Selene's POV I have always known that I was unloved. Unwanted. A burden that no one asked for. But today— Today was something else entirely. I stood there, hands clenched at my sides, watching my adoptive father, mother, and Matthew stare at me like I was trash. Like I wasn't a person. Like they weren't discussing my death like it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. I had just told them. I was going to take Saira's place. I was going to be offered to the Alpha King. The Cursed King of the Blood Shadow Kingdom. Undefeated in every war he'd ever fought. Not a single bride had walked out of his bed alive. He was the name that made every young girl wake up screaming in the middle of the night. The room was silent for three seconds. Then my adoptive father set down his cup and nodded. Just like that. Like I'd told him I was going to the market. "Why?" My voice cracked, my eyes burning. "I'm going to die, and you don't feel anything?" "You should be grateful." His voice was terrifyingly calm. A laugh almost tore out of me. Grateful? "Grateful for what?" I lifted my chin and met his gaze dead-on. ‘For eighteen years of being your punching bag? For never once being treated like a human being? "Grateful that we let you live." He stepped toward me, his voice dropping low, pressing against my throat like a blunt blade. "Without us, you would have rotted on that roadside. A child with no parents, no name, nothing. We gave you food. Clothes. A roof. Do you have any idea how many people don't even get that much?" Something scorched through my chest. "That wasn't kindness—" "What have you ever done to repay us?" My adoptive mother finally spoke, setting down her teacup, fixing me with the look I had grown up dreading—pure, bone-deep revulsion. "No wolf. No ability. Eighteen years of eating our food and embarrassing our name. What exactly do you think you're worth?" "I'm going to die!" My voice rose sharply, and the tears I had been fighting finally broke free. "I'm going to die, and this is all you have to say to me?!" "Oh, stop crying." Matthew pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me, looking down at me like I was a broken tool that had finally found one last use. "You think your death is worth something? The Alpha King won't even look at you. He'll toss you out to feed the wolves. No wolf, no worth—did you really think he'd take you as a bride?" He let out a short, cruel laugh. "Keep dreaming.But maybe that weird moonlight mark of yours will keep you alive?" "Matthew—" "You should be thankful." He leaned in close, his voice dropping to something quieter and far more vicious. "At least this time your death actually buys us something. That's more than your life ever did. You've done nothing but waste space and breathe our air." My l**s began to tremble. "I am your daughter." I heard my own voice go hoarse, fracturing at the edges, like something finally breaking beyond repair. "I am your daughter—how can you—how could you—" "You are not our daughter." My adoptive father's voice came down like a blade. Clean. Precise. Without a single moment of hesitation. "You never were. You were a mistake we picked up off the side of a road." Silence. My tears stopped. Not because the pain had eased—but because it had gone so deep I couldn't feel anything anymore. My adoptive mother rose from her chair, smoothing her skirt, her tone as casual as if she were handing out chores. "Since you're leaving, pack your things tonight. Don't keep the envoy waiting. And wash the bedding in your room before you go—don't leave a mess for us to deal with." The bedding. I was going to my death, and she was thinking about the bedding. My adoptive father's hand came up. Crack. My head snapped to the side. The burning spread across my cheek in waves. My eyes stung. But I locked my jaw and refused to let a single tear fall. I won't cry. Not anymore. They don't deserve it. "You will regret this," I said, my voice barely above a whisper—but every word landed like it had been carved from stone. "Every single one of you will regret this." Matthew laughed. "What are you going to do—crawl out of your grave and haunt us?" I didn't answer. I turned around and walked out. I was an adopted child. Picked up at three years old with no parents, no name, no history. It took me eighteen years to understand that what they gave me wasn't love. It was shelter. And shelter came with conditions—stay silent, endure, and never embarrass them. The year I turned eighteen, I failed to awaken my wolf. After that night, even the thin tolerance they'd shown me disappeared entirely. My adoptive father stopped feeding me. My adoptive mother locked the pantry. Matthew told me to go die every single morning. And Werren—my fated mate, the Alpha's son—turned his back on me in front of the entire pack. "Don't t***h me," he'd said. "Do you know how humiliating this is? Having a wolfless mate?" I stood there and said nothing. I just watched him walk away and thought: You will all regret this. Through all of it, only one person had been different. Saira. She was the only person in these past months who had made me feel like I was still human. She'd pressed her own bread into my hands on the nights the pantry was locked. She'd sat beside me without a word when no one else would come near. The night my fever wouldn't break, she'd stayed until dawn. So when she came to me trembling, barely able to speak, saying her mother was dying and she couldn't go— I didn't think twice. "I'll go. I'll take your place." I thought that this time, it would be different. I thought giving my life might finally be enough for them to see me. The carriage left. Werren never came. As though I had never existed at all. Outside the window, the mountain road was swallowed in darkness. The witch sat across from me, humming something tuneless and low. I didn't want to die. The thought circled endlessly. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Why should I have to— "Such a shame, really." I snapped my gaze up. The witch's clouded eyes were fixed on me, her l**s curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Your friend. Saira." She tilted her head. "What a pretty little liar." My heart stuttered. "What?" "That rescue." She leaned forward, her voice as unhurried as if she were discussing the weather. "It was theater. She knew she'd been chosen a full month before the announcement. She needed someone to die in her place, so she had you pushed into that river. Watched you drown—almost. Then swooped in at exactly the right moment to play the hero." The carriage seemed to tilt beneath me. "Werren too. He's been with Saira for months. They're getting married next month—right around when you would have married him. The whole thing was his idea. He needed you gone." She paused. "Your adoptive family knew as well. They agreed to let you take Saira's place in exchange for Matthew's promotion to Gamma." She shrugged. "Everyone wins. Everyone but you." I pressed both hands over my mouth, but the sob tore free anyway. Saira. The bread she'd pressed into my hands. The shoulder she'd offered without a word. The long night she'd kept watch until dawn. All of it was a lie. Every last piece of it, engineered to send me willingly to my death. And then there was my family. I replayed the scene in my mind—my adoptive father's nod, my adoptive mother humming as she turned back to the dishes, Matthew's grin. I had told myself it was indifference. That they simply didn't care. But it wasn't indifference. They had known. They had always known. They hadn't merely watched me walk toward death with cold eyes—they had built the road. Sat in that dining room and nodded and hummed and smiled, celebrating. My death wasn't a loss to them. It was a transaction. A deal they had signed long before I ever opened my mouth. I thought the worst thing was that they didn't love me. But they didn't just fail to love me. They hated me enough to engineer my death—and toasted to it. Something rose in my chest that I had never felt before. Not grief. Not the hollow ache of rejection. Hate. Clean, scalding, wide-awake hate. "That King," I said, my voice startlingly steady. "Is he really that terrible?" The witch looked at me. "The last girl they sent—they found three fingers. Nothing else." She settled back into her seat. "The one before that, they found nothing at all. Not even bone." She met my eyes without blinking. "He won't see you as a bride. He'll see you as prey." "Stop the carriage." My voice didn't sound like mine. "Stop—the carriage—" "I can't do that, girl—" "Let me out!" I threw myself at the door, fingers clawing at the handle, wrenching with everything I had. "I won't do this! I won't die for them! I won't—" The witch's hand closed around my wrist like iron. "Too late, little fool." Her clouded eyes didn't waver. "The Alpha King is waiting for his bride in Black Mountain." The wheels kept turning. My screams dissolved into the mountain wind, swallowed whole, like nothing had changed at all. No. I can accept death. But I will not die for those demons who played with my life like it was nothing—not for a single one of them！

