-IRIS- "Can you make sure the kids don't get worried? Especially Sabrina. You know how anxious she gets when things change." "I got this," Annika says, all calm and sunshine-like, as always. She’s barely twenty, still in training, but honestly? She's the assistant teacher and could run the whole classroom on her own. The kids adore her. I adore her. She’s one of the few people in this pack who doesn’t look at me like I’m a misplaced shoe. "You're the best, hon." I reached for my bag— —and a sharp, twisting pain punches through my stomach so hard my knees almost buckle. Annika’s eyes widened. "Iris, you sure you don’t want to go to the pack hospital? Tessa is amazing. She diagnosed Pete’s ulcer just by looking at his toenails." "I’m fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just a bug. Same thing I had last Wednesday." Except it wasn't. It hasn’t been the same for weeks. The pain keeps getting worse, creeping into my days like a shadow I can’t shake. Today, it nearly made me throw up into a box of crayons. "If you need me, mind-link me," she says softly. I nod and head out. Annika’s kindness warms me for a second, but it fades fast. Most of the Redclaw Pack barely tolerates me. I get it. I’m tiny, pale, white-haired, and an omega—basically the opposite of what a werewolf is supposed to look like. But you do have a wolf, Chiara murmured in my head. I ignore her. Talking hurts. After collecting my things, I leave the pack school and head straight for my small place. My cottage sat at the edge of the pack grounds, small and colorful and mine. Mark hated it—called it cramped, outdated, "not fitting for the Beta’s mate." He’d been pushing me to move into the packhouse with him since I arrived six months ago. I told him I’d move after the marking ceremony. He accepted that. Barely. I’d always dreaded the idea of moving into the packhouse. That gigantic, ostentatious mansion with its white columns and overly sophisticated furniture felt like the werewolf edition of the White House. Mark adored it. He spent almost all his free time there. Which is why I nearly choked when I opened my door and found him here, on a weekday morning, no less. In my living room. On my couch. Taking Tyra from behind. Her chocolate skin was gleaming from sweat all over her n@ked body. Her long, curly hair was wild with movement. Her perfect, curvy body writhed with passion. But it was what I saw inside her dark eyes that scared me the most. They snapped towards me, taking me in when I was frozen at the door. Pity. Smugness. Superiority. Victory. My body trembled. My blood froze. Were my lungs working? "Yes, Mark. Harder," she m****d, still staring straight at me. "Give me what your weak mate can’t." Mark was lost in his desire, but something cut through his haze. His pants were around his knees. His face was a mess of shock and guilt. "I—Iris—," he stammered. His eyes roamed over my face, his gaze filled with the same torment I feel. "You lying, cheating аs hole," I choked out. "You said you were going to another pack today!" I was surprised that my vocal cords were working, because my whole body seemed stuck in the doorway. "No, princess. It was not like that." Behind him, Tyra stretched out on the couch like a smug cat. She didn’t even bother covering herself. Her full l**s didn't move, but her smirk said everything. "You're nothing, omega. I'm a hot werewolf, and I got your mate." "You said you loved me! Why bring me here to this pack just to humiliate me? The whole mating ceremony was your idea!" I was yelling at the top of my lungs, my fists balled. Mark stopped just in front of me, mouth hanging open, unsure what to do. "I do! I love—" "You know what? fk this. I'm tired of this shift," I spat, my voice brimming with hurt and fury. Enough is enough. "I, Iris O'Hara, teacher of the Redclaw pack, reject you, Mark Chase, beta of the Redclaw pack, as my mate." And then, if I thought the pain I was feeling was severe, I was completely mistaken. What I felt before was cotton candy, and now it was broken glass. My knees buckled, and my hands shot to the door frame to keep myself upright. My vision darkened, tiny stars exploding as the noise inside my head turned piercing. After what felt like an eternity, my sight crawled back from the center outward until Mark’s face sharpened again. He was sweating, panting, wearing a feral expression I had never seen before. He opened his mouth, his features hard and furious. "NO!" he roared. "I don’t accept your rejection." "W-what?" Was this a nightmare? I had caught my mate with another woman, and he was clinging to our bond? "Why? You clearly don’t want me!" His eyes softened, regret washing over him. "I do want you. I love you, Iris. I made a mistake. Let me explain…" His hands reached for me, and I stepped back, out of the house. Bile surged into my throat. If he touched me with those hands, I was sure I would vomit. "Please, princess. You belong to me," he pleaded. The nerve. I belonged to him, but he could do whatever