The fire had burned low during the night, its embers casting a soft, golden hue across the walls of the wooden cabin. Morning sunlight filtered through the narrow slats in the blinds, bathing everything in a sleepy haze.
Selene stirred beneath the thick quilt, her fingers tightening around the edges of the blanket as fragments of memory danced behind her closed eyes—flashes of silver moonlight, the haunting scent of blood, and a voice like thunder calling her name.
She sat up slowly, the warmth of the bed doing little to soothe the cold unease curling in her stomach. Her wolf was quiet but watchful, alert beneath her skin, as though it too sensed the significance of the shift that had occurred.
Last night had felt like a storm.
Now came the silence after.
She climbed out of bed, barefoot on the polished wooden floor, and padded softly through the cabin. It was sparsely furnished but not cold—there was comfort in the way books were stacked on a small shelf, in the firewood piled neatly beside the hearth, in the way a jacket hung on a nail by the door. Lived-in. Familiar.
She paused at a long wooden table where a few scattered objects caught her attention. A blade—old, ceremonial—rested on a leather sheath etched with silver. There was a rolled parchment map beside it, and next to that, a tarnished pendant on a chain.
She picked it up. The crest was faint but unmistakable—a silver moon cradled in a ring of flames.
Her throat tightened. The Silvermoon crest.
Before she could dwell on it, movement outside the window caught her eye. She stepped closer and peered through the glass.
Lucien was shirtless, his skin glistening with sweat as he sparred with Cael on the training grounds outside. Muscles rippled with each movement, but it wasn't just his strength that held her attention—it was the way he moved, deliberate and focused, like every strike carried history.
Selene felt something twist in her chest.
She knew that form.
She didn't remember learning it, but her body did.
Lucien looked up as she stepped outside, a towel draped over his neck. Cael gave her a polite nod before excusing himself, his expression unreadable.
"You're up," Lucien said, voice low and steady.
"I didn't sleep much," Selene admitted, crossing her arms against the morning chill.
"Memories?"
"Pieces. Flashes. Nothing whole."
Lucien's eyes searched her face. "That's how it starts."
She glanced away. "I saw the Silvermoon crest inside. On a pendant."
He nodded slowly. "It was yours."
She turned sharply to him. "Mine?"
"In your past life, before… everything."
A silence stretched between them, thick and full of unspoken questions. Finally, she asked, "What happened to me, Lucien?"
He gestured for her to sit with him on the wide porch steps. "The Silvermoon Pack wasn't just powerful—it was sacred. Your bloodline carried the blessing of the moon goddess herself. You weren't just an Alpha. You were the Alpha."
"I remember standing in a hall. People bowed when I entered," Selene murmured.
"You united rogue clans, tamed rival territories, and brought peace through strength. But that kind of power makes enemies."
She glanced at him. "Who betrayed me?"
Lucien hesitated. "I don't know exactly. But it came from within. Someone close to you."
Her chest clenched. "Do you think it was my family?"
"I think… you should remember that on your own. Forced memories can be dangerous."
Selene was quiet for a moment before she whispered, "I don't want to be weak anymore."
Lucien's gaze darkened with something fierce. "Then we train. You learn to defend yourself. You awaken everything they buried."
Later that morning, Maera arrived.
She was dressed in robes of midnight blue, her expression grave as she examined Selene's aura.
"The curse is unraveling faster than I anticipated," Maera said. "The more your soul remembers, the more visible your energy becomes. Your enemies might already know you've returned."
Lucien tensed. "Then we accelerate her preparation."
"She needs the Ascension Rite," Maera said. "Soon. Or the chaos inside her will consume her mind."
Selene's fingers curled at her sides. "What's the Ascension Rite?"
"It's a binding ritual," Maera explained. "It will awaken your full bond with your wolf and solidify your connection to the past. But it's dangerous. If you're not ready—"
"I'll be ready," Selene cut in.
Lucien's gaze was unreadable, but he nodded once.
Training began that afternoon.
Lucien didn't hold back. He was firm, demanding—yet never cruel. Each strike, each movement, forced Selene to confront her instincts. Her body responded before her mind did—ducking, parrying, striking back.
"You're not fighting to survive," Lucien growled as she missed a punch. "You're fighting to remember. Let your body guide you."
Frustration flared in her chest. She lashed out, her fist connecting solidly with his side.
He smiled. "Better."
As they circled each other, the air between them thickened. It wasn't just about fighting anymore. It was about control, dominance, and the electric tension simmering under every breath.
They collapsed to the ground after a final round, breathless and panting. Lucien was lying beside her, his arm brushing against hers.
"Why do I feel like I know you?" she asked softly.
He didn't look at her. "Because part of you always has."
That night, the memory hit her like a blade.
She was dreaming—no, remembering.
She stood in a grand marble hall. At the far end was a throne of obsidian and bone. A man in a black crown approached her.
He was beautiful in a cruel way. Sharp cheekbones, cold eyes like polished steel.
"You were never meant to survive me," he whispered, brushing his lips against hers.
She screamed.
Selene bolted upright in bed, gasping.
Lucien rushed in, grabbing her shoulders. "Selene—Selene, breathe."
Tears streaked her cheeks. Her hands were trembling. "He… he said he'd kill me. I saw him. I saw his face."
Lucien's expression hardened. "Describe him."
"Tall. Black hair. Silver eyes. His crown was black… bones. He kissed me like he owned me."
Lucien exhaled slowly. "That was Alaric. King of the Shadowbane Pack."
Selene's heart turned to ice. "He was my mate?"
"No," Lucien said bitterly. "He was your betrothed. A political alliance. You never completed the mating bond. You refused him."
She shook her head. "Why would I do that?"
"Because you knew he wanted power, not you."
Selene clenched her fists. "He betrayed me."
Lucien looked at her, something old and pained in his eyes. "He burned your home to the ground."
The rage that bloomed inside her wasn't just anger—it was ancestral, righteous. Her wolf howled in her soul, begging to rise.
"I want to remember everything," she said through gritted teeth.
"You will," Lucien said. "But you have to survive long enough to do it."
Far away, in a fortress built into the mountain cliffs, Alaric st
ood before a fire.
A hooded figure approached and bowed. "The Silvermoon girl lives."
Alaric smiled, cold and sharp.
"Then it's time to finish what I started."