The forest never truly slept. Not in Shadowpine.

It breathed—alive with creatures that lurked in twilight, leaves that whispered secrets, and wolves that moved like ghosts under the moon. At its center, hidden beyond mortal paths, stood the stronghold of the Shadowpine Pack: stone walls covered in ivy, surrounded by wild pine and ash, as old as the blood that ruled it.

Damian stood at the edge of the cliff behind the great hall, eyes fixed on the valley below. The wind tugged at his shirt, cool against skin still heated from the run.

The run had done nothing.

His wolf still paced under his skin, agitated, wild. The bond had been triggered—he could feel it clawing at the edges of his control. The moment his gaze had met Aria’s, the bond had surged to life, as if it had only been waiting for the right breath, the right heartbeat, to snap into place.

And now… he was tethered.

No. Not tethered.

Hunted.

He could feel her in his blood. Not just the pull of desire—though that was a storm he could barely contain—but something deeper. Ancient. A force older than even his pack’s lineage. Her mark had shone with the crescent of the Moon Goddess herself. But it wasn’t just a mating mark. It was the curse.

His curse.

“Alpha.”

Damian turned as Rylan approached, his Beta’s face set in stone. “The elders want a word.”

“They always do,” Damian muttered. “Let me guess. They’ve heard about her.”

“They’ve heard everything.” Rylan’s tone was careful. “You made quite the entrance in Ashwood. And she… she’s glowing.”

Damian clenched his jaw. “She’s marked.”

“So you’ve felt it.”

Of course he had felt it. The bond had struck him like lightning, sharper than any pain he’d ever known. The scent of her had been enough to drive his wolf into a frenzy. And her eyes… there was something in them that had undone him.

“She’s cursed, Rylan,” Damian said coldly. “Don’t forget that.”

“So are you.”

Damian’s eyes snapped to him.

Rylan didn’t flinch. “We all carry the old blood. But you’re not your father. And she’s not the one who broke the oath. Maybe it’s different this time.”

“No. It’s fate’s trap. The same one it always is.” Damian turned away, voice low. “If I take her, the curse awakens. If I reject her, it destroys us both.”

“Then what will you do?”

Damian didn’t answer.

The council waited in the stone hall, torches flickering on the walls. The pack elders sat in their carved chairs, faces drawn and grim. Elder Marlowe, the oldest among them, leaned forward.

“We felt the shift,” he rasped. “The mate bond has been triggered.”

“She’s human,” Damian said. “Let it go.”

“She’s not just human,” Marlowe hissed. “She bears the Moon’s brand. The same one as the cursed line. You know the risk.”

Another elder—Tomas—spoke, softer. “But you also know what it could mean. If she survives the bond, if she accepts you, it could break the cycle. The prophecy—”

“There is no prophecy,” Damian growled. “Only death and ruin.”

The room fell silent. His wolf surged again, sensing the threat, hating the corner he’d been backed into.

“We cannot protect her if she stays ignorant,” Rylan said carefully. “And the rogues are circling. Three were spotted near the northern ridge last night. They were tracking something.”

Damian’s breath stilled.

Not something. Someone.

His blood turned cold.

“She’s drawing them,” Marlowe confirmed. “Just like her mother did.”

Damian’s fists clenched. He had sworn never to speak of that night again. Of the woman who had run from the packs, hiding her daughter from all sides. The one who bore the mark and paid the price for it.

Now her daughter stood in the center of his fate.

“We need to act,” Tomas said. “Either claim her… or end it before it begins.”

Damian strode from the hall without answering. His wolf howled in fury within him. Claim her? Kill her? Was that what it had come to?

Outside, the wind shifted—sharp and sudden. And with it came a scent that made his heart stop.

Blood.

Damian moved fast, his wolf rising beneath his skin as he shifted mid-run. Bones cracked, fur rippled, and he landed on four legs with a snarl. The forest blurred around him.

He found the rogue trail near the riverbank—three of them, massive, scarred, frothing with madness. One sniffed the air and howled.

They’ve caught her scent.

Damian didn’t hesitate.

He launched at the first rogue with crushing force, claws sinking into its flank. Blood sprayed the leaves. The second lunged, but he twisted, sank his teeth into its throat, and tore.

His wolf fought with purpose. Not for dominance. For protection. For her.

The third rogue bolted. Coward. Damian let it run—for now.

He shifted back, breathing hard, chest heaving. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was the echo of her in his chest.

They were getting too close.

She wasn’t safe.

And the truth he didn’t want to face howled louder than any wolf:

Neither was he.