The pain had been unbearable—more than the searing burn of silver against your skin, more than the betrayal of your mate’s words echoing through your mind. The silver cage drained your strength, made every breath a struggle, every contraction a battle against death. You remembered the coldness in Damien’s eyes as he turned away, his scent fading down the stairs while you screamed his name.

But the Moon Goddess had other plans.

You didn’t remember how you managed it—how your trembling hands had clawed at the lock until your fingers bled, or how you crawled barefoot through the forest while the storm howled around you. You only remembered clutching your swollen belly, whispering prayers to the Moon Goddess that your child would live. That you would live long enough to see her.

Hours later, beneath the shelter of a dying pine tree, you gave birth alone. The moment your daughter’s first cry pierced the night, the storm broke. The air shimmered faintly with light—silver and pure, the kind that only the Moon Goddess could summon. You held her to your chest, tears streaking down your face, knowing instantly that she had been blessed. Your Hope.

You barely made it past the border before collapsing. You remembered the crunch of boots on gravel, the distant growl of wolves, and a deep voice commanding, “Get them to the infirmary—now.” Then, darkness.

When you woke, you were wrapped in warmth. The bed beneath you was soft, the sheets scented faintly of pine and frost. The room was large, with tall windows letting in pale winter light. A fire burned in the hearth, its crackle comforting against the quiet. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel fear.

Then, the door opened.

The man who stepped in was tall—massive, really—with dark hair dusted with snow and eyes like polished steel. He moved with the easy power of someone who commanded without needing to raise his voice. You recognized him instantly from stories whispered across the packs.

Cregan Stark, Alpha of Winterfang. The most powerful pack in North America.

“I see you’re awake,” he said softly, his voice deep enough to make the fire seem to flicker. “You and your pup were half-frozen when we found you near our border.”

You tried to sit up, panic flickering across your face. “My daughter—”

He lifted a hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She’s safe. My sister’s tending to her in the nursery. She’s a strong little thing. Fought the healer when they tried to wrap her in blankets.”

Tears stung your eyes again. Relief, this time.

Cregan didn’t ask questions right away. He didn’t demand your story or your allegiance. He simply made sure you and Hope had everything you needed—warmth, food, rest. He stationed guards near your room not out of suspicion, but protection. You could feel it in the way his wolves bowed respectfully when they passed you in the hall, in the way no one ever asked about the scars on your wrists.

As the days passed, Hope thrived. She giggled at the smallest things, her bright eyes seeming to glow silver in the moonlight. And Cregan… he was there for every moment. He held her as if she were his own, letting her tug at his beard, feeding her when you were too tired to move. You’d catch him sometimes, watching you from across the room, his expression unreadable—like he was trying to memorize the sight of you smiling.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said once, when you whispered your gratitude. “You’ve already done more than enough by surviving.”

The bond that grew between you was quiet but steady. You began to trust him, to laugh again. And when the Moon Goddess appeared to you one night in a dream, her voice gentle as the wind, you understood why.

“You were never meant to die in that cage,” she told you. “You were meant to rise. To love again. To show your daughter what strength looks like.”

When you woke, Cregan was sitting at your bedside, half-asleep, Hope cradled against his chest. The sight filled your heart with warmth so deep it hurt.

Over the following moons, he made it his mission to spoil you both—handmade