Selene POV The witch releases my wrist suddenly. "We're here." Here? I look out the carriage window. Dark forest surrounds us. Thorny bushes. Twisted trees. No castle. No road. Just wilderness. "The King is waiting," she says, her milky eyes gleaming. "Once you're on this path, there's no turning back." Before I can respond, she throws open the door and jumps out. The carriage lurches to a violent stop. "Wait!" I scramble after her. "You can't just—" But she's already running. Her black cloak billows as she disappears into the thick forest. Silence presses down on me. Then the forest comes alive—branches creaking, leaves rustling, something howling in the distance. No turning back. Where would I go anyway? Back to the family who sold me? Back to Werren and Saira's betrayal? At least here, there's a chance. Maybe a slim one. But it's more than they ever gave me. Move. I push forward, tearing through thorny bushes. The path is barely visible—rocks jutting out, roots waiting to trip me. The sky darkens, twilight bleeding across the horizon. Then I see it. The castle rises from the mountain like a nightmare. Black stone towers pierce the sky, their spires sharp as blades. Ivy chokes the walls. The wind shifts. Brings a smell. Blood. Fresh. Thick. My stomach heaves. I turn to run. A roar splits the air. Not a wolf's howl. Something deeper. Ancient. A sound that shakes the earth and rattles my bones. Then fire erupts from above. A massive jet of flame crashes down, blocking my path. Heat slams into my face. I scream, stumbling backward as the flames tower over me—a perfect wall of impossible light. My eyes snap upward. Oh God. The dragon descends. It's like watching a mountain fall. Massive black wings blot out the dying sun. The wind from each wingbeat nearly knocks me off my feet. The ground shakes when it lands—a tremor that runs through my legs and up my spine. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare. It's enormous. Bigger than the castle itself, bigger than anything that should be able to exist. Its body is pure black, scales gleaming like polished obsidian, each one the size of a shield. Massive wings fold against its sides, still radiating heat. Talons—each one longer than my entire body—dig into the earth, carving furrows in the stone. Smoke curls from its nostrils. And its eyes. God, its eyes. They're red. Not just red—burning. Like looking into the heart of a forge, like all the rage and hunger in the world condensed into two points of light. This isn't just a dragon. This is what nightmares are made of. I've seen drawings in old books. Legends of ancient dragons, creatures of magic and destruction that existed before the werewolf packs, before civilization itself. Beings so powerful they were worshipped as gods. So terrible that entire kingdoms fell trying to fight them. This is one of them. A true ancient dragon. Pure evil given form. My legs give out. I collapse onto the rocky ground, my dress tearing on the stones. The dragon moves closer. Each step shakes the earth. Its shadow falls over me, cold and absolute. It reaches down. One massive claw hooks under my arm and lifts. I dangle in the air like a rag doll. My feet kick uselessly. The dragon brings me closer to its face—close enough that I can see the blood dripping from its jaw. Thick. Dark. Still warm. Someone else didn't make it to the castle. I'm going to die. Right here. Right now. But then something shifts inside me. The fear doesn't disappear—it transforms. Hardens into something else. Rage. I'm so tired of being afraid. So tired of cowering. Of letting people use me, hurt me, throw me away like garbage. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die on my own terms. I force myself to look up. To meet those burning red eyes directly. The dragon's pupils contract. Its head tilts slightly, studying me. Come on, then. I think the words so hard they feel like a scream in my mind. Come on, demon. Do it. I won't bow to you. I won't beg. My l**s move, forming the words silently. "I. Don't. Surrender." The dragon goes completely still. For one heartbeat, neither of us moves. The world holds its breath. Then it speaks. The voice doesn't come from its throat. It comes from everywhere at once—from the ground beneath me, from the air around me, from inside my own chest. Thunder rolling through mountains that have stood since before time had a name. "You are the first to meet my gaze." Its jaw opens. Wider. Wider. I see rows of teeth like swords. See the glow building in its throat. Smell the death that clings to its breath. "Interesting." The word reverberates through my bones. Then its mouth closes around me. Darkness swallows everything. My mind goes blank. My body shuts down. The last thing I feel is cold—so cold—and the certainty that I've reached the end. I pass out.

Selene POV I'm alive. The thought comes first, sharp and clear. My eyes snap open. Soft silk sheets. A canopy bed draped in dark velvet. Stone walls carved with ancient symbols I don't recognize. My hands fly to my body, checking for wounds, for blood, for any sign of the dragon's jaws crushing me. Nothing. Just my torn dress and scratched arms from the thorny bushes. The room is enormous. Cold. A massive fireplace sits empty on one wall. Heavy curtains block most of the light, leaving everything in shadow. The air smells old—like stone and dust and something metallic I can't quite place. Where am I? The last thing I remember is the dragon. Those burning red eyes. Its mouth opening wide— The door swings open. I jolt upright, my heart hammering. A woman enters, dressed in a plain gray uniform. Her face is blank. Expressionless. "Good morning, my lady." Her voice is flat. Mechanical. "I trust you slept well." My lady? "Where—" My voice comes out hoarse. I swallow and try again. "Where am I?" "The Alpha King's palace, of course." She claps her hands twice. Two servants enter carrying trays of food. Fresh bread. Roasted meat. Fruits I've never seen before. They set everything on a table by the window and leave without a word. "You're fortunate," the woman continues, still in that dead tone. "You're the first woman to meet the Alpha King's gaze and survive the night." Meet his gaze? "I never met any Alpha King." My fingers dig into the sheets. "I only saw a—" "Eat." She cuts me off. "You'll need your strength." I stare at the food. My stomach churns. "Is this my last meal? Am I being prepared for... for sacrifice?" "Perhaps." She shrugs. "Perhaps not. It depends." "On what?" "On whether you can withstand the Alpha King's test. On whether the Moon Goddess grants you luck." Her l**s curve into something that might be a smile but isn't. Not really. "If you survive, you'll be our Luna. If not..." She walks to the window and throws open the curtains. Sunlight floods in. Harsh. Blinding. "Look," she says. I force myself to stand. To move toward the window. Every instinct screams at me to stop, to turn away, but I keep walking. The view overlooks a mountainside slope. Bodies. Oh God. Women's bodies. Dozens of them. Maybe more. Scattered across the rocks like discarded dolls. Some are fresh—pale skin still intact. Others have been there longer. Flesh rotting. Bones showing through. Flies swarm in thick black clouds. Even from here, even through the closed window, I can smell it. Death. Decay. Horror. My stomach heaves. I stumble backward, one hand clamped over my mouth. The room spins. I barely make it to the washroom before I'm sick, retching until there's nothing left. When I emerge, shaking and pale, the maid is still there. Still wearing that cold smile. "Good luck with your test, my lady." Her voice drips with mockery. "Though I haven't seen a lucky one yet. They all end up down there eventually." She gestures toward the window. "You'll probably join them soon enough." No. No, I can't. I won't. "I need to leave." The words tumble out. "I need to—" The door opens again. A woman enters, draped in black robes. Her face is gaunt, her skin stretched tight over sharp bones. Her eyes are dark pits. She moves with an unsettling grace, like a shadow given form. "I am Istha," she says. Her voice is soft. Almost gentle. But something about it makes my skin crawl. "The High Priestess. I'm here to prepare you. Once the other two brides are dead, it will be your turn to meet the Alpha King." No. My legs refuse to move. Fear wraps around my chest like iron bands, squeezing until I can't breathe. "Come, child." Istha extends one skeletal hand. "He's waiting."

