Moonlit ruin

The last thing Elara remembered was the sound of laughter. Cruel. Loud. Unmistakably his. “Get out of my sight, Elara. You’re not my mate anymore.” The words echoed in her skull like a curse. They rang louder than the pack’s shocked murmurs, louder than the blood rushing behind her ears, louder even than the snap of the mate bond being severed right there in front of everyone. She didn’t cry. Not in front of them. Not in front of him. Instead, she ran. Barefoot, bruised, fever setting in before the trees even swallowed her whole. ⸻ She didn’t know how long she’d been walking. The forest blurred around her. Everything was heat and pain. Her body burned from the inside out, the shattered bond like poison in her blood. Wolves weren’t meant to survive a broken mating bond — not like this. Not so sudden. Not so violent. She stumbled, caught herself, kept walking. Her skin was drenched with sweat, despite the cold. Her breath rasped in her throat. Her heartbeat was slow. Sluggish. Her wolf was silent — as if mourning. Jaxon had humiliated her in front of the entire pack. Told her she wasn’t worthy. That she’d slowed him down. That he needed someone “stronger.” Then he’d chosen another — a pretty, cruel-eyed she-wolf with perfect posture and a mouth like poison. And the worst part? Everyone just watched. Elara was a ghost now. Unclaimed. Unpack. Alone. She collapsed against a tree, blinking against the stars twisting above her like shards of glass. Her stomach lurched. Her knees buckled. Something was wrong — more wrong than even she expected. Fever. Infection. Bond shock. She wasn’t going to make it out of these woods. She didn’t care. Let it take her. Let it— SNAP. A twig. Too loud. Too deliberate. Elara’s head jerked up, breath catching. The forest was silent again. Deadly. Watching. Then she heard the growl. Not deep. Not dominant. Rogue. Two shadows moved between the trees, circling like vultures. Wolves — big, wild, and feral. Not pack. Not safe. She didn’t even have the strength to shift. One of them lunged. Elara flung her body sideways, her shoulder catching the ground with a sickening crunch. Pain exploded in her vision, but she didn’t stop moving. She scrambled, kicked, hissed. The second wolf snarled, snapping its jaws an inch from her face. She screamed. And then— Another growl. This one shook the trees. This one made the rogues freeze. It wasn’t just sound. It was power. From the darkness came a blur of black fur and glowing gold eyes — a massive wolf, easily twice the size of the others, slamming into one of the rogues with enough force to send it flying. The second rogue turned to run. The black wolf didn’t let it. He moved like death. Precise. Merciless. Beautiful. The rogues fled, tails tucked, whimpering. Elara gasped for breath, still on her back, barely conscious. The black wolf turned toward her. She blinked through the fever haze, trying to make sense of the shape in front of her. Sapphire eyes. Bared fangs. Dark fur streaked with silver and blood. Her lips parted. “Kill me already…” The wolf’s ears flicked. Then — bones cracked, fur receded, and in seconds the beast was a man. Tall. Broad. Shirtless. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run through hell. His eyes — the same glowing sapphire as the wolf — scanned her, sharp and furious. “Who did this to you?” he growled. She blinked slowly. “No one cares.” “You’re wrong.” She tried to sit up. Collapsed again. “Don’t touch me.” “I wasn’t asking,” he said, moving toward her. Strong arms scooped her up like she weighed nothing. Elara flailed weakly. “I don’t need—” “You’re burning up. You’re bleeding. You’re mine or not, I’m not letting you die in my woods.” He carried her like a promise. Warm. Solid. Scented like spice and pine and something that made her wolf stir faintly. She wanted to tell him to go to hell. Instead, she passed out in his arms.