he wanted? I straightened my spine, gathering the little backbone I had left. I wasn’t letting this di'pshit have the cake and eat it too. "You and I are done. fk you. Or better, keep fking Tyra. I’m out of here." I backed away until I was off the porch. Then I ran. I ran like I had never run before, my wolf pushing me faster. The pack blurred around me, houses and people smearing together like fresh watercolors until everything vanished. I sprinted into the forest, leaves crunching under my feet, branches scraping my skin as I tried to outrun the noise in my head. By the time I reached the cliffs, the sun was high, glowing behind thick clouds. The wind cut through my thin clothes, but the cold inside me had nothing to do with the season. It was the cold of being hollow. How did I end up here? Why couldn’t I find love with my mate like everyone else? I had never belonged anywhere. Not in my old pack, with my absent father and shallow stepmother. They hated me on their best days. I thought I could build a life here. I was wrong. I was an outlier. I would always be an outlier. And I was tired. My eyes drifted over the view, my feet close to the edge. The drop stretched below, the wind rising from it in sharp bursts. I didn’t want to fall. I just wanted the world to stop spinning long enough for me to breathe. What would happen if I jumped? Would I fly as my mother? I didn't have wings. I felt him before I heard him. Like always. "Iris," he said quietly. "Don’t." I turned to face him, the silver sunlight making him impossibly handsome. "You have to let me go, Alpha," I whispered. He closed the distance in a few long strides, stopping just in front of me. His presence hit me like heat after a winter storm, steady and overwhelming. He bent his face down to meet me. He’s so freaking tall. "Even if I wanted, I can’t," he said, voice low and rough. "You know I can’t." His silver eyes were sharper than the wind, full of emotions I refused to name. A gust swept through, pushing a lock of his dark hair across his forehead. My hand lifted before I could think, drawn to him like instinct. That was the plan — just brush the hair away, nothing more — but something in the air shifted. My breath caught. My pulse stumbled. Before I knew it, I rose on my tiptoes, pulling his face down. And I kissed him.

-IRIS- I knew what you were thinking. My mate was a cheating аs'shаt, so obviously I wanted to get back at him by kissing his Alpha. Made sense, right? Except it was complete bullcrap. To understand why, you needed to know something that happened ten years ago, when I was sixteen. Back then, my father and stepmother still didn't know I couldn't shift. All they saw was a weak girl — small, fragile, and inconvenient. So Susan, my brilliant stepmother, decided to send me to a werewolf summer camp. Not to "toughen me up," like she claimed. No. In her mind, if I couldn't be strong, I could at least be pretty and maybe snag a future husband. That was her life philosophy: secure a man, secure your future. So off I went to a camp in the middle of nowhere, designed to help young wolves "reach their full potential." They separated the girls from the boys and put us through daily exercises that felt like military training on steroids. It was hll. Especially for someone like me, who had the athletic ability of a damp noodle. After the first miserable week, I climbed to the top of the stone cliffs to rest my aching muscles and stare at the full moon. I didn't know what I hated more — the camp, the food, the endless drills, or the girls who treated me like a defective toy. So I stayed away from them as much as I could, and this faraway spot was my favorite place to disappear for a while. That was when I heard the voices. Men. At least six of them. They were laughing, but something in their tone made my skin crawl. These weren't the usual camp bullies. They were worse. I crouched deeper into the alcove where I was hiding, hoping to make myself invisible. Not that it was hard. I was small, thin as a twig, and thanks to my hybrid background, my scent was faint enough to blend into the surroundings. I just prayed it would be enough. Their footsteps grew louder. Something heavy scraped across the dirt. They passed, and I should have run back to the girls' camp before someone noticed I was gone. But something inside me told me to stay. So I peeked through the bushes. Six burly men with military haircuts were dragging a teenage boy. Covered in grime, bruises, and cuts, he struggled to get free. His hands and arms were cuffed together, and even from several feet away, I caught the sharp, metallic scent of silver. "The Alpha's right. The boy's too weak," one of them said. He had a thick n**k and a nasal voice. "Oh yeah, Tyler, I saw how 'weak' the boy is. He broke your nose with one jab," the blond one at the edge of the group shot back, and the others burst into laughter. "I... I wasn't looking. And he hit me with a stone," Tyler muttered. I followed them from a distance, keeping