Snow fell in thick, relentless sheets outside Blackthorn Keep, blanketing the jagged peaks of the Northern Territories in a silence so deep it felt like the world held its breath. Inside the ancient stone walls, however, tension crackled like dry wood waiting for a spark. The full moon was three nights away, and with it came the mating ceremony that would bind two of the strongest packs in the north. Everyone knew the stakes. Everyone knew the players. No one spoke of the one who had been erased from the story long before it began.
Ashley moved through the lower corridors with the practiced quiet of someone who had learned early that noise drew eyes, and eyes drew punishment. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, strands escaping like rebellious threads she had no time to tame. The woolen dress she wore was patched at the knees and wrists, once a deep green but now faded to the color of old moss. It had belonged to Clara once, before it was declared unfit for the future Luna. Ashley had taken it without complaint. It was warmer than the threadbare shift she had worn the winter before.
She carried a heavy tray laden with polished silver goblets and a decanter of spiced wine meant for the high table. Her arms ached from the weight, but she kept her steps even, her gaze fixed on the flagstones. Servants did not look up in Blackthorn Keep. Not unless summoned. Not unless they wanted the lash or worse.
Tonight the great hall thrummed with voices. The pack elders had arrived from distant holds, their fur cloaks still dusted with snow. Alpha Gideon Voss presided at the head of the long table, his silver streaked hair pulled back severely, his face a map of old scars and older grudges. Beside him sat Clara, radiant in a gown of midnight blue velvet embroidered with silver thread. The sacred crescent moon birthmark on her left collarbone glowed softly beneath the torchlight, a perfect pale arc that had marked her worthy from the moment she drew breath. Clara Voss, the chosen, the perfect, the one who would secure the alliance with the Silverfang Pack and ensure the north remained unbreakable.
Across from them lounged the man who had ridden in at dusk with a retinue of twenty black furred wolves and not a single smile: Damien Blackwood, heir to Silverfang. He was everything the rumors promised and more. Tall enough that even seated he seemed to dominate the space, shoulders broad beneath dark leather armor edged in wolf pelt, hair the color of raven wings falling loose past his collar. His face was sharp angles and shadowed hollows, beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful before it destroys. And his eyes... storm gray, cold as the glaciers that fed the rivers, yet burning with something darker whenever they moved.
Ashley had intended to slip in through the side door, set the tray on the serving table, and vanish back into the shadows. But the conversation pulled her to a halt behind the heavy tapestry that separated the servants' passage from the hall. She pressed herself against the stone, heart thudding.
"...the alliance will be sealed under the blood moon," Gideon was saying, voice rough with satisfaction. "Clara carries the mark. The Moon Goddess herself has chosen her. Your pack gains strength, mine gains territory. A fair trade."
Damien's laugh was low, devoid of warmth. "Fair enough. But traditions must be honored. The old rites demand a claiming before the true bond. Blood and seed under the moon's peak to awaken the fertility blessing. Clara's purity must remain untouched until the formal mating is complete."
Gideon's brow furrowed. "You wish a surrogate?"
"I do." Damien leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. "The unmarked one. Ashley. Use her for the ritual impregnation. Satisfy the requirement. Then discard her once Clara is bound to me. No one will challenge it. She is nothing. A bastard shadow with no mark, no claim, no value beyond service."
The words struck Ashley like a physical blow. She felt the tray tilt in her hands. A goblet shifted, clinking softly against its neighbor. She froze, breath trapped in her throat.
Clara's voice came next, small and strained. "Father, please. Ashley has done nothing to deserve..."
Gideon silenced her with a sharp gesture. "She exists to serve this house. If the ritual requires it, she will provide. It is not cruelty. It is necessity."
Damien's gaze drifted toward the tapestry. For one endless second his eyes seemed to pierce straight through the fabric, locking onto hers. Ashley's pulse roared in her ears. He could not possibly see her. And yet...
She backed away, tray trembling, and fled down the passage. The cold air of the scullery hit her face like a slap when she burst through the door. She set the tray down hard enough to make the other kitchen girls jump, then pushed out into the inner courtyard.
