The candlelight flickered, casting restless shadows against the stone walls of his chamber. Draven sat on the edge of his bed, one hand braced against his knee, the other clenched into a tight fist. His mind was in turmoil, a storm of emotions that refused to settle. His breath came heavier than it should, his pulse a steady drum of frustration.
It had been days.
Days since he had sent the letter.
Days of silence.
Azrael had not replied.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Her piercing golden gaze, the way her lips would curve in disdain when she was scheming, the sharp wit in her voice. He could almost hear her calling him a fool, chastising him for putting himself in this situation.
***Is she angry with me?***
That thought gnawed at him more than anything else.
Had she decided he wasn’t worth the trouble?
He gritted his teeth, running a hand through his hair. No. Azrael wasn’t one to ignore something like this unless—unless something was preventing her from responding. His gut twisted at the thought. His letter had been too urgent, too desperate. He poured his heart and soul into it. She would have answered. Unless…
Draven exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His chest felt tight, his patience stretched thin. The waiting, the uncertainty—it was driving him mad.
Then came the knock.
Draven’s head snapped up. He already knew who it was before the voice followed.
"Alpha, it's time."
Eryx. His Gamma.
Draven shut his eyes for a brief moment, steadying himself, before pushing to his feet. The weight of the moment settled over his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
"Come in," he said, his voice rougher than intended.
The door creaked open, and Eryx stepped inside, his expression unreadable.
Draven forced himself to meet his Gamma’s gaze, but the words wouldn't come. It was time. Time to walk out there and claim a woman who wasn't his mate. Time to stain his soul further with another betrayal.
Eryx studied him for a long moment.
"Are you ready?"
Draven let out a slow exhale and gave a short nod, though every fiber of his being screamed in protest.
No.
He wasn’t ready.
He would never be ready.
But there was no escaping this.
With one last look at the desk where he had written that letter—where he had waited in vain for a response—Draven turned on his heel and strode past Eryx, stepping into the inevitable.
—
The soft tug of fingers weaving through her curls should have been soothing, but Valkyrie felt no comfort. She sat before the ornate mirror, staring at her own reflection as her attendants worked meticulously to braid her long white hair.
Tonight was the night.
The night she would officially become Luna of the Bloodmoon Pack.
The night Draven would mark her.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes flickered over her own face, searching for any sign of hesitation, any shadow of doubt in her expression.
She found none.
Valkyrie was not weak. She was not some fragile maiden quivering in the face of uncertainty. She had been raised for this—to be strong, to be worthy of power, to command respect. And yet…
Draven had been distant.
He had been cold, reserved, almost repulsed by her presence.
She clenched her jaw, fingers curling over the arms of her chair. This was not how it was supposed to be. She was not some unwanted bride forced upon him. She was strong, beautiful, capable. And still, he looked at her as if she were a burden.
Her attendants murmured softly as they finished the final twist in her braids, fastening them with golden pins.
Then, the door creaked open.
Valkyrie lifted her gaze to the mirror, watching as Diana swept into the room. The former Luna carried herself with effortless grace, dressed in deep crimson, her expression unreadable.
"You're stunning," Diana said, stopping behind Valkyrie and gazing at her through the reflection.
Valkyrie inclined her head. "Thank you, Diana.”
Diana stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "How are you feeling, child? Tonight is a momentous occasion. You will be introduced to the entire pack as their Luna. Draven will mark you. Your place beside him will be solidified in every way."
Valkyrie dismissed her attendants with a slight gesture, waiting until the door closed behind them before turning to face Diana directly.
"How do I feel?" Valkyrie echoed, her voice calm but laced with steel. "I feel prepared. But I also feel… unsure."
Diana raised a brow. "Unsure?"
Valkyrie held her gaze. "Draven has been distant. From the moment I arrived, he has treated me with… hesitation. Almost as if I were a problem rather than his Luna."
Diana exhaled, shaking her head. "I apologize for his behavior. You must understand—memories of his first mate have resurfaced. It is only natural that he would struggle with this transition."
"First mate," Valkyrie murmured, her fingers tracing the gold embroidery of her gown. She paused, then lifted her gaze once more. "When you wrote to my mother back in Stoneheart, you told her that Draven's mate had died."
Diana's expression stilled. A flicker of something passed through her eyes, too brief to name.
"Yes," she said carefully.
Valkyrie tilted her head, studying the woman before her.
"Then who is Azrael?”