Rex POV I stare at my reflection in the floor-length mirror. b**e-chested. A towel wrapped low around my w***t. Water still dripping from my hair after the morning bath. The body staring back at me is perfect. Carved muscle. Broad shoulders. A face that could have been sculpted by the gods themselves—sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, cold blue eyes that have seen too much death. I look like power incarnate. Like a king. Like something to be worshipped. I hate it. Because this body isn't mine. Not really. Not anymore. I am twenty-seven years old. Alpha King of the Blood Shadow Kingdom. And I have been cursed for twelve years. The memory comes without warning, sharp as broken glass. I'm fifteen again, hiding in the shadows of the throne room. My parents loved their people. Gave them everything—protection, prosperity, peace. They ruled with justice and mercy. They trusted their inner circle. They never saw the betrayal coming. The rebels—men my father called brothers, warriors my mother fed at her own table—turned on them. Chained them to iron crosses in the center of the throne room. Demanded they hand me over. "Give us the boy," the rebel leader said. "Give us your heir, and we'll let you live." My father's voice was steady even as the flames were lit. "Never." My mother's eyes found mine in the shadows. She mouthed one word: Run. But I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Could only watch as the fire climbed higher. They burned. My parents—strong, proud, beloved—burned alive rather than surrender me to traitors. The rebels laughed as they screamed. I press my hands over my ears. It doesn't help. Nothing helps. The smell of burning fur. Burning flesh. The sound of their wolves dying. Please. Someone. Anyone. I pray to the Moon Goddess. Beg her for power. For strength. For the ability to make these monsters pay. "Your prayer has been heard." The voice comes from nowhere. From everywhere. A figure materializes from the shadows—wrapped in a black cloak, skeletal hands reaching toward me. I can't see her face. Only darkness where it should be. "I can give you what you seek," she whispers. "The power to destroy your enemies. To avenge your blood." "Yes." The word rips from my throat. "Anything. I'll do anything." "There is a price." Her hand extends. In her palm sits something dark. Something alive. "I will remove your wolf spirit and replace it with an ancient dragon. With its power, no one will stand against you." I don't hesitate. Don't ask what it means. Don't think about the consequences. My parents are burning. That's all that matters. "Do it." The pain is instant. Blinding. Something tears free from my chest—my wolf, my soul—and is ripped away. Then comes the dragon. It pours into me like molten metal, searing through every vein, every nerve, every cell. When I open my eyes, the world is different. Sharper. Darker. Hungrier. I slaughter them all. The rebels. Their families. Anyone who stood by and watched my parents burn. The dragon gives me strength beyond measure. Speed. Power. Rage. By dawn, the throne room is painted in blood. I should feel victorious. Satisfied. Instead, I feel the dragon coiling tighter around my soul. Whispering. Demanding. More. More. MORE. That was twelve years ago. Since then, the dragon has only grown stronger. It takes control whenever it wants—transforming my body, overriding my mind, turning me into the monster the kingdom fears. I've tried everything to break free. To reclaim what I lost. Nothing works. My High Priestess, Istha, believes she has the answer. Every month, she sends three women to my chambers. Sacrifices. Offerings. She insists that if one of them bears my child, the curse will be lifted. But none of them survive. The dragon kills them. Always. In different ways—draining their life force until they're withered husks, tearing them apart with claws and teeth, or simply appearing in his full form and watching them die of sheer terror in my bed. My bed has become a gateway to hll. And yet— Last night. That girl. The one with golden eyes and tangled brown curls. She looked directly at the dragon and didn't die. Didn't even faint. She challenged it. Who is she? A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. "My King." Keanu's voice. Steady. Professional. "The new bride has arrived. She's waiting." I turn from the mirror. Pull on a silk robe but leave it open. "Send her in." The door opens. A woman enters—tall, curves poured into a dress so sheer it might as well not exist. Her brests are barely contained. Her h**s sway with calculated seduction. She sees me and her eyes light up. "Oh," she breathes. "You're—" The dragon surges forward. My eyes burn. Red bleeds across my vision. My voice drops to a growl—inhuman, guttural. "You have been chosen." Her face pales. The seduction drains away, replaced by raw terror. "Please—" She collapses to her knees. "Please, I don't want to—" I'm on her before she can finish. Claws erupt from my fingers—long, black, sharp as blades. I grab her by the throat and squeeze. She screams. Claws at my arm. Kicks uselessly. I tear. Blood sprays across the floor. The walls. My b**e chest. Her body falls in pieces, twitching and leaking. No. God, no. Not again. The dragon recedes. Leaves me standing over the carnage, drenched in another woman's blood. I hate this. Hate myself. Hate the thing living inside me. But I can't stop it. "Send in the next one," I say flatly. Keanu doesn't flinch. He's seen this too many times. He simply gestures, and servants rush in to drag away the body parts. Another woman is ushered through the door before the blood is even cleaned. This one is different. Beautiful in a dangerous way—red l**s, dark eyes, body wrapped in silk that clings to every curve. She looks at me and doesn't recoil. Doesn't beg. Instead, she smiles. "Well," she purrs, stepping closer. "Aren't you magnificent?" Her hand trails down my chest. Lower. She sees my body responding despite everything and her smile widens. "I knew I'd get lucky." Her fingers brush the edge of my towel. "A king. A real king. So handsome. So powerful." She tugs the towel free. It falls to the floor. Her eyes drop. Widen. "Oh my God." She actually laughs. "Look at that. I definitely won the lottery." Her hand reaches for me. Wraps around— The dragon roars. My body changes. Not fully—not into the dragon's true form—but enough. My /cok twists, grows, takes on the dragon's nature. Scales. Ridges. Heat that burns like fire. She sees it. Her hand jerks back. "What—" The terror hits her all at once. Her heart stops. Just stops. She's dead before her body hits the ground. I stare down at her corpse. At my still-transformed body. At the blood that never seems to wash clean. Keanu appears in the doorway. "Shall I send in the third—" "No." The word comes out harsh. Final. "Enough. I'm done with this. I don't want to see another woman today."

Selene POV The maids dress me like a doll. They strip away my torn, dirty clothes and scrub my skin until it's raw. Perfumed oils. A white silk gown that clings to every curve. They brush out my tangled curls until they fall in soft waves down my back. "Look," one maid says, turning me toward the mirror. I barely recognize myself. Golden eyes stare back at me, wide and luminous in the lamplight. My skin glows—that strange moonlight shimmer they always mocked me for, but here, in this dim room, it makes me look ethereal. Almost otherworldly. The gown is sheer enough to show the outline of my body—full brests, narrow w***t, the curve of my h**s. They're preparing me for slaughter. The thought makes my stomach turn. I look beautiful. Like a bride. Like a sacrifice wrapped in silk for the altar. Istha appears in the doorway. "Come." I follow her through winding corridors. Stone walls press in from both sides. My b**e feet are silent on the cold floor. My heart hammers so hard I'm sure she can hear it. What's waiting for me? How will I die? We turn a corner and nearly collide with a mountain of a man. He's massive—broad shoulders, thick arms, face carved from granite. His eyes are storm-brown, sharp and assessing. He wears the mark of authority: a Beta. "Keanu." Istha's voice drips false sweetness. "I've brought the third bride. The first two have already... served His Majesty." She pushes me forward. "This one should please him." Keanu's expression doesn't change. He simply shakes his head. "The Alpha King has given orders. He wants no more women today." His voice is flat. Professional. "His chambers are... occupied." Occupied? "With blood," he adds quietly. The words hit me like a fist. The first two brides. Already dead. Their bodies probably being dragged to that hillside right now, to join the others rotting in the sun. Istha turns to me. Her skeletal face twists into something that might be a smile. "How fortunate for you." Her voice is silk over razor blades. "You get to live another day." She grabs my arm—her fingers are ice-cold, inhuman—and hauls me down another corridor. We stop at a heavy wooden door. She throws it open and shoves me inside. "Wait here with the others." The door slams shut behind me. I'm in a large room. Wooden bunks line the walls. And everywhere—women. At least a dozen of them, all dressed in similar white gowns. All waiting to die. They turn to look at me. Their eyes are hollow. Haunted. Then one of them sneers. "Look at this one." A blonde woman with sharp features stands from her bunk. "Trying to seduce the demon, are you? Wearing your beauty like armor?" Another woman laughs—high and brittle. "As if that'll help. He kills the pretty ones fastest." "wh0re," someone spits. They converge on me. Five, six of them. Fear and jealousy have driven them mad. They grab at my hair, my dress, my skin. Nails rake across my arms. Someone yanks my hair hard enough to make my eyes water. No. Not this. Not again. I've been beaten my whole life. Mocked. Pushed around. Called worthless. I'm done. Something inside me snaps. I grab the blonde woman's wrist and twist. She screams. I drive my elbow into another woman's face—hear the crunch of bone. Someone claws at my cheek and I headbutt her, sending her sprawling. I will not die like this. Not at their hands. Not at anyone's. I fight like something feral. Like I have nothing left to lose—because I don't. They wanted a victim. They got a wolf. When it's over, I'm standing in the center of the room, breathing hard. Blood drips from scratches on my face and arms. The other women are scattered across the floor, clutching their injuries, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. "Anyone else?" My voice doesn't sound like mine. It's cold. Hard. No one moves. I find an empty bunk in the corner and sit down. Wrap a thin blanket around my shoulders. The adrenaline drains away, leaving me hollow. The other women retreat to their beds. No one speaks. The room fills with the sound of quiet sobbing. I stare at the ceiling and wait for dark. ***** Midnight. The room is silent except for breathing. Some of the women are genuinely asleep. Others are pretending. I don't care which. I slip from my bunk, moving slow. Careful. My b**e feet make no sound on the stone floor. The door isn't locked. Why would it be? Where would we run? I ease it open and peer into the corridor. Empty. A guard stands at the far end, but he's facing away, half-asleep on his feet. Now. I slip through and press myself against the wall. Move like a shadow. The guard doesn't turn. Doesn't notice. I'm almost at the corner when I hear it. A roar. Not a wolf's howl. Not anything natural. It's deep—so deep it vibrates in my chest, in my bones. Ancient. Primal. Agonized. Run. You should run. Get out while you can. But my feet don't move toward the exit. They move toward the sound. What's wrong with me? The roar comes again. Louder. Closer. It's not rage—it's pain. Raw and terrible and drowning in suffering. Why does it hurt so much? Why do I care? My hand presses against the cold stone wall. My heart pounds. Every instinct screams at me to flee, to get as far from this place as possible. But I can't. Something pulls me forward. Some invisible thread wrapped around my chest, tugging me toward the source of that terrible sound. I turn down another corridor. The roaring grows louder. The walls shake with it. What are you doing? This is insane. You're walking straight toward the thing that kills women like you. I know. I know and I can't stop. Instead, I follow the winding corridor until I find it—a heavy, ancient iron door. The roaring behind it grows more violent, as if the creature is being torn apart by some unseen force. My hand reaches for the cold handle. It's unlocked. I twist it. The hinges creak. And then I freeze, stunned by what I see inside.

