AURORA

--- The moon was full the night Jacob Blackthorn, heir to the Silverfang Pack, locked eyes with a simple salesgirl named Martha. She smelled of warm bread and cinnamon — not of the forest and blood like the she-wolves he’d grown up around. Against all tradition, he claimed her. Against the council’s protests, he brought her into the packhouse and declared her his Luna. But there was a problem. Martha was human. The elders whispered, the betas frowned, and Jacob’s own father threatened to strip him of his title. But Jacob loved her enough to stand before the moon goddess herself and beg. The goddess didn’t bless it — but she didn’t forbid it either. So their bond was one-sided, held together by Jacob’s stubbornness and Martha’s soft, trembling smile. Months later, a daughter was born. Aurora. She had her mother’s big brown eyes, her mother’s chestnut hair… and no wolf inside her. No glowing eyes. No shifting. Nothing. Jacob’s beta, Jason, stood at the foot of the bed the day she was born, lips curled in disdain. > “You’ve brought shame to the bloodline, Alpha,” Jason said lowly. “She’s my daughter,” Jacob replied, his jaw tightening. “A wolf without a howl is nothing but prey,” Jason muttered, his gaze sliding over the wailing infant as if she were already dead to him. --- Years passed, and Aurora learned early what it meant to be different. The pups of the pack ignored her. The elders avoided her. Even her father, once so protective, began to keep his distance under Jason’s constant whispers. When Martha bore another child, the mood in the packhouse changed. Enid. She was everything Aurora was not — a blazing-haired wolf pup with emerald eyes that gleamed under the moon, shifting before she could even read. The pack adored her. Jacob lifted her high during gatherings, pride swelling in his chest. And Aurora… became the shadow in the corner. Enid stole her toys. Enid tore her dresses. > “You’re not even a real wolf,” Enid would sneer, her voice dripping with the cruel confidence of a favourite child. “Father says so.” Martha tried to defend her eldest, but her voice was too soft, her place in the pack too fragile. One cold morning, Jacob summoned Aurora to the great hall. The pack was gathered — Jason at his side, Enid clinging to his hand. > “Aurora,” Jacob began, his voice heavy with finality, “you will leave the packhouse. You will serve elsewhere.” The words struck harder than any slap. > “Where?” she whispered. “A royal household,” Jason answered for him, his smile thin. “You’ll be useful there. Better than being a burden here.” The decision was final. She was to be sent away — sold off like property. Aurora bowed her head, swallowing the ache in her throat. She would not cry in front of them. Not Jason. Not Enid. Not the pack that had already decided she was nothing. But as she stepped out into the cold night air, the full moon rose high above her. For a brief, fleeting moment… she thought she heard a distant howl. And her heart ached with the impossible hope that one day, the howl might be hers --- Aurora sat at the back of the creaking wooden cart, the rough boards biting into her thighs as it jolted over uneven ground. The cold wind tangled her brown hair across her face, but she made no effort to push it away. She simply sat there, arms wrapped around her knees, staring blankly at the fading outlines of the pack’s territory behind her. Her mind wandered, not because she wanted to, but because the memories forced themselves in. Enid’s smug smirk appeared first—the image of her red-haired sister standing tall in her new silk dress while Aurora scrubbed mud from the Beta’s boots. The way Enid would “accidentally” spill her drink, knowing Aurora would be ordered to clean it, sometimes on her knees in front of everyone. Then came her mother’s face—Martha’s tired eyes, rimmed with fear, always darting to the Alpha’s quarters as though something unseen lurked there. She remembered once catching her mother’s trembling hand gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white, when Jacob had spoken harshly to Aurora in front of the pack. But Martha had said nothing—never defended her, never begged, never even whispered comfort when the pack called her “the useless wolf’s daughter.” And then Jacob’s face—her father. Once, his eyes had been calm, almost kind, when she was much younger. He would place her on his shoulders and let her see the forest canopy from above. But those days had vanished. His gaze now held only disappointment, as if each glance at her was a reminder of some terrible mistake. She remembered the whispers, the way the pack’s warriors would look at her as if she were something less than the dirt on their boots. The Luna’s seat she had never been allowed to touch, the training grounds she was banned from stepping into, the feast tables she was not allowed to sit at. She was the princess by blood, but in reality, nothing more than a servant. Her chest tightened as she gripped the rough edge of the cart. The wheel hit a stone, making her jolt, and a lump rose in her throat. If I’m his daughter, why does he hate me so much? she thought bitterly. If Mother loved me, why did she let them take everything from me? The wind carried the distant howls of the pack, fading as the cart rolled farther away. She didn’t know where she was going. Only that it was away—away from the forest, the pack house, and every scrap of a life she had once known. Away from home… though, was it ever really home? She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall, but they came anyway, tracing hot lines down her cold cheeks. Somewhere deep inside, she knew this was not the end of her pain. It was only the beginning. ---