low. I didn't know the boy, but nothing about six grown men dragging him around felt right. "But don't you think this is extreme?" the blond one whispered. "How can a father ask people to make his own son suffer more?" "It's not our job to question it, Lucas. We follow orders," Tyler snapped, and the others muttered in agreement. And as if that wasn't enough, Nasal Tyler kept kicking the boy with his boot now and then, like he needed to prove something to the others. They kept walking until they reached the waterfall. From a water source at the top of the cliff, a narrow stream poured down, running toward the valley below. The men tied the boy to a large stone in the middle of the freezing water, careful not to t***h the silver cuffs. Why silver? He didn't even seem to have his wolf yet. And this camp was supposed to be for underage kids, not full-fledged werewolves. It didn't make sense. After tying him in a way that left him barely able to move, they turned to leave. I hid behind a large rock, pressing myself deeper into the moss-covered side. I waited until they passed, already deciding I would help the boy. It wasn't fair to leave him stuck in the middle of a freezing stream just because his Alpha father was an @ss. I had already met my quota of terrible parenting. But when I got closer, things got worse. Nasal Tyler, being the coward he was, kept shoving the boy deeper into the water before finally turning to leave. He didn't just want the boy cold; he wanted him gone. Once he was satisfied with himself, he trudged after the others. I slid into the stream and tried to push the boy up, but I wasn't strong enough. His eyes fluttered open when I brushed his wet hair from his face. "Hang on," I said, because I wasn't going to let him die. I ran after Tyler and punched him. "Come back, you coward! Untie the boy!" He blinked at me, confused. "Where did you come from, little mouse?" His gaze swept over my baggy clothes and twig-like limbs. He huffed and kept walking. "Go to sleep before a coyote eats you." Dаmit. My dad would be mad at me, but I didn't have time. So I used my power. I grabbed the burly man's wrist and drew on his strength. When I felt enough energy to help the boy, I released him, and he collapsed like wet toilet paper. Fueled by stolen energy, I sprinted back to the stream. Tearing through the ropes was easy now. I dragged the boy out of the water, though the silver cuffs stayed. He wasn't breathing. Thank the goddess for those first aid classes. I pressed on his chest, gave him breaths, and finally — finally — he gasped. I rolled him onto his side, and he coughed up water before settling into a steady rhythm on his own. "Hey, are you okay?" I asked once he stopped gasping. He pushed himself upright, blinking up at me with those ridiculously pretty eyes. "W—who are..." "I'm from the girls' camp," I said quickly. "I'm not with those аs holes. They left. Nasal Tyler is... taking a nap somewhere." He smiled, white teeth bright against his tanned skin, his eyes catching the moonlight like a lover's c****s. Oh. The boy was hot. "I can't believe this," he said, looking me over in a way that made my face heat up. "I got my first k**s with the most beautiful girl I've ever met, and I was passed out." My cheeks went from warm to volcanic. I swallowed hard and tore my gaze away from his. "We should get back. Someone’s gonna notice we’re gone." "I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I? God, I’m such a jerk." He g*****d, smacking his forehead. "Thanks for saving me. And sorry for… all that." "'s okay. I know you didn’t mean it." My teeth sank into my bottom l*p. "Oh, I meant every word." His voice softened. "You’re so insanely gorgeous, I’m still half‑convinced Nasal Tyler actually killed me, and this is heaven." A laugh escaped me, heat blooming in my chest. "That’s a terrible pickup line." He leaned in, eyes glowing with mischief. "You laughed. So… do I get another k**s? Or do you only k**s unconscious guys?" "I don't even know you," I whispered. But something inside me recognized him. Deeply. Like we’d known each other forever. He lifted his cuffed hand and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear with a gentleness that made my breath stutter. "I’m seventeen. My name’s Tristan. Nice to meet you, pretty girl." And under the moonlight, on that cliff, I had my real first k**s. It was incredible. Clumsy, sure—but full of fire. Perfect. Until I felt Tyler’s power slipping away. I knew what came next. My skin paling. My hair losing color. Before Tristan could see the freak I was, I stepped back. "Hey—what’s happening?" He blinked up at me, confused, legs still tied. "I have to go," I said, already retreating. "When can I see you again?" He tried to stand, fighting the restraints. "Tomorrow." Another step back. "Meet me here at ten." "What’s your name?" He shouted after me, but I was already running down the hill. That night, lying in bed, nothing could wipe the grin off my face. Not even the nightmares.

