Scent of a broken bond

The night Serena Vale was cast out of the Silverclaw Pack, the moon hid behind clouds like it couldn’t bear to watch. She stood barefoot at the edge of the pack boundary, her thin dress soaked through by rain and sweat, one hand pressed protectively to her stomach. The other was clenched into a fist so tight her nails bit into her palm—but she refused to cry. Crying was a luxury for women who were allowed to stay. “Tell us again,” Elder Morvak said coldly, his staff striking the stone. “Who is the father?” Serena lifted her chin. Her voice didn’t shake. That alone seemed to offend them. “I don’t know.” A lie—half a lie. She knew the face. The scent. The weight of him. But the memory was fractured, tangled in fear and shame, and she had learned long ago that truth was dangerous when power was involved. A murmur spread through the gathered wolves. “She’s lying.” “Shameless.” “A breeder without a bond.” Serena swallowed. The baby shifted inside her, a small flutter like a reminder: You’re not alone. “Enough,” Morvak snapped. “Unmated. With child. No claim. No protection.” She turned, desperate, searching the crowd for one face. The Alpha King was not there. King Alaric Nightfang—ruler of all Northern Packs—had vanished weeks ago, retreating into the high mountains after a diplomatic summit gone wrong. Rumors said he’d emerged different. Colder. Haunted. If he had been here… No. Serena stopped herself. Hope was cruelty. “By dawn,” Morvak continued, “you will leave pack lands. If you return, you will be hunted.” The words struck harder than any blow. Serena laughed. It slipped out before she could stop it—soft, cracked, almost hysterical. A few wolves stiffened, offended by the sound. “Of course,” she said quietly. “Wouldn’t want the pack tainted by me.” No one stopped her as she turned away. No one asked where she would go. The rain followed her into the forest, soaking her hair, plastering it to her back. Each step away from Silverclaw felt like tearing something out of her chest—but she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t beg. She wouldn’t break. And far away, deep within the stone halls of the Nightfang Citadel, King Alaric woke screaming. His sheets were twisted. His body burned. His wolf raged beneath his skin, howling a single word he didn’t understand. Mine. He pressed a hand to his chest, breath coming hard, the echo of a woman’s scent haunting him—wildflower and storm. And somewhere beyond his reach, beyond his memory, Serena Vale disappeared into the night carrying his blood… and his future.