The night was colder than usual, the air thick with tension. The moon full and glowing like a silver eye hung high above the Moonveil Pack as they gathered in the great hall.
Selene Veyron stood in the shadows, her fingers curling into the fabric of her simple cloak. She had learned to blend in, to make herself small, to avoid the sharp whispers that always seemed to follow her.
"She doesn't belong."
"The Alpha only kept her out of pity."
"No wolf. No status. No real place."
She was an outsider. An unwanted burden.
And tonight, for some reason, the air was heavier than usual.
The Alpha, Edric Veyron, sat on his throne, his expression unreadable. His daughter, Kyra, stood beside him, her golden eyes flickering with something between curiosity and irritation.
Selene knew better than to draw attention. She stayed at the back, where she belonged, watching as a messenger in silver robes stepped forward.
The moment he spoke her name, her world shattered.
"Selene Veyron," the man announced, his voice carrying through the hall. "You were never meant to be here."
A hush fell over the room.
Selene's pulse thundered.
The messenger's gaze locked onto hers. "You are the daughter of Queen Astrid of the Lunar Bloodline the rightful heir to the lost throne."
Her knees nearly buckled.
Royal blood?
A cold sweat broke over her skin. No. No, that couldn't be true. She had spent her life being called nothing. A nobody. How could she suddenly be… this?
Gasps and murmurs filled the hall.
"Impossible," Kyra spat. "She's nothing but an orphan."
The messenger ignored her. "She was stolen at birth. Swapped by a midwife who sought to keep her hidden."
The Alpha—her so-called father—said nothing.
Selene turned to him, her stomach twisting. His silence… his lack of denial… It told her everything.
It was true.
Her entire life had been a lie.
Selene's hands trembled. She looked around the room—the wolves she had grown up with, the people who had ridiculed her, shunned her, dismissed her—they were staring at her differently now. Some in shock. Some in awe. Some in resentment.
And then, the words that truly froze her:
"The King has come to claim her."
A violent chill ran down her spine. "King?"
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Wolves shifted uncomfortably, exchanging wary glances. Even Kyra—who had never feared anything—suddenly stiffened.
Selene barely had time to process the warning before the temperature in the room dropped.
The air thickened.
Every muscle in her body locked as a new presence entered the hall—a presence so suffocating, so overwhelming, it stole the breath from her lungs.
The crowd parted instinctively.
And then, he appeared.
Kieran Voss.
The Blood King.
The most feared Lycan in existence.
A legend. A nightmare. A warlord draped in darkness.
He stepped into the light, his obsidian armor reflecting the flickering torches. His long, midnight-black hair framed a face as cold as death. But it was his eyes—glowing a piercing gold—that made Selene feel as though the earth had disappeared beneath her feet.
She couldn't breathe.
Then, she felt it—a pull. A bond. A connection so deep, it shattered everything.
And in that terrifying silence, Kieran's voice cut through the room like a blade.
"You are mine."