Your first shift was supposed to be everything.

Eighteen. The age every werewolf waited for. The moment the moon’s light would bless your bones, crack them into something new, something primal. Something powerful.

But when the moment came, you were alone in the forest.

No family waiting with clothes and proud tears. No pack howls welcoming your transformation. Your bones had broken beneath the silver moonlight while your own mother and father—the Alpha and Luna of the Blue Moon Pack—forgot the day you were born.

Or maybe they didn’t forget. Maybe they just didn’t care.

Aria had always been the shining star. The perfect daughter. Golden-haired, sharp-smiled, cruel-hearted Aria. She mocked you for your quietness, for the way you stumbled during training, for the way you cringed at the violence our kind was bred for. She told you no one would ever want you. Especially not a mate.

And sometimes, in the quiet places of your mind… you believed her.

⸻

The Kingdom of Askara’s Royal Ball was a desperate dream.

A chance to leave your pack lands, to feel like something other than invisible, if only for a night. Maybe the Moon Goddess had plans for you. Maybe not.

But you had to try.

You wore a deep sapphire gown, the color of twilight right before the stars came out, and fixed your hair the best you could. No one complimented you when you left the pack house. Aria and her friends snickered as they got into the carriage, wearing designer silks and lip gloss smiles.

You stayed quiet the whole ride. Like always.

⸻

The ballroom in the royal palace glittered with opulence. Chandeliers like falling stars, music that rippled through your skin. Wolves from all over filled the space, dancing, laughing, hopeful.

You didn’t belong. And you knew it.

Still, you made your way to the refreshment table, keeping your head down, pretending not to hear Aria’s laughter echoing behind you.

You reached for a glass of sparkling cider—

And someone bumped into you.

Hard.

Your glass tilted, your balance shifted, but before you could hit the marble floor, strong arms caught you. Instinctively, your hands grabbed onto the stranger’s jacket, bracing yourself.

Then you looked up.

And everything. Went. Silent.

⸻

His eyes were the color of a storm—gray and wild—and locked with yours like gravity had decided to change its rules.

The bond snapped.

A rush of heat. Of knowing. Of the pull.

Your wolf inside you howled in recognition.

You didn’t need him to say it.

Mate.

The word echoed between you like thunder.

Your breath caught. Your heart raced.

Because the man holding you, steadying you like you mattered…

Was Alaric Knight.

The Crown Prince of Askara.

The future King of Werewolves.

And you were… you.

Not Aria. Not someone elegant or noble-born. You were the forgotten daughter of the Blue Moon pack. The invisible girl. The shadow.

You weren’t worthy of a prince.

You saw the confusion in his eyes as he stared at you—recognition blooming, understanding cracking across his features.

Your soul screamed to stay.

But fear screamed louder.

And so, you did the only thing you could.

You ran.

⸻

Out of the ballroom. Down the gleaming halls. Past startled guards and gasping nobles.

You didn’t stop until the stars above were real, the palace behind you, and your breath tore from your lungs like shards of glass.

What had you done?

You left him.

Your mate.

The prince.

But how could you possibly believe a boy raised in gold and legacy would want a girl like you?

You leaned against the stone wall of a garden courtyard, heart pounding, eyes burning.

Then a voice—quiet, deep, unshakable—came from behind you.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to chase you. But I would’ve.”

You froze.

And turned.

Alaric stood there.

Not angry.

Not confused.

Not rejecting.

Just looking at you like the world had stopped spinning and started again only when you entered it.