Embers glowed red, like the grip of her mother’s hand in her final moments. Ari stood barefoot on the scorched earth behind the manor, her dress flapping in the night wind like a tattered banner. The nobles formed a circle around her, their golden spectacles reflecting cold, glittering eyes. "Daughter of a traitor—unworthy of bearing the heirloom of the Wolfblood." They pointed at the silver chain around her neck, the one her mother had died to leave behind, engraved with forgotten moon-script: *Blood not cold, oath unbroken.* Ivy screamed from behind iron bars, but her voice drowned beneath the crackling flames. A man who looked like a cook approached, a boning knife in hand, a scar cutting across his face, grinning like a madman. "Heard your sister preferred her feet burned raw rather than give it up?" He hurled a ladle of hot oil into the fire. The blaze roared skyward. "Well then, let's see how much pain the little sister can take tonight." Ari didn’t turn. She only stared into the churning sparks within the coals—seeing again that night ten years past: her mother being dragged into the woods, pressing this very necklace into her palm with her last breath. "You call me the child of a traitor?" she finally spoke, her voice ragged as tearing cloth. "But tell me—who among you remembers who took the hunters’ silver arrows so you could live?" The crowd stirred. Doubt flickered. Then—a shadow cut across the firelight. A man in a tailored suit stepped from the darkness, his polished shoes treading over ash without a sound. His gaze swept over Ari—the trembling spine held unbent—and slowly, he removed his gloves. "Gentlemen," his voice low and heavy, "what you are burning is not a traitor’s bloodline. It is the last living descendant of the final Wolf Lord." He lifted his eyes, their depths dark as an abyss: "And I have come to bring her home." The wind stilled. The fire burned on. A tear traced down Ari’s cheek—but she did not step back. The game was set. Survival has always been written by the victor.

From the moment Alpha Isaac Wagner discovers that the quiet rogue Madeline Ashwood is the only woman who can break his lethal birthday curse, he does the unthinkable—he drags her into a forced bond, offering her a single choice: save her sister’s life by becoming his mate… or lose everything. What starts as a cold, transactional deal soon spirals into a battle of fated attraction, forbidden desire, and a curse countdown that promises only one survivor. As Isaac’s ruthless exterior cracks and his growing feelings threaten the pact meant to save him, Madeline begins uncovering the dangerous secrets he’s buried—secrets tied to wolfsbane rituals, bloodline magic, and the truth behind his curse. But right when they’re on the edge of choosing each other instead of fate, one devastating misunderstanding tears their world apart, ending in Madeline’s tragic death. And yet, destiny refuses to let go. Whispers of reincarnation, broken-mate-bond echoes, and a shadowy enemy who wanted her gone all along hint that their story isn’t over. Because sometimes the biggest twist isn’t death itself—but what comes after it.

Five years ago, on a night of the full moon. I was surrounded by a pack of wolves in a forest clearing, blood dripping from my arm. A dark figure tore through the night sky, shielding me—Lucas. He glanced back at me, silver fire burning in his eyes: "Don't be afraid. I'm here." That night, he defied his clan’s decree for me, branded a traitor. Five years later, I stand at the center of the Blood Moon Ceremony, a "mark" seared into my wrist, shoved onto the judgment platform like livestock. "Daisy Iven," the high priest declares loudly, "you have unlawfully bonded with an outcast and borne a hybrid abomination. Tonight, you will submit to Alpha Assignment—or mother and child shall burn together." Nobles sneer below, blue flames rising from braziers. My son, Theo, chained beside a pillar, shivers in his small frame. They think I’m their prey. But no one knows—the brand was carved by my own hand. This trial? A trap I orchestrated from the start. Just as guards drag me toward the pyre, a wolf’s howl splits the night. Lucas descends from the sky, lightning scars ripping across his chest, his entire being crackling with thunder. "Who dares touch her—" His growl rolls like thunder. "I’ll slaughter your entire pack." Chaos erupts. Elders scream, "Traitor! You’ve awakened forbidden power!" I wipe blood from my lips, staring straight at the man atop the altar, draped in golden robes. "You call me a disgrace?" I laugh, slowly raising my bloodstained bracelet—woven from Theo’s umbilical cord. "But you forgot… the prophecy foretold—**the day the Child of Blood Moon rises, the reign of false gods shall fall.**" Lightning strikes. My shadow stretches in the firelight, merging with that of an ancient war goddess. Lucas grips my hand. "Ready?" I whisper, "It was never about me falling into their trial…" "It’s that—I’ve returned… bringing hell with me."