Selene POV The dragon. It's the same one from that first night. The one that should have killed me but didn't. But everything is different now. Massive iron chains wrap around its body—thick as tree trunks, covered in glowing symbols that pulse with an eerie light. Ancient runes. Binding spells. They hold the dragon down, pinning it to the stone floor of what looks like an underground chamber. The chains rattle. g***n. They're straining. Failing. It's going to break free. The dragon thrashes, pulling against its restraints. Each movement sends tremors through the floor. Its wings beat uselessly against the low ceiling. And that sound—that terrible roaring—it's not rage. It's agony. I should run. Every instinct screams at me to turn around, to flee while I still can. But I can't look away. Our eyes meet. Red. Burning red. But beneath the fire, I see something else. Control—barely holding on. Pain—so deep it drowns everything else. And fury—not at me, but at itself. At whatever force is tearing it apart from the inside. It's suffering. My hand reaches out before my brain can stop it. What are you doing? This is insane. That thing will kill you the second those chains break. I know. I know and I still take a step forward. The dragon's head snaps toward me. Its jaws open wide—rows of teeth like swords, throat glowing with building fire. "Don't be afraid," I whisper. My voice shakes. "I won't hurt you. Just like that first night. You didn't hurt me either." Who am I even talking to? But the words keep coming. Because looking at this creature—this magnificent, terrible thing chained and bleeding and breaking—hurts. It hurts like watching myself in Ice Moon Pack. Worthless. Beaten. Trapped. The dragon roars. Fire erupts from its mouth. I dodge left. The flames scorch the wall behind me, leaving black marks on the stone. I take another step forward. Extend my hand. "It's okay," I breathe. "I'm here." My fingers t***h scale. Cold. Hard as diamond but somehow alive. Vibrating with contained power. The dragon shudders. Then goes still. The roaring stops. The chains stop rattling. Even the air seems to hold its breath. Its eyes—those burning red eyes—shift. Fade. Turn brown. Warm, deep brown that looks almost... human. Then it makes a sound. A whimper. Low and broken. Like a wounded animal that's forgotten how to ask for help. It's crying. This massive, terrifying creature that could reduce me to ash with a single breath—it's crying. My chest tightens. I move closer, both hands pressing against its scales now. They're cool beneath my palms, slick with blood seeping from where the chains have cut into flesh. "I know," I whisper. "I know it hurts." The dragon lowers its enormous head. Presses its snout against my shoulder—gentle, so impossibly gentle for something so huge. I feel its breath, hot and damp, against my n**k. Then its massive wing moves. Slowly. Carefully. It wraps around me, pulling me close against its chest. I'm so small in its embrace. Like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. One wrong move and I'm dead. Its mouth could swallow me whole. Its claws could pierce through me like paper. But I don't fight. Don't struggle. Because I feel it—the desperation. The need. The wordless plea: Don't leave. Please don't leave. Every time I shift, even slightly, the dragon rumbles. Not a threat. A warning. Stay. So I do. I lean against its cold, hard body and let it hold me. Feel the rise and fall of its chest. The steady, powerful heartbeat beneath the scales. My eyes drift shut. Exhaustion crashes over me—the adrenaline finally wearing off, leaving nothing but bone-deep weariness. Just for a moment. I'll rest for just a moment. ***** Warmth. That's what wakes me. Not cold anymore. Warm. And breathing. Soft. Steady. Human breathing. My eyes snap open. Arms. Strong, muscled arms wrapped around me from behind. Skin against my back—warm, smooth, very much alive. Not the dragon. I freeze. My heart hammers against my ribs. The dragon is gone. In its place is a man. I can't see his face—my back is pressed against his chest—but I feel him. The solid weight of muscle. The rise and fall of his breathing. The way his arms hold me with that same desperate possessiveness the dragon showed. What happened? Who is this? Where did the dragon go? Panic claws up my throat. I need to leave. Now. Before he wakes up. Before I have to explain what I'm doing here, why I came, why I stayed. I reach for his arms. Carefully. So carefully. They're heavy—corded with muscle, hot where they t***h my skin. I lift them slowly, inch by inch, barely breathing. Please don't wake up. Please. He shifts. Mumbles something I can't understand. I freeze again. Wait. Count to ten. He settles back into sleep. I ease out of his grip. Stand on shaking legs. For just a moment—one stubid, reckless moment—I want to look at his face. To see who this is. To understand what connection he has to the dragon. But I don't. Because if I look, I might not leave. And I have to leave. Now. I run. Through the iron door. Down the winding corridors. My b**e feet slap against cold stone. My heart races. Behind me, nothing stirs. No footsteps. No shouts. No roaring. He's still asleep. I make it back to the waiting room and slip inside. The other women are just starting to wake. Pale morning light filters through the high windows. Morning. It's morning. I missed it. My chance to escape. The whole night—gone. Wasted on an ancient creature and a mysterious man. And I still don't understand the connection between them. I climb back into my bunk and pull the thin blanket over myself. My body still feels the phantom warmth of those arms. My skin still remembers the cold scales beneath my hands. What have I done? I don't know. But whatever it is, I can't take it back now.

