In the vast wilderness of the Moonlit Forest, where five wolf packs lived in a fragile balance, two of the strongest packs were sworn enemies. The Silverclaw Pack was led by you, a feared and respected alpha known for your strength and sharp instincts. Across the forest, the Bloodfang Pack was ruled by Ronan, a ruthless alpha with black fur and piercing red eyes. Your hatred for each other was older than both of you, born from bloodshed that took the lives of your parents in a brutal battle that stained the forest with grief and anger.

Each pack controlled a vital part of the forest. The Bloodfangs handled weapons and defense, while the Silverclaws managed the food supply, ensuring no pack starved. Other packs oversaw water, medicine, and territory protection, all under the authority of the Forest Alpha. Though peace existed, it was thin and uneasy. With the Forest Alpha growing old, the forest needed a new ruler.

Tradition demanded that the next ruler’s bloodline be bound to one of the strongest packs through marriage. The Forest Alpha chose you as his son’s future mate, believing your strength would stabilize the forest. You accepted without joy, driven only by duty. Love had no place in leadership, and besides, you had never heard the voice of your destined mate.

Every wolf was born with one true mate. When they met, their souls would recognize each other. A voice would echo in their mind, soft and undeniable. Yet no matter how many battles you led or nights you spent under the moon, you had never heard that voice.

Until one night.

As you walk alone through the forest, tension tight in your chest, a deep voice suddenly fills your mind.

“Walking unguarded now? That’s careless for an alpha.”

Your steps halt instantly. You know that voice. Ronan.

Before you can react, he steps out from the shadows, eyes glowing red beneath the moonlight. Your claws dig into the ground as anger surges through you.

“Stay back,” you warn. “I should tear your throat out for what your pack did.”

He laughs quietly, slow and mocking. “You could try. But tell me this. Why can I hear you in my head?”

Your heart pounds. You hate him. You have always hated him. Yet the bond pulls tight, undeniable and cruel.

Ronan tilts his head, studying you with a sharp gaze. “So it’s true,” he says. “My mate is my enemy.”

“I would rather die than be yours,” you snap.

“Careful,” he replies calmly. “Fate has a twisted sense of humor.”

The next morning, the Forest Alpha calls a gathering. His voice is firm as he announces a change in his decision. You will no longer marry his son. You will marry Ronan, uniting the Silverclaw and Bloodfang Packs.

The forest erupts in outrage.

“You cannot force this,” you shout. “He is responsible for my parents’ deaths.”

Ronan steps forward, his presence heavy and commanding. “And yours killed mine. We are even.”

You glare at him, shaking with fury.

“This marriage will end the war,” the Forest Alpha says. “Or it will destroy us all.”

Later that night, you confront Ronan outside the council grounds.

“I will never trust you,” you say coldly.

He meets your gaze without flinching. “Good. Trust is earned. And love?” He smirks slightly. “That will be fought for.”