Snow swirled around her, clinging to her lashes, melting against her heated skin. She pressed her palms to the rough stone wall and tried to breathe. Impregnate her. Discard her. The plan was merciless in its simplicity. Damien would use her body to fulfill an ancient custom, fill her with his seed under the moon's watchful eye, then cast her aside like soiled linen once Clara was safely claimed. And Clara... gentle Clara, who had once slipped warm broth to Ashley when fever wracked her, who had pressed a stolen apple into her hand during a long winter, who had whispered "I'm sorry" every time their father raised his voice... Clara would be forced to stand by and watch her half sister broken for the sake of pack politics.
Ashley's fingers curled into fists. No. She would not allow it.
She had spent her life invisible, scrubbing floors stained with the blood of challengers, mending cloaks torn in hunts, swallowing every insult because survival demanded silence. But this was different. This was Clara. The only person who had ever looked at her and seen more than a servant.
If facing Damien Blackwood meant standing between him and her sister, then Ashley would stand. Even if it meant baring her throat to the monster every wolf in the north feared.
Footsteps crunched behind her.
She spun.
Damien stood at the arched entrance to the courtyard, alone, cloak billowing like dark wings in the wind. Moonlight carved his features into stark relief, turning those storm gray eyes almost luminous. He had followed her. How had he known she was there?
"You heard," he said. The words were not a question.
Ashley straightened, chin lifting despite the tremor in her limbs. "I was delivering wine. The tray was heavy. I paused."
His mouth curved in something too cold to be called a smile. "You lie poorly."
He advanced, each step measured, deliberate. The scent of him reached her before he did: pine smoke, iron, and something primal that made her skin prickle and her blood heat in a way she did not understand. She should have retreated. Instead she held her ground.
"You believe you can shield her from me?" His voice dropped to a growl that vibrated through the falling snow. "From this?"
"I believe you mistake desperation for weakness," she answered.
He stopped close enough that she could see the faint scar running along his jaw, the way his pupils dilated slightly as he studied her. His gaze traced her face, her throat, lingering on the bare skin where no crescent marked her as worthy.
"Something about you," he murmured, almost as though speaking to himself. "It calls."
Ashley felt it then. A spark igniting deep inside her chest, spreading outward in waves of liquid fire. Her breath hitched. Her heart slammed against her ribs in a rhythm that echoed his. The air between them thickened, alive with something ancient and untamed.
Damien's eyes widened. Recognition slammed across his features, raw and feral. He lifted a hand, fingers hovering near her cheek. When they brushed her skin, the contact seared. A jolt raced down her spine, pooling low in her belly, awakening a hunger so fierce it stole her breath.
"No," he rasped, yanking his hand back as though burned. "This cannot be."
But the bond did not ask permission.
It was the true mate bond, the kind whispered about in old songs and forbidden tales. A connection forged by the Moon Goddess herself, unbreakable, undeniable. Between the heir of Silverfang and the unmarked bastard of Blackthorn. Between power and nothing.
Ashley touched the place his fingers had grazed. Her skin tingled, alive with need. She wanted to reach for him, to bury her hands in that dark hair, to taste the storm on his lips. Terror and desire warred inside her, equal and vicious.
Damien took a single step back. His chest rose and fell hard. "This changes nothing."
His voice cracked on the last word.
"It changes everything," Ashley whispered.
He stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable flashing in those gray depths. Then he turned sharply and strode back toward the keep, cloak snapping behind him like a warning.
Ashley sank to her knees in the snow, trembling. The cold soaked through her dress, but she barely felt it. Loyalty to Clara burned bright in her chest. The pull toward Damien roared like wildfire in her veins. Duty and desire tore at her, each claiming a piece.
Three nights remained until the ceremony.
One stolen moment of eavesdropping had awakened the impossible.
One forbidden bond that should never have existed.
Now Ashley Voss, the girl without a mark, would have to choose.
Protect the sister who deserved the crown and the kindness she had never earned.
Or surrender to the brutal alpha who was never supposed to see her at all.
The wind rose, carrying her quiet vow into the night.
"I will not let him destroy us both."