Chapter 2

At first, Damien’s excuses had seemed noble: as a young alpha, he needed to stabilize his tribe before taking a luna.

Then, he spoke of expanding territories, promising a stronger pack for our future pups.

I’d believed him, defending him to Liam when my brother’s beta instincts flared with distrust.

Six years I’d waited, ignoring the whispers that a bond unmarked for too long risked fading.

Friends joked that I’d become a permanent pledge virgin, but I’d laughed it off, trusting Damien’s vows.

When he finally proposed beneath the harvest moon, I’d thought our bond was secure.

The ceremony date was set, the pack house decorated with moonflowers—yet he still avoided meeting my parents, claiming it would “spoil the surprise.”

Then Lilith returned, reeking of rogue desperation and her mother’s sickly schemes.

Now, I laughed hollowly, tossing Damien’s pack ID across the oak table.

“Relax, I’ve no interest in a half-bonded alpha.”

His brows furrowed, alpha pride wounded.

“How many times must I explain? The pledge with Lilith is a farce—a rogue tradition to appease her mother. Once it’s done, you’ll be my luna in truth. Why can’t you trust me?”

“Trust? You’re registering a temporary bond with her, Damien. The Moonstone doesn’t lie.”

His fingers twitched as he grabbed the ID, scent tinged with guilt. “It’s just paperwork! We won’t even share a den—”

Before he could finish, the door slammed open. Lilith lurched in, rogue scent strong, and shoved me aside.

I stumbled, hitting the floor as she draped herself over Damien, her claws digging into his shoulders.

“Damien, your fur still feels like moonlight,” she purred, loud enough for me to hear. “Remember our hunts together? The way we’d howl at the twin moons?”

Damien stiffened, but didn’t push her away.

His hands remained on her hips, a betrayal more painful than any silver.

Lilith turned to me, fake tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Arabelle! I didn’t mean to touch him. It’s just… the bond nostalgia…”

Disgusted, I rose, wiping dust from my paws.

“If you’re so nostalgic, why don’t I leave you two to rekindle your ‘hunts’? I’m sure the pack house has spare dens.”

Damien’s eyes darkened, alpha wrath rising. “Don’t be crude, Arabelle. Lilith’s vulnerable—”

“Vulnerable? She’s a rogue who’s been plotting this since she slunk back into your territory.” I met his gaze, unflinching. “Mark my words, Damien: this ‘farce’ will cost you more than a temporary bond.”

As I headed for the door, Lilith darted in front of me, blocking my path. Her rogue aura pressed against me, a cheap mimicry of alpha dominance.

“Please, Arabelle! Don’t ruin this for Mother. She thinks the pledge will save her from the Shadow Lands. If you expose us—”

“Expose what? That you’re using a dying wolf’s wish to steal an alpha?” I stepped closer, my wolf snarling. “I may not be an alpha, but I’m no omega to be bullied by rogues.”

Before she could respond, Damien hauled her back, his grip firm but gentle—a contrast to the icy glare he turned on me.

“Enough,” he growled, alpha command rolling off him. “You’ll stay here, under guard, until the ceremony. No more defiance, Arabelle. I won’t let a rogue uprising ruin my tribe’s peace.”

His words hung heavily, a threat disguised as duty. As he led Lilith away, her smirk told me all I needed to know: this wasn’t about a dying mother. It was about claiming an alpha who’d never truly been mine.

I waited until their scents faded, then grabbed my mooncloak. Damien’s guard would arrive soon, but I had one last errand: visiting the Pledge Weaver, where my ceremonial gown should’ve been.

The shop’s scent—fresh linen and wolfsbane—greeted me, but the weaver, an elderly gamma, froze at the sight of me.

“Miss Hawthorne… you’re here for the gown?” Her voice trembled, eyes darting to the back room.

“Yes. Damien said it was ready.”

She swallowed, tail between her legs. “Alpha Blackwood… he took it yesterday. With Lilith. She… she tried it on.”

A cold chill ran down my spine. I accessed the shop’s memory scents, a wolf’s version of surveillance: Lilith’s rogue musk on the fabric, Damien’s approving growl as he said, “You look like a luna born to rule, Lilith.”

The weaver apologized profusely, but I waved her off. What use was a gown marked by a rogue’s scent?

Instead, I sent Damien a mental image of the gown’s cost—a hefty sum in moonstones—and within moments, the transfer alert pinged. His message followed: *Rent something decent for our ceremony. No need to waste pack resources.*

I laughed bitterly, disabling our bond link. Six years, and he still saw me as a liability, not a partner.

As I left, Beta Zane—the loyalist who’d always sneered at me—arrived with two guards. “Miss Hawthorne, the alpha’s orders: no leaving the pack house unless accompanied.”

I ignored him, heading for my den to pack. If Damien wanted a rogue pledge, fine. But I’d be damned if I let him dictate my Moonstone Ceremony.

Little did I know, the first crack in our bond would soon shatter everything.