Ella is wolfless amongst the wolves, but at least she has her mate, Beta Noah Gravens... until she catches him cheating with her rival Ava. Shattered, Ella falls straight into the arms of Noah's brother, Liam Gravens, the newly returned Alpha of the Crescent Pack, who has loved her since childhood and knows she's his fated mate. But with jealous rivals, bitter exes, and two worlds pulling them apart, can Ella and Liam embrace the love they are destined for?

The blood moon hung high, and the feast began. The main hall of the Jin Clan blazed with light. A crimson carpet stretched from the entrance to the elevated dais, flanked by wolf nobles adorned in beast patterns, their bloodlines ancient and proud. Tonight was the century's "Blood Moon Banquet," an event reserved only for pure-blood Alphas and hereditary clan leaders. Yet, as the chime rang, a man cloaked in frost stepped onto the forbidden red carpet—followed by a woman in scarlet. His name was Ethan, nameless, without lineage—the last wandering soul of the Ironclaw Tribe. Hers was Isabella, once the brightest general of the Silverclaw Clan, now branded a traitor and hunted across the land. “They’re mad,” someone sneered. “How dare they set foot on the Jin Clan’s sacred ground?” But madder still—Ethan walked straight to the highest seat, pulled out the empty chair beside the Jin patriarch, and sat. Silence gripped the hall. “What are you?” the Jin heir roared, rising from his seat, fangs bared. “Get down! This is no place for filth like you!” Ethan said nothing. He gently brushed petal-like snow from Isabella’s shoulder and whispered, “What do you think, my queen?” The words detonated through the chamber. Guards surged forward, three bone blades pressed to Ethan’s throat. Nobles grinned, eager to watch these “stray dogs” torn apart. But Isabella slowly rose, her red gown cascading like a waterfall of blood. She surveyed the assembly of elites, voice calm yet cutting: “You call me a traitor? Then tell me—who allowed humans to slaughter my entire clan? And what did you do? Nothing. You watched.” No one answered. Only the crackling of candle flames broke the silence. Then, from the far end of the hall, a soft laugh echoed. All turned. From the shadows emerged a figure draped in gray, his face hidden beneath the veil of moonlight. With each step, an oppressive aura flooded the air, suffocating all present. “Thorne… Alpha?” someone trembled, uttering the name. The legendary former Wolf King—banished, forgotten, a being of myth who had vanished a century ago. He stopped before Ethan, studying him for a long moment, then knelt on one knee, head bowed. “Hail the true heir’s return.” Chaos erupted. Thorne raised a hand, pointing to an old scar on Ethan’s wrist—not merely a wound, but an ancient sigil, a mark that only the primordial bloodline of the first Wolf God could awaken. “You thought he was just an orphan of Ironclaw?” Thorne scoffed. “Wrong. He is the rightful heir erased by usurpers. The Jin Clan’s so-called ‘legitimacy’ is nothing but a lie that has lasted a hundred years.” His gaze shifted to Isabella. “And she—is no traitor. She is the only Silverclaw chief who refused to bow to the false king. The woman destined to rule the Crescent Throne beside him.” Stillness cut like a blade. Then, an elder noble shrieked, “Absurd! Even if they are the chosen ones, they must undergo the ‘Blood Oath Trial’! Fail, and they die!” Ethan stood, eyes sweeping the hall, finally meeting Isabella’s. She smiled, reaching out to clasp his hand. “Then let’s see,” he said. “If this world is worthy of our fate.” As the words left his lips, the blood moon above split open—a fissure tearing across its face, as if ancient eyes were now gazing down upon the earth. Who would be the next sacrifice? It no longer mattered. Because— the storm had arrived.

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