Rex POV Pain wakes me. Every muscle screams. My shoulders burn where the chains bit deep. I force my eyes open and see my hands---human hands, not claws. I'm back. No relief comes. Just hollow exhaustion. This isn't the first time. Every time the dragon takes over, I give Keanu the same order: lock me in this chamber. Chain me down with iron carved with binding runes. The High Priestess promised they would contain the beast. They don't. The broken chains lie scattered across the floor like discarded bones. Then the memory hits. Her. A girl. Last night. She came to the dragon. I didn't see her face---everything was a blur of pain and rage---but I remember her scent. Vanilla. Jasmine. Something else I can't name. Soft. Warm. Alive. And the light. God, the light. Her body glowed---gentle, bright, like captured moonlight. The moment that radiance touched me, the dragon stopped. Just... stopped. No more thrashing. No more fury tearing me apart from the inside. For the first time since this curse began, the beast receded peacefully. The iron door creaks open. Keanu enters, his face carefully neutral. "A girl came here last night," I say. My voice is rough, scraped raw. Keanu's eyes sweep the chamber. No blood. No body. "There's no one here, my King." "She was real. She touched me. She---" "Your Majesty." His voice is gentle. Too gentle. "These episodes always leave you disoriented. The visions seem real, but---" "It wasn't a vision." "Then tell me what she looked like." I open my mouth. Nothing comes. I don't know. Doubt creeps in like poison. Maybe Keanu's right. Maybe my mind is finally breaking. He begins unlocking the chains still wrapped around my wrists. "It's normal, my King. After what your body endures, hallucinations are expected." The chains fall away. He retrieves my royal robe and offers it. I stand, wrapping the silk around myself. But something nags at me. Something I can't dismiss. The scent. It's still here. Faint but real. Clinging to my skin like it was made to be there. I've heard it described a hundred times. Every wolf knows the stories before they can even shift. Your fated mate's scent doesn't smell like perfume or sweat or something ordinary. It reaches inside you. Past your ribs. Past twelve years of isolation and blood and the thing that replaced your soul. It grabs something you thought was already dead and pulls. I've spent twelve years telling myself the mate bond wasn't possible for me anymore. The dragon killed that. The curse killed that. The Moon Goddess wouldn't be so cruel as to send a fated mate to a man who would only destroy her. But that scent. "Find her." The words come out different than I expect. Quieter. More urgent. "Bring every woman from the waiting room before me. One by one." Keanu pauses. "My King?" I turn to face him fully. Something is tightening in my chest---something dangerous and unfamiliar. Hope. I haven't felt it in so long I almost don't recognize the shape of it. "That scent." I press my fist to my sternum, trying to describe what I barely understand myself. "I know what it means. I know what she is." Keanu's expression shifts. Careful. Watchful. "You believe she's---" "My mate." The word feels enormous leaving my mouth. Heavy with everything I've spent twelve years grieving. "She's my fated mate. She has to be. Nothing else explains what happened to the dragon. Nothing else explains why I can still smell her." I pause. "Why it won't leave me alone." Silence. Then Keanu nods, once. He asks no more questions. He knows what this means. He knows what it would mean---for the curse, for the kingdom, for everything. "I'll bring them," he says quietly. Selene POV "Every bride will see the King today." Keanu's announcement crashes over me like ice water. No. God, no. My chance to escape---gone. I have no one to blame but myself. I should have run faster last night. Should have kept going instead of walking toward that dragon's roar like something was pulling me forward against my will. Is he looking for me? Does he know someone came to the dragon? What will they do to me when they find out? Istha, the High Priestess, appears in the doorway. Her skeletal face is hard as stone. "Bathe. Dress. You'll be presented to His Majesty within the hour." The other women rush to prepare. They scrub their skin raw, perfume themselves, arrange their hair with shaking hands. The white gowns they're given are sheer---meant to seduce, to tempt, to survive. I don't bother. I stay in my simple shift, hair loose. Let them think I've given up. I'm busy looking for exits, counting guards, calculating odds. The blonde woman from before sneers at me. "Look at her. Does she want to die? The King will tear her apart for showing such disrespect." "Good," I snap. "I'd rather be torn apart than die in his filthy bed." She recoils. The others mutter. Istha's voice cuts through the room. "Silence!" We freeze. She moves through us slowly, black robes trailing. "When you enter His Majesty's presence, you will not speak unless spoken to. You will obey every command. You will submit." Her dark eyes sweep the room. "Your lives depend on it." Several women start crying quietly. Keanu appears. "Line up." We file into the corridor. Colder here. Darker. Torches cast shadows that look like grasping hands. The air smells of old stone and something metallic underneath. Blood. At the end of the corridor stands the door. Massive black wood inlaid with crimson patterns. Ancient symbols carved into the frame. One woman whispers, "It's beautiful." I think: It's a coffin. When I pass Keanu, his hand grabs my arm. "You're last." Of course. Fine. More time to think. The first girl goes in. Beautiful. Trembling. The door closes like a death knell. Two minutes pass. The door opens. The girl doesn't come out. "Next," Keanu says. The second girl collapses. Guards drag her through, nails scraping stone. Sobbing. Begging. The door shuts. Cuts it off. None of them come back. By the time it's my turn, my whole body is shaking. "Your turn." Each step toward that door costs me something. The symbols pulse. The air changes. Heavier. Older. This is how I die. Keanu opens the door. I step inside. The room is vast. Heavy curtains block most of the light. Shadows pool in every corner. No blood. No bodies. Where is he? Behind me, the door closes. The sound echoes. And then it hits me. A scent. I stop walking. I don't understand what's happening. It's not a smell I know---something dark and deep, like forest after a storm, like iron and woodsmoke, like something ancient that has no proper name. It has no right to feel familiar. I've never been here before. I've never smelled this before in my life. But my body responds like it has. My pulse does something strange. Stumbles. Catches. A warmth spreads through my chest that I don't want and can't explain, and for one disorienting moment my feet don't want to run. They want to move toward it. I don't understand it. I don't get the chance to. Strong arms wrap around me from behind. I scream, whirling around. And see a face that steals the rest of the air from my lungs. Handsome. Devastatingly, impossibly handsome.

Rex POV Her scent crashes over me the instant she crosses the threshold. Vanilla. Jasmine. That same moonlight warmth that clung to my skin all night and refused to let me sleep. It's her. I close the distance in two strides. She's smaller than I expected. Golden eyes huge with terror, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling too fast. She looks up at me and for one suspended moment neither of us moves. This is the part where it's supposed to happen. I know how the mate bond works. Every wolf does. The moment you're close enough, close enough to t***h---it hits like a key turning in a lock. Recognition. Certainty. Something deep in your chest that says: this one. Only this one. Always this one. I wait for it. "Just---" she begins. I bury my face in the curve of her n**k and inhale. Her pulse slams against my l**s. I drag my tongue along it, tasting salt and fear and something underneath that makes the dragon go very, very still. I wait. The recognition doesn't come. Not the way it's supposed to. Not that clean, absolute certainty. What hits me instead is something rawer. Darker. A hunger so violent it surprises even me---a need to pull her closer, to press her against the wall and keep her there, to make sure she cannot leave. Possessiveness like a fist around my throat. But not recognition. Something is wrong. "It's you," I say. The words come out strange. I meant them as a statement. They land like a question. Her palm cracks across my cheek---sharp and fearless. The sting snaps me out of my own head. A growl rips from my chest before I can stop it. No one has dared strike me in twelve years. And yet this trembling girl is still standing her ground, hand raised, golden eyes blazing with defiance through the fear. Not running. Not collapsing. Staring at me like I'm something she intends to survive. I seize her wrists and slam them against the stone wall. Her body arches. Her curves press into my chest and the dragon surges forward, hungry, demanding. I press closer, letting her feel exactly what she's doing to me. "You belong to me." The words come out before I think them. Low. Dangerous. And confused, somewhere underneath, in a place I refuse to examine. "My beast knew the second you walked in." "I don't---" Her breath fractures. "I don't belong to anyone." She's right that the bond isn't what I expected. She's wrong that it means nothing. I don't understand what this is. I've never felt it before. But whatever it is---this thing that made the dragon go quiet, this pull that has had me pacing since last night, this violence in my chest every time I look at her---I am not letting it go. Mine. Mate or not. I'll figure out what she is later. Right now, I need her closer. Selene POV This is the danger they