The procession out of the Great Hall was a blur of lowered faces and frosty silence. The holiday garlands draped across the rafters now seemed like shrouds for the dead. Two of Damian's best guards walked beside Aria, not to guard her, but to make certain she was a captive walking toward her own exile. All the wolves she saw, creatures she had known since birth, drew back as if her outcast persona was a poison. She was no longer one of them. She was a ghost in her own den, and the sting of their rejection was colder than any winter wind.

Her room, the room she had awakened in that morning with a nervous delight in her heart, was now a prison. The smell of night-blooming jasmine from the undone strands of her hair was a cloyingly sweet memory of her broken dreams. She walked with hollow numbness, dragging a plain leather satchel out of her closet. What does one take to the end of their world? A new set of clothes, a waterskin, the little hunting knife her mother had given her years ago. Each one was a phantom limb, a reminder of a life that had been severed.

Her fingers brushed against a hairbrush with a silver back on her vanity, a birthday present from Damian. The cold metal stung like a brand. A strangled sound, half-rage, half-sorrow, and she picked it up and slammed it against the back of the wall. The crash as it hit the stone was a tiny, gratifying snap in the crushing silence of her despair.

The door groaned, not the heavy tramp of a guard, but the angry, sharp tread of her father. Marcus Blackwood, Beta of the pack, filled the doorway, his face a stormy mask. She stared at him, a desperate, childlike hope blazing in her chest. He was her father. He would keep her safe.

But there was no comfort in the expression in his eyes, only bitter, cold disappointment.

"You have brought shame to this family," he told her, his voice a low, edged knife. "To the Blackwood name."

The words stung her like a slap. "I have brought shame?" she breathed, her voice shaking with astonishment. "I did nothing but honor the oath the Goddess placed upon me. He is the one who broke a sacred vow in public!

"You weren't enough," he growled back, his voice drowning in a viciousness she had never known he was capable of. "A Luna has to be something greater than fate. She has to be a representation of power, a tool to our politics. Lilith Blackthorn brings the Crimson Fang pack to our allegiance. What did you bring, Aria? A soft heart and a little girl's dream?"

Her father. The one who had taught her how to track, who had comforted her when she'd stumbled. He was taking the side of the man who'd destroyed her, condoning the uncondonable.

“He is my mate,” she pleaded, the words tasting like ash. “You are my father. How can you stand with him over your own blood?”

"My allegiance is to my Alpha and to the future of this pack. Always." He dug into his tunic and threw a small, heavy pouch onto her bed. The coins clinked with a sound of cold finality. "This will see you to one of the human cities. Don't go to take refuge with another pack. No one will accept you now. You're soiled by this shame." He turned to depart, his duty, in his mind, fulfilled.

That's all?"" Her voice rose, the anger at last breaking through the sorrow. "You just banish me? Your own daughter?

He stood at the door, his back to her, his shoulders squared. "I have no daughter."

The door slammed behind her, the click echoing the finality of a door closing in her heart. She was not merely left by her mate; she was expelled by her family. She was completely, irretrievably alone. The anger gave way to a wave of desolation so overwhelming that it took her breath. She collapsed to the floor, arms around herself as silent, wrenching sobs finally broke her broken facade.

An hour passed before the first pale dawn light threatened the horizon, and then a gentle knock at her door. It was Elara, an aged omega wolf who had been working for their family since Aria was born. Her wrinkled skin was furrowed with a pity so genuine that Aria's throat ached. She carried with her a small bundle swathed in cloth.

"They are all fools, little one," she said, her breath wheezing with age as she arranged the bundle in Aria's arms. There was fresh bread, dried meat, and a small jar of healing salve. "The Alpha is blinded by power, and the pack is blinded by fear."

Why, Elara?" Aria croaked. "Why would he do that? The bond. it was real.".

Elara's eyes flicked anxiously down the corridor. She moved closer, her voice dipping to a soft whisper. "There are whispers. Ancient whispers. Of the blood of your mother. A prophecy."

Aria frowned in confusion. "A prophecy?

"They claim a Forsaken Bride of Blackwood blood will come with the power of the moon itself," Elara panted, her words hasty. "That she will hold the fate of the Alpha who cast her aside in her hands. That she will be his salvation… or his ruin. Some call it a blessing. The powerful… they call it a curse."

Before Aria was able to parse the ominous warning, Elara kissed her forehead and departed, leaving her to stand by herself with the ominous words lingering in the air.

The guards escorted her to the edge of the territory just as the sun was beginning to bleed into the horizon. The familiar forest, once home to her, now felt strange and menacing. She was able to look over the border and see the packhouse looming in the dawn. A light came on in the Alpha's suite—the suite that had been hers by right. She stood, her heart heavy, watching as two figures stepped out onto the balcony. Damian, his arm wrapped around Lilith's waist in a possessive hold.

The sight was a final, brutal twist of the knife.

Aria turned away from them and crossed the line at the end of her life. The moment she did, the world wobbled around her, unmoored, and she sensed the pack's united presence in her head disappear into nothing. She was an anchor cut loose in a hurricane. A lone wolf.

She chose to walk deeper into the forest, the twisted trees closing in around her completely. The pain was a heavy burden, but beneath it, the voice of Elara resonated. Salvation or destruction. Her wolf, Selene, her inner wolf, who had been a quiet, whimpering presence, stirred finally. Her voice was no longer hurt, but icy and unyielding, tempered in the fires of betrayal.

Let them think us weak, Selene growled in her head, the promise a low, deadly hum. Let them forget us. We will live. And we will grow strong. A strange, wild impulse flared up in Aria, raw and instinctual. She did not think, merely placed her hand on her lower belly. There was nothing there, yet, only a faint, forgotten warmth. But in that moment, in the midst of her despair, she felt a flicker of something new. A spark of determination, terrifying and complete, took root in her heart. She wasn't as lonely as she had believed.