The wind carried the scent of unfamiliar wolves. The pack’s border patrol had already shifted, standing guard. They howled the signal. The entire pack was alert and waiting.
Then, through the mist-draped forest, they came.
A procession of riders on massive black steeds, their cloaks billowing like storm clouds behind them. Their armor gleamed faintly under the silver moon, intricate patterns of their lineage etched into the dark metal. The standard of their clan, a sigil embroidered in black and silver, flared in the wind as they rode through the towering trees toward the heart of the pack’s stronghold.
At the center of them, was her.
Valkyrie.
She was striking in every sense—long cascading curls of white hair framed her face, wild yet regal, giving her an almost otherworldly appearance. Her eyes were an uncanny mix of blue and green, like the ocean caught in a storm, sharp and piercing. Her skin was a deep, sun-kissed brown, a stark contrast to her hair—like moonlight against the earth.
She did not fidget. She did not hesitate. She owned the space she moved through, each slow blink deliberate, each breath measured. Even the way she sat on top of
her horse—spine straight, movements fluid—spoke of power.
From where he stood atop the stone steps leading into the Great Hall, Draven felt his stomach coil with unease.
The pack had gathered. Every warrior, every elder, every rank and caste had come to witness her arrival. Whispers slithered through the air, barely concealed.
"She looks like a goddess."
"A warrior queen."
"They say she took down an Alpha twice her size in a challenge match."
"Look at her! A perfect Luna for our Alpha."
Draven clenched his jaw.
***No. This is all wrong.***
His hands curled into fists at his sides. The only woman meant to stand at his side was hundreds of miles away, trapped in the web of her own kingdom. And yet, here Valkyrie stood, making her way toward him as if she already belonged here.
He kept his expression unreadable, refusing to show his discomfort. He had prepared for this moment, but nothing about it felt right.
His wolf stirred uneasily beneath his skin, restless, resisting.
***“She is not ours,”*** it growled. ***“She never will be.”***
And yet, here Valkyrie was.
As she dismounted, even the way she moved was calculated. There was a subtle, effortless grace to her—a warrior’s efficiency, a queen’s poise.
Her boots barely made a sound against the stone as she strode forward. She didn’t bow. She didn’t falter.
Draven and Valkyrie locked eyes.
A lesser wolf would have flinched beneath his stare. She did not. If anything, there was something almost amused in her gaze, as though she were measuring him in return.
She was the first to break the silence.
"Alpha Draven." Her voice was smooth, controlled, not soft but steady.
Draven exhaled slowly through his nose. "Valkyrie."
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement—his mother, watching carefully from the side, her expression unreadable.
"It seems fate has been cruel to us both," Valkyrie said, tilting her head slightly. There was no warmth in her tone, no softness—just cool acknowledgment.
Draven’s jaw tightened. You have no idea.
Before he could respond, Diana stepped forward with a gracious smile. "Come inside, Valkyrie. There is much to discuss."
Valkyrie nodded, but not before casting Draven one last unreadable glance.
As they moved into the Great Hall, Draven felt a deep, gnawing dread settle in his chest.
The great stone hall was packed with the highest-ranking members of the Bloodmoon Pack. The council sat in their designated places along the long oak table, their faces impassive yet alert. Warriors lined the walls, their eyes trained on the imposing figure of Valkyrie, who sat with unwavering confidence at the opposite end of the table.
The air was thick with tension. A slow-burning weight pressed down on Draven’s chest.
His mother, Diana, stood at the head of the table, her expression calm yet unreadable. She raised her goblet, commanding the attention of the entire room.
“I welcome Valkyrie of the Stoneheart Pack,” she announced, her voice carrying through the hall. “She is our honored guest… and soon, she will be much more.”
Draven's fingers tightened around the armrests of his chair. He didn’t like where this was going.
Diana continued, her gaze sharp. “Tomorrow night, the entire pack will bear witness as Valkyrie is formally introduced as our Luna.”
The murmur of voices rose instantly. Some were whispers of approval, others of uncertainty. The word alone—Luna—sank into Draven’s bones like a heavy chain.
But his mother wasn’t finished.
“And as is our custom,” Diana went on, her expression betraying nothing, “there will be a public claiming ceremony.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
Draven stilled. His entire body went rigid. He glanced over to Cyrus, his Beta already looking at him with wide eyes.
***A claiming ceremony? In front of the entire pack? In front of everyone? No.***
His mother was cornering him. Forcing his hand.
The claiming ceremony was sacred. Once his mark was on Valkyrie, there would be no undoing it. A Luna, claimed in front of the pack, was bound to her Alpha forever. And there would be implications for him and Azrael if he claimed someone who wasn't his mate when he already has a mate.
Draven’s mind raced.
Diana finally turned her gaze to her son, her expression composed yet expectant. “It is time for you to fulfill your duty, Draven.”
A cold silence stretched between them.
Draven did not respond.
He felt the weight of the council’s stares, the heavy presence of his pack watching, waiting. He was the Alpha. Their leader. The one who was supposed to uphold their traditions, to claim a Luna and secure the future of their pack.
But his mind wasn’t here.
It was with Azrael.
With the way they made love in Valaem. The way her lips had trembled before he had kissed her. The feel of her body against his. The bond that had already been sealed.
And yet, now—he was being commanded to do it all over again.
With a woman who wasn’t his mate.
Diana finally took her seat, satisfied. The meeting continued, but Draven didn’t hear any of it.
The walls of the Great Hall felt like they were closing in.
Diana raised her goblet. “To alliances and a strong future,” she said.
The hall echoed with murmured toasts but Draven didn’t drink.
Valkyrie set her goblet down and fixed him with an unreadable expression. “Your pack is… different from mine,” she noted.
Draven arched a brow. “How so?”
She leaned back slightly. “More eyes on me than I expected. Some with curiosity, some with doubt.” She tilted her head. “You haven’t said much since I arrived.”
A dangerous silence filled the space between them. Draven met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “I have nothing to say.”
A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “Interesting.”
The gathering came to an end after an hour. As the council members filed out and the warriors dispersed, Draven moved to leave.
But a hand—slender, firm, and unyielding, caught his arm.
“Alpha.”
Draven turned his head slowly.
Valkyrie.
She had barely spoken during the meeting, but now, her piercing blue-green eyes were locked onto him with an intensity that sent a slow prickle down his spine.
“A moment,” she said smoothly, but it wasn’t a request.
The hall was nearly empty now, save for a few lingering figures. Diana watched from across the room, a faint smile playing on her lips before she turned and left.
***What is it now?*** Draven thought to himself as he stood there facing Valkyrie with her hand around his arm.