The news howled across the packs like a hunting cry–Damien Blackthorn’s name carried from den to den, carved into every whisper.
DAM IEN BLACKTHORN–LOST TO THE LAKE.
ON THE NIGHT OF HIS BINDING RITE, THE ELDEST SON OF BLACKTHORN
VANISHES.
RUNES BROKEN: BLACK STEED PLUNGES INTO THE DEPTHS.
Again and again, the vision–stones replayed the image: Damien’s black war–chariot, wheels locked, plunging into the mirror–dark water, divers and scouts dragging wreckage from the cursed depths.
Selene stood on the shore in her bridal furs, the cold wind cutting her bones as though the sky itself had collapsed.
At the council fire, the war–chief spoke gravely: “We know this was to be your mating day, Selene. Witnesses saw his steed fall into the lake. The runes on the wheels had been tampered with. There is no sign he escaped.”
The words struck like a predator’s paw. Selene’s knees gave out. The altar, the vows, the future–everything shattered into emptiness.
“No. Damien promised me,” she whispered, the world spinning away.
Melissa shrieked behind her, mad with fury, threatening the scouts if they failed to find the wolf she claimed. The elders tried to soothe the uproar-“There may still be hope.” But each passing night thinned that fragile thread.
Clinging to her grandfather’s cloak, Selene gave a laugh that broke into sobs. “This isn’t real. When I wake, I’ll still be in his arms.” Adrian caught her as she crumpled, and grief dragged her into unconsciousness.
For twenty nights and days the hunters searched lake and forest. Nothing returned. The clans gave their verdict: Damien Blackthorn was dead. A funeral without a body followed; an empty casket lowered into soil that held no bones. Selene’s world slid into the shadows where lone wolves wander.
If not for the twins, she might have let silence devour her. Their small cries tethered
her to breath.
Moons later, Maximus Blackthorn came to the healer’s lodge where Selene lay thin and hollow. “Selene, I am sorry,” he said, voice ragged. “I thought Melissa would steady Damien. I never meant this. If only-” But words could not mend what had broken.
While Selene’s body mended slowly, her spirit did not. Melissa pressed her claims
10:06 Sun, Sep 28
020
For twenty nights and days the hunters searched lake and forest. Nothing returned. The clans gave their verdict: Damien Blackthorn was dead. A funeral without a body followed; an empty casket lowered into soil that held no bones. Selene’s world slid into the shadows where lone wolves wander.
If not for the twins, she might have let silence devour her. Their small cries tethered her to breath.
Moons later, Maximus Blackthorn came to the healer’s lodge where Selene lay thin and hollow. “Selene, I am sorry,” he said, voice ragged. “I thought Melissa would steady Damien. I never meant this. If only-” But words could not mend what had
broken.
While Selene’s body mended slowly, her spirit did not. Melissa pressed her claims
before the elders, brandishing the blood–sealed pact. She named herself widow, demanding spoils of the Blackthorn holdings. The fortress Maximus had built from bargains and sacrifices began to crack, pieces claimed by Melissa’s cold hand.
Selene said little. She watched the world move as though through smoke. Jacob Rivers came each day to tend the pups; Adrian kept close too, his grief woven into the care he offered.
Yet nothing in the world felt worth staying for.
“Selene, you cannot live like this,” Jacob begged, crouching beside her one dawn. “Tell me what you need. I’ll do it. Only… endure.”
Selene looked at him, then at her two children, sleeping in a cradle of furs, and finally at the hollow in her chest where Damien’s promise had lived. She gave a thin, bitter
smile.
“Then send me far away,” she whispered. “Far from the memory of Damien.”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.