-IRIS- It would be ten long years before Tristan crossed my path again. And it wasn’t because he didn’t show to the cliffs. No, this time, the blame was entirely mine. The morning after our k**s, my hair was white as snow again, just like every time I used my powers. I thought I’d have a few hours to fix it with the awful dye my stepmother insisted on buying. But right after lunch, my father arrived at the camp, furious, ready to haul me home. The supervisors had wasted no time calling my family about my "sudden change in appearance." Dad lectured me the entire ride back on how I should never reveal my upbringing, never use my powers, never draw attention. The same old story. I was a freak, and he was ashamed. Years slipped by. I kept searching for any trace of an Alpha named Tristan. His father had been an Alpha, and once he got his wolf, he’d inherit that title too. But no matter where I looked, I found nothing. Eventually, I left home, and Dad and Susan practically celebrated, especially after I turned eighteen and still couldn’t shift. University was the best time of my life. Humans didn’t care that I was small; plenty of them were. My white hair was considered fashionable (something about Game of Thrones). I dated a few guys, made some friends. But my heart never forgot the dark‑haired boy and my first k**s under the moonlight. After graduation, I decided to return to my old pack. They were still аs holes, especially the new Alpha, but I wanted to make a difference for the next generation. Teach them to see beyond appearance, origins, and status. I had my own money and lived far from my father. But Susan still kept in t***h, always trying to mold me to her standards. Most days, I ignored her. Some days I don’t have the energy. That day was one of those. The pack was hosting a party, with visiting Alphas and high‑ranking wolves from all over the country. A "golden opportunity to find a mate," as Susan liked to remind me. She poured most of her attention into my stepsister—seven years younger—but somehow still had enough left to bully me. "Would it kill you to dye your hair? You look like a witch," Susan screeched, narrowing her eyes at the white strands resting on my shoulders. "She doesn't want to, Mom," my stepsister Natalia answered for me. She wasn't actually defending me, just sparing me from repeating the same argument. I shrugged. "I like my hair just fine." When I was a kid, Susan forced me to dye it that awful muddy brown. But I was free from her influence now, and I didn't give two sh'its about her opinion. I'd put on a nice dress, some makeup, and even high heels. All of it for myself, because the whole idea of snagging a husband the way she snagged my father sat in my stomach like a heavy stone. "They're coming!" Susan squealed, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I didn't care about potential mates. My plan was to nurse my wine until I was tipsy enough to hit the dance floor and enjoy my night alone, like always. "Oh my Goddess, they're so hot," Natalia practically drooled. "I wonder if Alpha Knox is coming. He used to visit a lot of packs but stopped a couple of years ago. People say he's the hottest of them all." I looked at the double doors of the ballroom and yawned, already regretting my decision to trade an early night with a great book for this. A few people were entering now, mostly men, with a few women clinging to their arms. All of them dressed in fine clothes. Natalia and Susan’s eyes scanned the group like jackals, pointing and making rude comments. I stepped back, wanting nothing to do with either of them. This was not who I was. I slipped to the side, searching for a waiter to refill my empty glass. That’s when I saw him. Black slacks. A white shirt molded to his muscular frame. Short‑cropped hair, tanned skin, and a gorgeous smile. His almond‑shaped eyes were locked on me, his strides long and