Araya Varrow spent years thinking that marrying the pack’s Alpha, Jasper Drevyn, would finally earn her a shred of dignity. Instead, it all blew up in her face. Jasper, proud as ever, shamed her in front of the whole pack, tossing her aside as if she meant nothing, wolf-less, unworthy, and pregnant with his child. Alone and exiled into the bitter cold, survival seemed like a lost cause.

But destiny had other ideas.

Just as her strength was giving out, Araya was found by Ronan Tharos, a Direwolf whose past is written in scars and whose gaze could melt stone. His methods are harsh, his temper sharp, but he pushes Araya harder than anyone ever has. Under Ronan’s relentless training, the wolf inside her finally roars awake—enormous, silver as the moon, and bound to an ancient prophecy. The child she carries isn’t merely a symbol of her old life; he’s the linchpin in a legend that could either heal the rift between wolves and Direwolves or plunge Drevalon into chaos.

When word reaches Jasper that Araya is not only alive but thriving, he returns a shell of the man he once was—pleading at her feet for a second chance, willing to risk everything. But Araya is no longer the vulnerable woman he cast aside. She’s carved herself into a force to be reckoned with, standing at the head of her own pack, a Direwolf at her side, and a son whose power could shake the world.

Now she stands at a crossroads: forgive the man who betrayed her, or embrace the wild Direwolf who taught her to fight for her future.

In a realm where betrayal hits harder than any blow and the fires of prophecy burn hotter than revenge, Araya is ready to take her place at the top and make sure every last wolf who turned their back on her remembers her name.

The moon-library existed in spaces most wolves had forgotten.


I found it by accident—or perhaps by instinct, following a pull I couldn't name through tunnels beneath the citadel that twisted deeper than any map showed. The air grew colder with each descending step, thick with the scent of aged parchment and something else. Something that tasted like old magic on my tongue.


The door, when I finally reached it, was carved from a single piece of obsidian. No handle. No visible lock. Just smooth black stone marked with symbols that made my eyes water when I tried to focus on them.


I spun to find Lyra emerging from the shadows behind me, her golden eyes glowing faint in the darkness. Ronan's eldest sister carried herself with that same predator's grace, scarred and deadly and somehow sad.


Chapter 89 - Echoes of the Bloodline