For a second, silence stretched between us. Heavy. Then his gaze flicked to the faint mark glowing on my collarbone—the one I hadn’t noticed before.

Moon-shaped. Shadow-lined.

He stilled.

“Interesting,” he muttered.

“What?”

Ronan turned to leave.

“You’re marked,” he said. “Whether you know it or not, that rejection was only the beginning.”

The first thing I noticed when I woke again was the silence.

No growling stomach. No jeering voices. No pity-filled stares. Just stillness—and the scent of pine smoke and something faintly spiced, like cedar and iron.

I sat up too fast. Pain lanced through my ribs, but I ignored it.

Where the hell was I?

The room was simple. Clean, wood-paneled walls. A stone fireplace crackled in the corner. The bed was soft, the blanket thick and warm. Nothing matched my last memory: rogue claws, dirt, blood, and—

Him.

Ronan Darkwood.

The Alpha of a pack that wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. A ghost. A myth. The monster Alphas used to threaten their warriors into behaving.

I shoved the blanket off and swung my legs to the floor. My ankle throbbed. Bandaged. So were my wrists. Someone had cleaned me up. Dressed my wounds. And left me alive.

Mistake.

Because now I owed them.

I stood, gripping the wall for balance, and limped to the door. It creaked as I pulled it open, revealing a hallway dimly lit by torches. Voices drifted from somewhere below.

I followed them.

Every step was pain.

Every breath was fire.

But after everything I’d lost, I wasn’t about to play the helpless girl under some stranger’s roof—even if that stranger had saved my life.

Especially if that stranger was Ronan.

*****

The room I walked into looked like a war council chamber. A massive map stretched across the center table, surrounded by a handful of people—warriors, by the look of them. Tall. Sharp-eyed. Ready to rip my throat out.

They all stopped talking when they saw me.

Ronan stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His silver gaze locked on mine like he’d been expecting me.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave your bed,” he said coolly.

I raised my chin. “Wasn’t aware I needed it.”

A murmur of amusement from one of the men. Ronan didn’t smile.

“You’re injured.”

“I’ve had worse.”

His eyes narrowed. “You were unconscious for almost two days.”

That stopped me cold.

Two days?

No wonder I felt like death. No wonder my body screamed with every movement.

“I’m fine now,” I said stiffly. “You can stop babysitting me.”

He walked around the table slowly, like a predator circling prey. “Tell me, Lyra Blackwood… do you always snap at the people who save your life?”

I didn’t flinch. “Depends on the person.”

“And what am I?”

I hesitated.

A threat. A mystery. A wolf I couldn’t read. But I wasn’t about to admit that.

“Still figuring that out.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile—something darker.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m still deciding what you are.”

The tension was a noose around my throat.

I didn’t know if I was safe here—or just temporarily tolerated. Every warrior in the room tracked my movements like I might shift and snap. Jokes on them—I couldn’t shift if I tried.

“I want to leave,” I said.

“No.”

It was instant. Sharp.

My jaw clenched. “You can’t keep me here.”

“I can,” Ronan said. “And I will.”

“You don’t own me.”

His gaze darkened. “No. But I’m responsible for what happens in my territory. And you, Lyra, walked into it with half your blood outside your body.”

“I didn’t ask to be saved.”

“Yet here you are.”

I hated him.

I hated that he was right. That he’d seen me at my lowest. That he wasn’t flinching from it, or mocking me for it, like Damian had.

“Why?” I demanded. “Why did you help me?”

A flicker of something passed across his face. Regret? Curiosity? Pity?

None of it mattered.

“Because I smelled something on you,” he said finally. “Something old. Something dangerous.”

I frowned. “What?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he nodded to one of the guards. “Bring Elder Darius.”

******

Darius looked like he’d been dragged straight out of a myth. Robes. Staff. Long silver hair and eyes that seemed to see straight through my skin.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stared at me like I was a puzzle he didn’t like.

“She has the mark,” he murmured, stepping closer.

I stepped back.

Ronan said nothing.

“What mark?” I snapped.

Darius reached for the collar of my shirt and tugged it down slightly. I slapped his hand away—but it was too late. Everyone had seen it.

The shadow-shaped crescent moon burned faintly on my skin.

“I never had that before,” I said quickly.

“No,” Darius agreed. “Because it wasn’t ready.”

Ronan crossed his arms. “Tell her.”

Darius looked at me like he’d rather not. “There is a prophecy… about the Moon’s Shadow. A child born of disgrace. Rejected. Alone. Marked by darkness. They would either save the werewolf world… or destroy it.”

I blinked. “You think that’s me?”

“You were rejected. You survived. You awakened.”

“I didn’t awaken anything. I almost died.”

“You think that wasn’t a trigger?” Darius snapped. “The rejection. The pain. The blood. That mark isn’t decorative, girl. It’s a brand. A bond. It chose you.”

“No.” I shook my head. “This is insane. You’ve got the wrong wolf.”

“You’d rather believe you’re weak,” Ronan said quietly, “than believe you’re chosen.”

I froze.

“Because if you’re chosen,” he continued, “then you don’t get to hide anymore.”

******

They left me alone after that.

I found my way back to the room, locked the door behind me, and curled into a ball on the bed. My body ached. My head was splitting. That mark on my collarbone throbbed like it had a pulse.

I didn’t believe in prophecies.

I didn’t believe in destiny.

I believed in blood and survival and clawing my way out of hell.

But a part of me… a part I couldn’t quiet…

Wanted it to be true.

Because if I was chosen—if that mark meant I wasn’t just the weak, shiftless disappointment everyone thought I was—then maybe I wasn’t broken.

Maybe I was just beginning.

---