purposeful as he crossed the ballroom toward me. His scent hit me first—warm and spicy, cardamom and amber, something rich and oriental. It swept across the room before he did, bold and alive, announcing him. He stopped right in front of me, his smile deepening, onyx eyes glinting. His perfect l**s parted, and he spoke in a deep, resonant voice. "Mate." People say time freezes when you meet the one meant for you. Your vision narrows, and suddenly that person is all you can see, all you can hear. All you can feel. Because the missing piece finally clicks into place. You become whole. It wasn’t exactly like that. My vision didn't tunnel; my heart didn't pick up. My heart was still missing something that I didn't know. But the pull was there. "Hi," I whispered, a smile tugging at my l**s. I never expected to find my mate. It’s rare enough already, but for someone like me—a hybrid? The odds were practically nonexistent. Yet here he was. The Moon Goddess had placed a gorgeous man right in front of me. For the first time in years, happiness felt possible. Love felt possible. Even though a small, shadowed corner of my heart sank. It wasn’t him. But my wolf, Chiara, was howling inside my skull, tail wagging. "He's our mate, Iris." His wolf wouldn't feel her, like the others in our pack also didn't. Something to do with my powers, to do with my mom's nature. "Can I know your name?" "Iris. I'm Iris O'Hara, the pack teacher." He took my hand, sparks racing up my arm. I grinned, warmth blooming in my chest. "I'm—" "Beta Mark!" Susan screeched, barreling toward us and shoving Natalia between us. "Have you met my daughter Natalia?" Mark scrunched his face, his smile vanishing. He looked at Susan and Natalia like they were something unpleasant he’d stepped on. "Who are you?" His tone was icy, all warmth gone. Susan beamed, her diamond hoops catching the ballroom lights. "I'm Susan O'Hara. We met a few months ago when my husband delivered supplies to the Redclaw pack, remember?" His eyes narrowed, clearly not remembering—or not wanting to. "O'Hara... Are you related to Iris?" His voice softened again. Susan’s l**s tightened in distaste before she forced a smile. "She's my stepdaughter. But have you met my real daughter, Natalia? She's—" "…not my mate. Iris is." His interruption was smooth and lethal. "Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to get to know the woman the Moon Goddess chose for me. You understand how important that is." He winked, sliding an arm around my w***t and pulling me close. Then he steered me away from them, guiding me toward a quiet corner by the window while the two of them tried to scoop their jaws off the floor. "So tell me something about you, Iris. Besides the fact that you're a teacher and have an evil stepmother." I laughed, almost snorting. "She's not evil. She's…" I inhaled. "Someone I don't care for. We don't share values or any real family bond. She's just the woman my dad married after my mom passed away." He nodded, his expression softening. "I get it. And I'm sorry about your mom." "It's okay. She died in childbirth." My eyes prickled, like they always did when I thought about the small woman who couldn't carry a werewolf child but chose to keep me anyway. She loved me before I ever took a breath. "What about you, Mark? What's it like being the Beta of the Redclaw pack?" His smile widened. "It's incredible. I can't wait to show you the territory. And introduce you to my Alpha—my role model." "Your Alpha?" I tried to remember if I'd ever heard the Redclaw Alpha's name. "Yeah. Toughest son of a bltch you'll ever meet. He was supposed to come with me, but someone asked for his help." Mark leaned in, lowering his voice. "He's not into this whole pony-and-dog thing." I nodded, scanning the ballroom. "I totally get it. What's his name?" "Alpha Knox," he said, and time froze before he added, "Alpha Tristan Knox."

