Wolves don't ask twice

Steam curled around the marble tub as rose petals floated lazily across the surface. Eira sat still, spine straight, long hair cascading down her back like liquid fire. The warm water lapped at her collarbones, her skin flushed from the heat. Around her, three Omegas moved silently, washing her limbs with lavender-scented cloths and murmuring blessings meant to purify her.

She hated this part.

"You’ll make such a radiant Luna," one Omega whispered, brushing the back of Eira’s hand reverently. "The Goddess herself must’ve carved you from moonlight."

Eira gave a soft smile. Practiced. Polite. Hollow.

She’d been raised for this—pampered, protected, promised. The first daughter born under a blood moon in two generations. The prophecy child. The gift. The future Luna of the most powerful northern pack.

Promised to Alder.

The golden son of Alpha Thorne. Perfect in posture and principle. He had kissed her hand once at the summer solstice gathering. His lips were cold, his eyes colder.

She would be his in six days.

The Omegas began to hum a ritual hymn, the soft melody making her skin crawl. She glanced down at her wrists, pale and bare, soon to be marked by Alder’s claim. A part of her wanted to scream. Another part—a darker, hungrier part—ached for something else entirely. Something wild. Something wrong.

But that wasn’t allowed. Not for her.

So she sat still, let them finish their worship.

Later that night, when the halls were quiet and the candles burned low, Eira stood at her balcony window with the moonlight painting her in silver. She pressed her palms to the cold stone rail and let her breath fog in the night air.

She wasn’t running away. She never had. She was the good girl. The golden child. But sometimes—just sometimes—she needed to disappear. To slip out when no one was looking. To be unseen.

Her chamber door remained closed behind her. No one stirred. No one watched.

She slipped into a simple cloak, pulled the hood over her head, and padded softly down the hidden servant’s hall, her bare feet making no sound.

Outside, the night air bit at her skin, sharp and clean. The scent of pine and damp earth filled her lungs, steadied her. She crossed the edge of the village unnoticed and found the narrow trail that led into the trees. A path she’d taken a dozen times under moonlight.

Not to run.

To breathe.

The forest was her only refuge. The only place no one followed.

She moved slowly, fingers trailing over the bark of ancient trees, heart slowing with every step. Moss grew thick along the rocks, and small white flowers bloomed in secret patches like the forest’s whispers kept just for her.

Here, she wasn’t the Luna-to-be.

She was just Eira.

She reached the clearing—a small circle of soft grass surrounded by birch and cedar. A place she’d found as a child and never told anyone about. Moonlight spilled down like a blessing through the gaps in the canopy, turning the air to silver.

She sat in the center of the grass and tipped her head back to look at the stars. Her fingers dug into the soil beside her. She whispered the names of constellations beneath her breath.

Her body had been acting strange lately. Hot. Restless. She told herself it was nerves. Wedding jitters. But there were moments—usually in dreams—when she’d wake up gasping, thighs clenched, skin damp with sweat, and the sense that someone had touched her lingered.

Someone she’d never seen.

Someone her soul remembered even if her mind didn’t.

She’d stopped telling the priestess about those dreams weeks ago.