feared? I slapped him. I actually slapped the Alpha King across the face. I should be dead. Instead his hands are pinning my wrists to cold stone and his body is pressed so close I can feel his heartbeat through his chest. It pounds against mine like something trying to break free. And his scent. It's the same one from when I walked in. That deep forest-and-iron smell that made my feet want to stop moving, that wrapped around my chest like a hand. I thought it would fade when I got close enough to see him clearly. To see the danger in his face and feel appropriately terrified. It doesn't fade. It gets worse. "You belong to me." His voice is low and controlled and furious. "My beast knew the second you walked in." "I don't belong to anyone," I say. My voice comes out steadier than I feel. His eyes are blue. Intensely, impossibly blue, and they're looking at me like I'm something he's already decided to keep. It makes something in my chest pull toward him in a way I immediately want to bury. I don't understand it. I'm not going to think about it. His mouth claims mine before I can decide what to do next. It's brutal. Devouring. Nothing like anything I've imagined. His teeth scrape down my throat and bite hard enough that I gasp, and my fingers find his hair before I can stop them and I hate myself for it. He tears my dress apart. The fabric falls away. Cool air hits my b**e skin and then his hands are everywhere and the scent of him fills every breath I take and I stop being able to think clearly. He shoves me onto the bed. Silk sheets cool against my back as his hands force my t****s apart. I should fight. I know I should fight. I can't make myself want to. "Already soaked," he says. His gaze drags over me like I'm something he owns. "Dripping for the man who caged you." Shame burns through me. He's not wrong. I hate that he's not wrong. His head drops and his mouth seals over me without warning and without mercy. A flat s****e of his tongue from entrance to cl1t, then hard suction that makes me buck off the bed. He pins my h**s down with bruising strength. "Stay still." The growl vibrates straight through my core. Two thick fingers push inside without preamble. Deep. Curling. Finding a spot that whites out my vision and makes me forget every reason I had to be angry. His tongue works my cl1t in rapid, merciless rhythm. I'm shaking. I'm burning. The sounds echoing off the stone walls are indecent and I can't stop making them. "Come on my fingers," he snarls against me. "Now." I shatter. The or'gаsm rips through me so violently my spine arches off the mattress. A raw scream tears from my throat. My whole body convulses, my t****s clamping around his head, my fingers knotting in the sheets. He doesn't stop. He keeps suking, keeps thrvsting, forces me through every aftershock until I'm crying and oversensitive and begging brokenly. "Too much---please---stop---" He lifts his head. His l**s are wet. His eyes are still that devastating blue, watching me fall apart with an expression that looks more like fury than satisfaction. "Not even close," he says. Three fingers this time. The stretch burns and the pleasure obliterates everything and his thumb grinds hard circles over my cl1t and I can't fight it, I can't think, the only thing I can smell is him--- Another cl*m*x detonates. Harder than the first. My walls clamp down on his fingers and my vision goes black and a sound comes out of my throat that I've never made before. He draws it out until I'm sobbing. Then his fingers slip free and he brings them to his mouth and l***s them clean without breaking eye contact, slow and deliberate, and I feel that look everywhere. "Sweet little wolf." His voice is rough. Something moves behind his eyes---satisfaction, yes, but underneath it something less certain. Something almost unsettled. "Soaking my hand like you were born for it." He leans down. His mouth brushes my ear. "But I'm not inside you yet..." His palm cups me possessively. One firm press against my oversensitive core that makes me jerk and whimper. "Now," he rasps, voice dark and final. "I'm going to f'k- you properly."

Selene POV His hands move to his w***t. The last barrier of fabric falls away. I see him---fully b**e, impossibly hard, and fear spikes through me so hard my lungs stop working. Too big. He's way too big. "Wait---" I press my hands hard against his chest. "Your Majesty, stop---" His eyes flicker. Blue to red. Red to blue. Somewhere distant, I hear that roar. The dragon. "No." His voice comes out strangled. "Not now---" He leans down to k**s me but I jerk my head to the side. His mouth lands on my cheek instead. "I said STOP!" I shove at him with everything I have, my nails raking down his shoulders hard enough to draw blood. He freezes. His whole body trembles violently. When he looks at me again, his eyes flash between blue and red---struggling, fighting something I can't see. "Mine." The word is barely human. His mouth moves toward my n**k. "Need to mark you---" I feel fangs press against my throat. Sharp. Too sharp. "Your Majesty?" The word comes out as a terrified whisper. His hand shoots out---but it's not his hand anymore. The fingers are too long, joints bending wrong, ending in black claws that sink into my shoulder. Pain explodes through me. I scream. He throws me off the bed like I weigh nothing. I hit the floor hard. The impact knocks all the air from my lungs. My shoulder burns where his claws tore skin. Blood trickles hot down my arm. "GET OUT!" The voice isn't his. It's layered---something ancient and furious speaking through him. I scramble backward on the cold stone. He's on the bed, on his hands and knees, his whole body convulsing. Muscles ripple and shift beneath his skin in ways that shouldn't be possible. His eyes burn pure red now. Black veins spread like cracks from his temples down his n**k. Bones crack. Pop. His spine arches impossibly. He's changing. Right in front of me. "I SAID GET OUT!" He grabs the bedside lamp and hurls it. Glass explodes against the wall next to my head. Shards rain down. I don't think. Just move. I run. My legs barely hold me. My body is still trembling from everything he did to me, from the a*****l that hasn't fully faded. Each step feels wrong---my muscles weak and uncoordinated. Behind me, the King roars again. The sound shakes the walls. Furniture breaking. Glass shattering. Something massive hits the door. The wood cracks. I burst into the corridor, barely covered body and bleeding. Guards turn to stare---their eyes wide with shock. I don't stop until I reach the waiting room. I slam the door behind me and collapse against it, gasping. Every woman in the room turns to stare. "Oh my God." Someone breathes. "She's alive." I slide down to the floor. My whole body shakes---fear and adrenaline and the lingering echoes of pleasure I have no right to still be feeling. What just happened? What was that? I wrap my arms around myself. His t***h is everywhere---fingerprint bruises on my h**s, bite marks on my brests, the half-finished claiming mark on my n**k still bleeding. Shame burns through me. Not because of what happened. Because part of me wanted more. Even now, even after those red eyes and those claws, my body still aches for him. I don't understand it. I've never felt anything like it before. The other women haven't moved. They're all staring. "You were with the King." A blonde woman speaks first, her voice sharp with disbelief. "And you're alive." I don't answer. I need to clean up. Need to think. The bathroom. I stumble toward it, ignoring their questions. "Look at her," someone hisses. "She's covered in his marks." "wh0re," another spits. I slam the bathroom door behind me and turn on the cold water. My hands shake as I splash it over my face, my n**k, my chest. The water stings the claw marks on my shoulder, the bite on my throat. It doesn't help. I brace my hands on the sink and stare at my own reflection. His scent is still on me. That deep, dark smell---forest and iron and something without a name---it clings to my skin and won't wash off. Every time I breathe in, my chest does that thing again. That involuntary pull. I know what the mate bond is supposed to feel like. I grew up hearing about it. Every wolf girl does. They say it's like recognition. Like coming home to a place you've never been. Like something in your chest finally exhaling after holding its breath your whole life. What I felt when I walked into that room---that jolt when his scent hit me, the way my pulse tripped over itself, the way my body responded to his t***h in ways I couldn't control--- I press my hands harder against the sink. No. That wasn't it. That couldn't be it. He's the Alpha King. He's cursed. He kills people. He just threw me across the room with claws that aren't even human. The mate bond is supposed to feel like safety. What I feel when I look at him is the opposite of safe. And yet. That scent won't leave me alone. I close my eyes. Try to think clearly. I don't even have a wolf. Wolves without their other half can't form a mate bond---everyone knows that. Whatever this is, whatever my body is doing, it doesn't mean what I'm afraid it might mean. It can't. A pounding on the door makes me jump. "Come out, princess." The blonde woman's voice drips with venom. "We want to talk to you." I force myself to stand. Wrap a thin towel around my body. When I open the door, they're all waiting. At least a dozen women surround me. Their faces twisted with jealousy and something uglier underneath. "How did you do it?" One of them grabs my arm. "What did you give him that we couldn't?" "Did you use magic?" Another yanks my hair hard enough to make my eyes water. "Are you a witch?" "Let go---" Someone shoves me. I stumble back against the wall. "Look at these marks." A woman with sharp features traces a finger down my n**k, over the bite marks. Her nail digs into the claiming