Bound by blood and moon

INTO THE WILD

The forest swallowed her whole.

The moment Alora crossed the invisible boundary of her former pack’s territory, the air changed. It grew heavier, wilder—untamed in a way the managed lands behind her never were. The trees pressed close together, their branches weaving into a dark canopy overhead as if the world itself were conspiring to hide her.

Or trap her.

She didn’t slow down.

Her boots struck roots and stones as she ran, lungs burning, heart pounding with a rhythm that no longer felt entirely her own. Each step carried her farther from the only home she had ever known—and closer to an unknown that terrified her more than she cared to admit.

Keep going, her wolf urged softly, though her voice trembled with exhaustion. Do not stop.

Alora obeyed.

The ache in her chest flared again, sharp and sudden, stealing the breath from her lungs. She stumbled, catching herself against the rough bark of a tree, fingers digging into the grooves as she gasped.

The bond pulsed painfully.

Even now.

Even after rejection, exile, humiliation.

Her mate—her rejected mate—was still tethered to her soul by invisible threads that refused to snap completely. Every throb reminded her of him. Of his cold voice. Of the way he had looked at her like she was something dirty fate had tried to force upon him.

“I hate you,” she whispered into the empty forest, not knowing whether the words were meant for Colton… or fate itself.

The pain eased slightly, retreating into a dull ache that settled beneath her ribs. She forced herself upright and kept moving, though her pace slowed.

She couldn’t afford to collapse. Not here. Not alone.

By midday, exhaustion finally began to win.

Alora found a small clearing near a shallow stream, the sound of running water soothing in a way she hadn’t realized she needed. She dropped her bag beside a fallen log and sank to her knees, splashing cold water onto her face.

Her reflection stared back at her—pale, hollow-eyed, hair tangled and wild. She barely recognized herself.

“So this is it,” she murmured. “Just… me.”

Her wolf stirred.

We are not weak, she said quietly. We survived.

Alora swallowed. “Surviving isn’t the same as living.”

She drank deeply from the stream and rested there longer than she should have, the forest watching her in heavy silence. Every snapped twig sent her heart racing, every rustle of leaves making her tense.

She was prey now.

As night fell, the temperature dropped sharply. Alora wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, teeth chattering as she searched for a place to rest. She found shelter beneath a cluster of thick trees, their roots forming a natural barrier against the wind.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Colton’s face. Heard his voice. Felt the tearing pain of rejection all over again.

Why does it still hurt this much? she asked her wolf weakly.

There was a long pause.

Because the bond was never finished, her wolf replied. He did not complete it.

That thought made her chest ache even more.

She woke to danger.

The scent hit her first—sharp, wrong, laced with aggression.

Rogues.

Alora sprang to her feet just as three figures emerged from the trees. Their eyes gleamed unnaturally, bodies lean and scarred, their wolves pushing too close to the surface.

“Well, look what the forest dragged in,” one of them sneered. “A little lost pup.”

Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.

She backed away slowly, keeping her movements careful. “I don’t want trouble.”

The tallest rogue laughed. “Trouble found you anyway.”

They circled her, closing in.

Her wolf surged forward, panic and fury mixing into something volatile. Power coiled deep inside her, hot and restless, begging to be unleashed.

Let me fight, her wolf growled.

Alora hesitated only a second before giving in.

The shift tore through her with violent force.

Bones cracked. Muscles stretched. The pain was blinding—but familiar now, welcome even. In seconds, she stood on four legs, fur silver-gray beneath the moonlight, a low snarl rumbling from her chest.

The rogues froze.

“What the hell—”

She lunged.

Instinct took over. She moved faster than she ever had before, her claws slicing through the air as she struck the nearest rogue with brutal force. He flew backward, slamming into a tree with a sickening crack.

The others attacked together.

Alora fought like something feral, raw power pouring through her veins unchecked. She felt invincible—and terrified of herself all at once.

One rogue managed to rake his claws across her side. Pain flared, hot and sharp, but it only fueled her rage. She turned on him with a snarl and struck again, sending him sprawling.

The third fled.

Silence fell.

Alora stood trembling, chest heaving, blood staining her fur—some hers, some not. The injured rogue groaned weakly but didn’t rise.

She backed away, heart racing, fear finally catching up to her.

What are we? she whispered internally.

Her wolf had no answer.

She shifted back painfully, collapsing to her knees as the adrenaline faded. Her hands shook as she inspected the gash on her side—it was already closing.

Healing too fast.

That frightened her more than the attack itself.

She fled the clearing before dawn, moving deeper into unfamiliar territory.

By the time she crossed into White Fang lands, she was barely conscious.

She didn’t feel the wards until they burned against her skin. Didn’t hear the warning growls until strong hands grabbed her arms.

“Easy,” a male voice said sharply. “She’s hurt.”

Alora tried to fight, but her strength gave out completely. Darkness swallowed her whole.

She woke in warmth.

Real warmth—not imagined, not borrowed from memories of things she never had.

Soft bedding cradled her aching body. The scent of herbs and pine filled the air, calming her frayed nerves. For a moment, she thought she had died.

Then she opened her eyes.

A man stood near the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence quiet but powerful. His eyes—dark and assessing—lifted to meet hers.

“You’re awake,” he said calmly.

Fear spiked.

She scrambled backward, pain flaring as she moved. “Don’t touch me.”

He raised his hands slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She studied him, instincts screaming confusion. He didn’t feel like a threat. Didn’t smell like an enemy.

“I’m Oliver,” he continued. “Beta of the White Fang Pack.”

Her breath caught.

White Fang.

Maya’s words echoed in her mind.

“You crossed our border unconscious,” Oliver said gently. “Rogue attack, judging by your injuries.”

Alora swallowed. “You should let me go.”

Oliver tilted his head slightly. “You’re not a prisoner.”

That made her pause.

“You’re safe here,” he added quietly.

Something inside her cracked.

Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. She covered her face, shoulders shaking as weeks—no, years—of fear and pain finally poured out.

Oliver didn’t move closer.

He just waited.

When her sobs finally faded, she lowered her hands slowly.

“I don’t belong anywhere,” she whispered.

Oliver met her gaze steadily. “Then maybe it’s time you found a place that lets you decide that for yourself.”

For the first time since her awakening…

Alora believed that might be possible.