gruff baritone cut through the air above my head—sharp, deliberate.

“Don’t move, little creature,” the voice instructed, its resonance unbearably familiar and icy cold. My spine stiffened, dread creeping over me. Aaron.

“Oh,” I whispered hoarsely. Disbelief threaded through my question while panic tore at its edges. “What am I doing here? And you—why are you here? Weren’t you engaged in your grand proposal?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking questions?” Aaron’s grip came unyieldingly firm, closing around my jaw as his words dripped venom. “You, little devil, are the one who upended everything.”

Turning my head, I wrenched free, summoning strength from simmering resentment. “No one tried to sabotage you, Mr. Scott. Return to your fiancée. I owe you my gratitude for getting me to the hospital,” I said, voice sharpening with measured precision. “But beyond that, nothing further is required.”

“Mr. Scott?” Aaron’s laugh rang hollow, laced with menace, his dark gaze narrowing dangerously. It flashed in the very moment his grip tightened. “Wasn't I your ‘uncle’ when you begged me to stop when fucking you?”

Heat rushed to my face, shame blooming deep and fast, as his words crawled like fire through my ears. Yet my pussy clenched, the ache pooling low in my stomach.

Forcing resolve, I met his predatory stare.

“You’re right. Uncle.” My voice was unapologetically firm. “This ends now. Should you need clarity, I texted you days ago.”

Aaron’s face darkened, muscles twitching tightly along his jaw. “Don’t test me, Elin,” he growled.

“I refuse to wallow further in depravity. It revolts me.” My words burned fiercely, conviction unyielding. “My wolf is stirring—I’m becoming whole, reclaiming my future. I seek a proper mate bond, not your sex toy!”

Aaron stood, his towering frame blighting the light, shoulders squared in a way that made defiance feel futile. The storm rolled forward, brewing behind his eyes—a fractured hurricane pulling everything into its chaotic vortex.

“You truly mean that?” he demanded, voice delivering an inescapable blow.

“Crystal clear,” I spat, clutching my dignity with trembling fingers. “You’ve chosen Firemoon Pack’s treasured daughter as your partner. If this goes on, what does that make me? A whore who fucks someone else’s husband?”

Aaron’s smirk sharpened into a cold blade, his lips curling with cutting derision. “Saira? Do you really dream of comparing her to yourself? Rid your fantasies. You understand nothing of the alliance between Bloodshadow and Firemoon Packs, you ridiculous little creature.”

I simply shook my head. “I care not for politics nor title. My wolf will guide me to my destined mate. I beg you for closure, Aaron—for your departure. Let me bury the lingering shadows of this... messy past.”

His gaze bore into mine, a maelstrom of fury and suppressed longing in its depths. And then, in a flash, he seized me, unforgiving fingers clamping down as his lips crashed against mine.

“Mm!” I gasped, straining against him with all my might, the pain of pulling at the intravenous needle on my hand barely registering amidst his assault.

There was no escape from his overwhelming force. Fingers tangled in my hair as his tongue penetrated the barriers between us, twisting and taunting, claiming territory that I swore had closed to him forever.

Oxygen drained from me, suffocation pressing hard against pounding lungs. My resistance weakened, limbs slackening in defeat against his relentless grip.

“Fuck,” Aaron hissed as his hand deftly slid beneath my skirt, fingers plunging sharp and certain between my trembling thighs, eliciting sensations equal parts pleasure and terror in my pussy.

A raw cry clawed its way out of my throat, my body betraying me, hips moving instinctively toward him. My mind warred fiercely, scrambling for any shred of defense. However, his swift fingers roaming in my pussy, skillfully keeping me on the edge of orgasm, shredded my focus into pieces.

Finally, taking his tongue between my teeth, I clamped down with bitter resolve, drawing blood as he grunted in pain.

He frowned, his fingers thrusting even fiercer and more rapid in my pussy. My body quivered uncontrollably, but I didn’t let go.

Finally, perhaps out of fear that I might pull his tongue out and turn him mute, he finally gave in.

When he withdrew his slick, glistening fingers from my pussy, the void that remained shook with an incomprehensible hollowness.

No. Resolve tightened like armor around my frail form. This marked the end—as final as broken vows.

I was the daughter of Lars Morgan, Alpha of the Blue Moon Pack. Hallowed blood coursed through me, each blazing shard of lineage daring defiance against what had corrupted my name for too long. Fiona’s whispers of conspiracy regarding my father’s untimely demise haunted me still, amplified by my uncle’s merciless expulsion of our family. These truths demanded reckoning.

“Elin,” Aaron murmured, towering over me, wiping away evidence of our exchange with deliberate theatrics. His face lowered, eerily gentle as his words dropped like sharpened stones. “You’ve changed. But running from me won’t be so simple.”