-IRIS- No. Could it be? Or was it just a coincidence? Tristan wasn’t a common name, but still… "So Alpha Knox is your alpha? My stepsister was dying to meet him." I schooled my face to keep my expression neutral. The last thing I need is for my mate to think I still have a crush on his alpha. Had a crush. Past tense, Iris. "A lot of women want to snag him," Mark chuckled, his hand running on the top of his cropped hair. "I guess it’s the whole dark-and-serious vibe. The 'I can save him' fantasy, you know?" I knew. More than he realized. I needed to change the subject. Focus on my mate, not on a teenage crush. "What about you, Mark? What do you like to do besides helping him run the pack? Any hobbies? Cooking, photography, reading…?" He shook his head and leaned closer. "Nah. I like working out. Fighting, lifting weights." His voice dropped as he tilted his head until we were sharing the same breath. "Gotta stay strong enough to protect my mate." His closeness made me feel lightheaded. Chiara purred inside me, her white fur shimmering with excitement. "Mark…" "You smell so fking addictive." His nose traced the line of my n**k, and I nearly melted. The mate bond was something else, an overwhelming feeling impossible to ignore. But before I turned into a puddle on the marble floor, Mark froze and pulled back. His black eyes flashed white. Someone was mind‑linking him. Across the room, people stopped mid‑movement. The music cut off. No one was dancing anymore. "A big group of rogues crossed the borders. They're infected with the Blight, and some of them are the big ones," Mark said, grabbing my hand and pulling me across the room. I forced myself to keep up, my legs much shorter than his, and those stupid heels doing me no favors. People were rushing toward the exits, panic twisting their faces. We all knew the drill: fighters went to defend the pack, and everyone else headed to the packhouse for safety. "Is that where Alpha Knox went? You said he went to check on something!" I shouted over the uproar, swallowing the ballroom. The thought of Tristan facing a sick rogue made my stomach twist like a serpent. He couldn’t die. He just couldn’t. "Yeah. There were rumors about rogues with rotten fur hunting near the borders. Your Alpha said it was just gossip, but Knox didn’t want to risk it. Especially not during a party with so many people in one place would draw them in." About fifty years ago, a strange sickness started sweeping through the werewolf world. At first, everyone thought it was rabies: foaming mouths, wild eyes. But it didn’t take long to realize it was something much worse. The infected weren’t just delirious; they were starving. Their bodies stopped absorbing food, leaving them in a constant state of hunger. They attacked anything alive: deer, humans, other wolves. The only ones they didn’t go after were others like them. No one ever figured out where it came from, and no cure was found. The disease ate wolves from the inside out, leaving them thin, weak, and eventually dead. Sometimes, one of them would mutate, growing freakishly big and terrifyingly strong. We called those the "big ones," and they were the worst of all. But every infected wolf had one thing in common: they were contagious. Their saliva carried the Blight, and one bite was enough to spread it. Thankfully, their blood wasn’t infectious. "Our alpha mind-linked us too. He said it’s not a big deal, but we should go to the secured locations anyway." Our Alpha was a jerk. He’d taken over a couple of years ago and immediately proved he was arrogant, pompous, and full of big dreams with zero leadership skills. He never trained, never fought, and spent most of his time buying useless cra'ap or suking up to other alphas. Dad always told me to hide my powers from him. He’d definitely try to use them. For once, I agreed with Dad. "Well, your Alpha is a tool. The sick rogues are more than your fighters can handle. It’s a good thing you have other pack leaders here to help you," Mark said sternly as we stepped outside. The night was warm, like mid‑spring. A crescent moon hung in the sky, casting silver light over the winding paths of our pack grounds. "You go to the packhouse and stay safe, okay? I'll help the others," Mark told me, releasing my hand and pressing a k**s to my forehead. "I'll get back to you as soon as I can." "'Kay," I murmured, watching my mate shift into a sleek black wolf and sprint toward the woods. Others followed him. Most of the visiting guests were joining the fight, which was a relief, because our own warriors were lazy and poorly trained. Our Alpha, as you’ve probably gathered, cared more about status and alliances than protecting his people. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I wanted to help. Every instinct screamed at me to run after them. But I was small, not nearly as strong as the others. I’d only slow someone down… or get someone killed. From a distance, the sounds of battle rolled through the trees: roars, howls, the wet crunch of biting, and other noises that made my skin crawl. How many rogues were out there? There had never been an attack this large. I spun on my heels and headed for the packhouse. Most people were already inside, and the paths were empty. I was just rounding the last corner when my luck snapped in half. A group of infected rogues was charging straight toward the packhouse. And behind them lumbered a "big one," its massive silhouette unmistakable even in the moonlight. The paths were deserted; not a single fighter in sight to protect the people trapped inside. My heart lurched violently. What should I do?