mark and I hiss. "He wanted her. He actually wanted her." "She's nothing special," the blonde snarls. "She's not even pretty." But there's no conviction in her voice. The marks on my skin say everything she won't admit. "We're all going to die here," I say flatly. I push away from the wall, meeting their hateful gazes. "Every single one of us." "At least you got to feel something," someone whispers. The anger in her voice has cracks in it. "At least he touched you like you mattered." The door slams open. Every woman in the room goes silent. Istha stands in the doorway, her skeletal frame wrapped in black robes, those dark bottomless eyes sweeping over the scene. "You should not be so loud." Her voice is soft. Deadly. "The King needs his rest." The women scatter. The room empties in seconds. Istha doesn't move. Her gaze stays locked on me. "You survived." A pause. "Interesting." "I was lucky," I manage. "No." She steps inside and closes the door behind her. We're alone. Her eyes travel over the marks on my skin. The claw wound on my shoulder. The incomplete claiming mark on my n**k. She looks at me the way you look at a problem you're still calculating. "He thinks you're his mate," she says. Something tightens in my chest. I don't speak. "He's wrong." Her voice is flat. Final. Like she's correcting a simple error. "What he feels for you is not a bond. It's obsession. There's a difference." She tilts her head. "One fades. One doesn't." "What happens when it fades?" My voice comes out smaller than I want it to. Istha smiles. "What do you think happens," she says, "to the thing he can't have anymore?" She leaves without another word. The door clicks shut behind her. I stand alone in the empty room. His scent is still on my skin. My pulse is still doing that thing I can't explain. The claiming mark on my n**k is still bleeding. Not his mate. Just an obsession. I think about the rotting bodies on that hillside. I think about what obsessions do when they burn out？

Rex POV The dragon let me have control? For the first time in twelve years, the beast retreated enough to let me t***h her without killing her. Let me taste her, pleasure her, bring her to the edge of ecstasy. I don't understand it. The dragon has never allowed me this. Never given me even a moment of peace with a woman. But with her---with that girl with golden eyes and moonlight skin---it purred. Content. Almost docile. Until it wasn't. I feel the shift the moment I position myself at her entrance. The dragon stirs, no longer content to watch. It wants more. Wants to surge forward, to claim her completely, to sink its fangs into her throat and mark her as ours forever. 'No. Not yet. She's not ready. She'll die---' The beast doesn't care. It pushes against my control, demanding dominance. My eyes burn. The world tints red. I fight it. Clench my jaw until my teeth crack. Force it back down with every ounce of willpower I possess. For a moment, I win. My eyes clear. Blue again. I k**s her desperately, trying to anchor myself in her taste, her warmth. My fangs extend. The claiming mark---if I can just complete it, maybe the bond will satisfy the beast, maybe--- She pushes against my chest. "Wait---I'm not ready---" The hesitation is all it takes. The dragon roars inside my skull. My control shatters like glass. Red floods my vision. Black veins spread across my skin. My fingers elongate into claws that dig into her shoulder. 'No. NO. Get her out. GET HER OUT!' I use the last shred of humanity I have left to throw her off the bed. Away from me. Away from the monster that's about to tear free. "GET OUT!" The voice that comes from my throat is barely mine. The dragon is too close to the surface now, too strong. She runs. I hear her footsteps, her ragged breathing, the door slamming. Gone. She's gone. And the dragon goes berserk. I slam my fist into the wall. Stone cracks. My knuckles split open, blood running down my arm. The pain helps---barely. I grab the bedpost and tear it free, hurling it across the room. It smashes through the window in an explosion of glass. Not enough. It's not enough. I rake my claws down my own chest, trying to bleed out the rage. Deep furrows open in my skin. Blood pours. The dragon howls, furious that its prey escaped, furious that I denied it what it wanted. 'She would have died. You would have killed her. Is that what you want?' The beast doesn't answer. Just keeps roaring, keeps demanding I go after her, bring her back, claim her. I grab the dresser and flip it. The mirror shatters. I'm on my hands and knees now, claws digging into the floor, spine arching as the dragon tries to force the full transformation. I won't let it. Can't. If I shift completely, I'll hunt her down and there will be no stopping what comes next. The door bursts open. "My King---" Keanu stops in the doorway, taking in the destruction. Blood everywhere. Furniture in pieces. Me crouched in the center of it all, barely holding human form. "Out," I snarl. He doesn't move. "You need---" "BRING ME SOMETHING OF HERS!" The words tear from my throat in a roar that shakes the walls. "Anything. Anything with her scent." Keanu's eyes widen. But he's been my Beta long enough to obey without question. His gaze sweeps the room, searching. There---on the floor near the door. A scrap of white fabric. The dress I tore from her body. He picks it up and brings it to me carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. I snatch it from his hands and bury my face in the fabric. Breathe deep. Vanilla. Jasmine. Moonlight. Her. The dragon stops mid-roar. I clutch the fabric tighter, inhaling until my lungs burn. The beast inside me uncurls slowly, its rage banking to embers. Not gone. Never gone. But manageable. "Selene," Keanu says quietly. The name hits me like a physical blow. "What?" "Her name. The girl. She's called Selene." He pauses. "From Ice Moon Pack." Selene. I say it once inside my head. The dragon rumbles---low, possessive, satisfied in a way that makes no sense. Mine. And there it is again. That word, that certainty the dragon keeps insisting on. I've been turning it over since last night, pressing on it the way you press a bruise to see if it still hurts. She calmed the beast. No woman has ever done that. Her scent reaches into me and pulls something quiet out of the chaos. Those are facts. But the mate bond---the real bond, the one the Moon Goddess carves into your bones---it's supposed to feel like recognition. Absolute. Unquestionable. Like you already knew. What I felt when I looked at her wasn't that. What I felt was hunger so violent it scared me. Possessiveness with no name attached. Something that wanted to take and hold and never let go---but nothing that said: this is the one. Nothing certain. Nothing clean. "She calmed the beast," Keanu says, watching me carefully. "I've never seen it retreat like that. Never seen you able to control it in the presence of a woman." "I know." My voice comes out rough. "Then she must be---" "I don't know what she is." The words scrape coming out. "I don't know. The dragon says mine. But the bond---" I stop. Press her dress against my face again and breathe. "Something isn't right. Something about it isn't right." Keanu is quiet for a moment. "What will you do?" I don't have an answer for that. I only know one thing with any certainty. "Bring her to me," I say. "Send for Istha. Tell her to bring Selene here. Now." He leaves. I pace the destroyed room, her dress still in my hands. My wounds are already healing---faster than they should. That's her doing too, somehow. Her scent, her presence, whatever she is to me---it quiets something in the curse itself. Mate or not, I need her close. Mate or not, I am not letting her go. Footsteps in the hall. Keanu returns, but he's not alone. Istha glides in behind him, her skeletal face unreadable. "Where is she?" I demand. Keanu's expression darkens. "She's gone, my King." The room goes silent. Even the dragon stills. "What?" "The girl---Selene. She's fled. Escaped through a window in the waiting room. The guards say she ran toward the forest." Rage explodes through me. The dragon roars back to life. "Find her!" I grab Keanu by his collar, lifting him off the ground. "FIND HER NOW!" "My King." Istha's voice cuts through my fury like ice water. "Perhaps the girl ran because her heart belongs to another." I drop Keanu. Turn on her. "She came from Ice Moon Pack, did she not?" Istha's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Young women often have... attachments. Lovers they left behind. Perhaps she didn't run from you." A pause, perfectly timed. "Perhaps she ran toward him." The thought hits me somewhere I wasn't expecting. Not just rage. Something underneath the rage that I don't have a word for. Something that tightens in my chest and won't let go. The idea of her running toward someone else. Wanting someone else. Belonging to someone else. I don't understand why it matters this much. She might not even be my mate. I told myself that not five minutes ago. And yet. "I'll kill him," I say. The words come out very quiet. "I'll kill anyone she ran toward." A guard bursts through the door. "Your Majesty! The girl---we've spotted her. She's heading toward the eastern forest." Keanu's face goes pale. "That's where the rogue attack is happening. The battle---" I'm moving before he finishes the sentence. The dragon surges forward and I let it. Not fully. Not the complete transformation. But enough. Bones crack and reform. My spine curves. Claws extend. My jaw elongates, fangs filling my mouth. Half-man, half-dragon. I tear through the castle in this hybrid form. Guards scatter. Servants scream. I don't care. Selene is running toward a battlefield. Mate or not---she is not dying tonight. I burst through the palace doors and leap from the steps. The forest stretches before me, dark and wild. Rain lashes my face. Thunder rolls.