-IRIS- What should I do? Before I could think, a massive grey wolf—larger than life—burst from the trees and slammed into the group. The sick rogues scattered, confused for a heartbeat before turning on him. Silver fur gleamed under the moonlight, an aura almost royal. Almost divine. And then he moved. The way he fought… it wasn’t just skill. It was destiny in motion. A deadly, fluid dance that bent the surrounding night. He tore through the infected wolves with terrifying precision, bodies flying and hitting the ground before my mind could register the strikes. Gruesome. And mesmerizing at the same time. I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to. A warm breeze swept past, carrying the rotten stench of the rogues. But beneath it, something else drifted toward me. Fresh rain. My favorite scent in the world. Air stalled in my lungs. My heart stopped for a beat before slamming back to life, racing so violently it hurt. The Earth didn’t just stop spinning; it tilted. I knew that scent. I knew that wolf. It was him. He paused mid‑fight, lifting his black muzzle to the air, sniffing. Steel‑silver eyes snapped to mine, holding me captive. And in that instant, everything inside me changed. A fault line was cracking open. The woman I’d been a second ago was gone, replaced by someone who suddenly remembered exactly what she’d been missing all these years. "Tristan," I breathed. The word was barely a whisper, lost in the chaos of the battle, but his ears twitched. It’s me, I wanted to scream. The girl from the cliffs. The one you kissed under the moonlight. After all these years, after everything that happened, I never forgot you. I took a step toward him, but a massive infected wolf crashed between us, blotting him out like an eclipse from hll. Its rotten stench hit me first, thick and suffocating. Yellow foam dripped from its fangs. Its glassy eyes locked onto me with a hunger so raw, so strong, it felt almost personal. Its chest heaved, ribs expanding like it was about to explode. "Chiara! Move!" I urged my wolf, panic clawing up my throat. Goddess, why couldn’t I shift? It would be so much easier to bolt. But before I could do anything, it lunged. I stumbled back, boots skidding on loose pebbles. My heel caught, and I went down hard, b*tt first, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. The wolf was already mid‑air. I threw my arms over my face, a useless shield. Hot breath blasted against my skin. I felt the weight of its shadow swallow me whole. This was it. This was how I’d die. Not in battle. Not with honor. But torn apart on pack floor, by an infected monster. A snarl ripped through the night—so loud, so violent, it shook the ground like an earthquake. But the bite I was waiting for never came. When I opened my eyes, Tristan’s wolf was already on the creature, ripping it away from me with a force that rattled my bones. He fought like a storm given flesh, brutal and unstoppable. Moments later, the infected wolf collapsed, unmoving. Tristan kept fighting the remaining wolves. When the last rogue fell, he shifted back into his human form. And Goddess… what a form. Tristan, as a teen, had been cute. Charming. Sweet. Tristan, as a man, was something else entirely—breathtaking, powerful, impossibly handsome. Dark, messy hair fell over his forehead, framing a strong face. A squared jaw, tanned skin, and a muscular and strong body, built for war. He walked toward me, intensity carved into every line of him. He stopped in front of me, hand outstretched. "Are you all right, pretty girl?" His silver eyes swept over me, concern softening their usual steel. I reached for him, fingers trembling, desperate to feel him after all this time... But before our hands touched, my mate appeared out of nowhere. "Oh, Knox. Thank Goddess." Mark pulled me into his arms. "Thank you for saving her, man." His arms wrapped around me, guiding my head to his chest, my ears feeling his strong heartbeat. "Her?" Tristan’s brows pulled together, confusion flickering across his face. "You know each other?" "She’s my mate, Alpha."