Selene POV Rain lashes my face. I run through the forest. Barefoot. Nearly barely covered body. The towel barely covers me. I just need to get away from him. From those red eyes. From that roar. Istha's words keep pace with my footsteps. Not a bond. An obsession. One fades. One doesn't. The incomplete claiming mark on my n**k throbs with every heartbeat. A reminder of how close I came. Of what I almost let happen. I don't belong to anyone. I keep telling myself that. I need to keep believing it. Thunder rolls. Lightning flashes. I stumble over roots. Branches tear at my skin. Then I hear it. Metal clashing. Men shouting. Screams. Fire flickers through the trees ahead. Torches. I press against a tree and look. Oh God. The forest edge is a battlefield. Dozens of soldiers in black armor attack the castle's outer defenses. Rex's guards fight back but they're outnumbered. Blood soaks the mud. Bodies everywhere. On each attacker's chest plate is a blood rose embroidered in crimson. Rebels. I need to circle around. Find another path. My foot comes down on a dead branch. CRACK. Three soldiers whip around. Lock eyes on me. I freeze. The soldiers advance. Enormous. Armed. Moving like predators. One grins. "Look what we found." Another's gaze drags over my b**e legs. The marks on my skin. "This one's been marked already." The third reaches for his belt. "Doesn't matter." I bolt. Pure terror. I spin and run. My feet sliding in mud. Their laughter echoes behind me. Heavy footsteps pounding. A hand fists in my hair. Pain explodes. My head snaps back. I hit the ground hard. Mud fills my mouth. Rough hands flip me over. Three leering faces stare down. "Please---" A boot comes down on my chest. Shoves me into the mud. One soldier unbuckles his belt. I claw at the boot. My hand closes around something sharp. A broken branch. I swing it up. The jagged end drives into one soldier's face. He screams. Blood sprays. The first soldier grabs my wrists. Slams them above my head. "Hold her down!" The one with his pants down grins. Nothing human in his eyes. I scream. Raw. Desperate. I thrash but his grip is iron. He reaches for the towel. This is it. This is how I die. A roar splits the night. Not human. Not animal. Ancient and terrible and filled with a rage that shakes the sky. The soldiers freeze. The roar comes again. Closer. The ground shakes. And then---beneath the blood and rain and mud and fear---I smell it. That scent. Forest and iron and something without a name. It cuts through everything else like it's the only real thing in this entire forest. My chest does that involuntary thing, that pull I can't explain or stop. Even now. Even here. Even like this. I hate my own body. A massive shadow drops from the sky. The impact sends mud spraying. The ground cracks. Rex stands. Not fully human. Not the dragon from the chamber. Something between. Nearly three meters tall. Black scales cover his body like armor. Spine curved. Limbs too long. Ending in claws the length of daggers. Massive wings fold against his back. And his eyes. Burning red. Glowing like coals. They lock onto the soldier standing over me. Rex moves. One swipe and the soldier's head separates from his shoulders. It tumbles through the air. The body stands for one heartbeat before collapsing. Blood fountains from the n**k. I scream. The other two soldiers scramble backward. Too slow. Rex is on them. His claws punch through the first soldier's chest. Straight through armor and ribs. I hear bone crunch. See blood pour as Rex lifts him off the ground. The second soldier runs. Rex's jaws snap forward. Fangs close around the man's throat. The wet sound of tearing flesh. A gurgled scream cut short. Blood sprays across my face. Hot and thick. I taste copper. I scramble backward. My hands slipping in mud and gore. This is him. This is what he really is. A monster. More rebel soldiers charge into the clearing. At least a dozen. Weapons raised. Rex tears through them like death itself. Each swipe opens throats. Severs limbs. Spills intestines onto blood-soaked ground. He moves impossibly fast. An arrow strikes his shoulder. Bounces off his scales. Rex's head snaps toward the archer. A growl rumbles so deep I feel it in my bones. He crosses the distance in two bounds. Grabs the archer by the arms. And pulls. The man comes apart. Rips in half. Screaming until he can't. Blood and viscera rain down. I press my back against a tree. Unable to look away. Unable to breathe. This isn't battle. This is massacre. A rebel commander sees Rex and goes pale. "RETREAT! FALL BACK!" The survivors run. Rex's guards surge forward. More death. Rex lets them go. All except one. He cuts off a fleeing soldier. His massive foot comes down on the man's leg. Bone cracks like kindling. The soldier screams. Claws at the mud. "Please---mercy---" Rex's form shifts. Scales recede. Wings vanish. Within seconds he's human again. barely covered body. Covered in blood. Eyes still glowing faintly red. He picks up a fallen sword. Looks down at the sobbing man. "Mercy?" His voice barely human. "You were going to take sb by force an innocent woman. Then kill her. And you dare ask for mercy?" The sword comes down. On the man's right arm. The blade shears through. The severed limb falls. Blood spurts. The soldier's screams reach a new pitch. "Go." Rex's voice cuts like ice. "Crawl back to your master. Tell him what you saw here tonight. Tell him the next time he sends his dogs to my territory, I'll take their heads." He lifts his foot. The soldier scrambles up and runs. Silence falls. Rex's soldiers raise weapons. "LONG LIVE THE ALPHA KING!" Rex turns. His eyes find me. I'm still pressed against the tree. Covered in mud and blood. Shaking. He starts walking toward me. I try to stand. To run. My legs give out. I collapse into the mud. He doesn't stop. Just keeps coming. Blood drips from his skin. "No---stay away---" He grabs my arm. Hauls me up like I weigh nothing. "Where were you going?" His voice rough gravel. "Running straight into enemy arms?" "Let me go---" "Let you go?" He laughs harshly. "You almost got gang-forced and beheaded. And you want to keep running?" "I don't care! I'd rather die out here than---" He throws me over his shoulder. I scream. Pound my fists against his back. Kick. It's like hitting stone. "Put me down!" "No." He starts walking. Back toward the palace. Carrying me like a trophy. I'm draped over his shoulder. Upside down. I see the battlefield behind us. Bodies scattered. Blood pooling. Severed limbs in mud. My stomach heaves. Tears stream down my face. "You're a monster!" I sob. Beating his back. "A demon! A killer!" He doesn't answer. Just keeps walking. I feel everything. The heat of his body. The shift of muscles beneath my stomach. The slick wetness of blood on his skin against mine. And underneath all of it---that scent. Still there. Still pulling at something in my chest that I can't shut off. I hate it. I hate him. I hate whatever this is that won't leave me alone. "I hate you!" The words tear from my throat. "I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU---" He stops walking. Before I can react he hauls me down. Slams me against a tree trunk. The bark digs into my back. His body pins me. His face inches from mine. Blood streaks his cheekbones. His eyes burn. Not fully red anymore. Not quite blue. Something between. "You hate me?" Deadly quiet. "I just saved your life." "You slaughtered them---" "They were going to take sb by force you. Kill you. Dump your body in the mud like garbage." His grip tightens. "Would you have preferred that?" "I would have preferred to never come to this cursed place!" I'm crying now. Words tumbling in sobs. "I would have preferred to die free than be your prisoner!" Something flickers in his eyes. Pain. Or rage. Or something I don't have a name for. "You're not my prisoner." His voice drops. Rougher. "You're mine. There's a difference." "I don't belong to anyone---" "Yes." His eyes flash red. Just for a moment. I feel him trembling. Fighting something. "You do. You belong to me. And the sooner you accept that, the better." I open my mouth to scream at him again. He crushed his l**s against mine. The k**s was brutal, desperate, and devastatingly possessive. His mouth claimed me like he was trying to brand my soul. Before I could push him away, his rough, blood-slick hand shoved under the torn towel and palmed my chest, squeezing and kneading with expert pressure that sent unwanted sparks straight to my core. A helpless m**n tore from my throat——