Ember Black: Chosen, Not Fated.

My wolf stood her ground, snarling and growling—a living embodiment of defiance. Her hackles rose, eyes blazing with fury, daring anyone to come closer. She didn’t care that this was the most powerful Alpha in all the territories, or that every gaze in the room was fixed on her. None of it mattered. She was past fear, past reason. What she wanted now was death—and in that moment, she was all but begging him to grant it. **Days Earlier** I was getting ready for the pack ball, which just so happens to be the day of my 18th birthday. I had just gotten my wolf last night, and hadnt even had the chance to shift yet. I never used to see myself this way. But tonight, in my emerald-green dress, something felt different. The silky fabric hugged every curve as if it had always known where it belonged — as if it were made for me. My auburn curls fell down my back, catching bits of light with every quiet movement. In the mirror, I caught my own smile — hesitant, surprised — and saw how the deep green made my eyes glow like polished jewels. I stood there, tall and statuesque, a shape I used to pick apart now looking whole. My body was a perfect balance of strength and softness — full breasts, a narrow waist, hips that swayed with a grace I hadn’t given myself credit for. Maybe I’ve always looked this way. Maybe beauty was never something I had to earn — only something I needed to finally see. I made my way towards the packhouse, and took a deep breath. Our packhouse wasnt the most grand or luxurious, but it still was pretty to me. The pack began to gather in the grand hall, now transformed into a breathtaking vision of our colors — deep sapphire and shimmering silver. Chandeliers cast their glow upon the polished floors, and the air thrummed with anticipation, as though the very walls awaited the first note of music to set the night in motion. I smile slightly at the sight, but I knew this place wasnt the same for me as the rest of the pack. My father was an Alpha before the current Alpha took over, and that left me and my mother as almost outcasts. What should have been my home, was now just a hall of memories, that now were just grim reminders of what my life should have been, what my mother's life should have been. Wolves twirled and laughed across the gleaming floor, their movements a blur of silver and blue beneath the chandeliers. Music filled the air, rich and wild, the rhythm of drums and strings echoing through the hall as the celebration reached its peak. Yet while the pack reveled in the night’s joy, I lingered in the corner, half-hidden behind my book, content to watch the revelry unfold from the quiet edge of the storm. I sat there not bothering anyone until I smelled him. The scent overwhelmed my senses, the warm inviting smell that felt like home. I look up and see him looking back at me. It was our strongest fighter in the pack, currently the boyfriend of the Alpha's daughter. I just look at him, and watch his face flash emotions; pain, wonder, frustration, then disappointment. I couldn't grasp the idea, that this is my mate, and its probably the worst person to be mated too. He stands tall and walks straight towards me, his whole aura, overwhelming to every wolf in his path. The room turns and watches, who they assume will be their future Alpha, cross the room towards me. "I, Garrett Lopez reject you Ember Black," he says loudly and it echos through the silence of the room. Every wolf in the pack can hear his rejection, including the Alpha's daughter. The smile on her face betrays the pain of not being Garrett's fated mate. "Accept it," he adds. The pain hits me and I drop my book to the ground. My heart starts to feel like its being ripped from me, my wolf howling in pain. "I accept," I whisper. I tear myself away from the glittering ballroom, the music fading behind me as I push through the doors and into the night. My heels sink into the earth, the hem of my dress catching on roots and branches as I run — faster, deeper into the forest. The cold air claws at my throat, my heart pounding loud enough to drown out every thought. Twigs snap beneath me, leaves whip against my skin, but I don’t stop. I can’t. By the time I reach my cabin, I’m shaking — breath ragged, eyes stinging. I fling the door open and slam it shut behind me, the sound echoing like thunder in the silence. My knees give out, and I collapse to the floor, the weight of everything finally catching up to me. The rumors fly like crazy through the pack and I spend the next few days, curled up on my couch, fighting rejection sickness. Rejection sickness is one of the most excruciating torments a wolf can endure—a living nightmare that tears through both body and soul. It begins as a burn beneath the skin, a restless heat that spreads until it feels as though every nerve has caught fire. The fever soon follows, merciless and consuming, leaving the body trembling, drenched in sweat, yet cold with despair. Sleep offers no reprieve; dreams twist into visions of loss and longing, each one sharper than claws raking across the heart. And then comes the melancholy—the hollow ache that settles deep in the chest, where the bond once pulsed with life. Every thought becomes a reminder of what’s been torn away. The world dulls to gray, and even the moon’s song feels like mockery. For some wolves, the pain fades with time. For others, it festers, gnawing endlessly until there is nothing left but emptiness and the echo of a connection forever severed. As the days passed, no one bothered to check on me—no friends, no packmates, nothing but silence. Only the old pack healer came by, sent by the Alpha not out of concern, but likely to make sure I hadn’t died. I hadn’t lifted a finger to do my duties, hadn’t shown my face at a single meeting. Instead, I stayed curled up in the shadows of my sorrow, letting the world move on without me, too hollow and broken to care. Finally, one morning I heard a knock on the door and assume its the pack healer. “Come in,” I whisper, still curled up on the couch, my back turned toward the door. The Alpha steps inside, his scent preceding him—sharp, cold, commanding. “Ember,” he begins, his voice rougher than usual. He hesitates, just for a heartbeat, before continuing. “I think a change of scenery might do you good. You’ll be one of the wolves we send to Crimson Moon’s pack this year.” His tone is clipped, final—an order, not a suggestion. A chill crawls up my spine. Crimson Moon. The name alone is enough to send fear through any wolf’s veins. It’s the most ruthless pack in the territories, ruled by the most powerful Alpha our kind has seen in centuries. Alpha Damien Thorne. Even my Alpha’s voice falters when he speaks that name. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t let fear show, though it coiled somewhere deep inside. My face stayed blank, cold, empty. “You’re sending me to Crimson Moon,” I said quietly, the words tasting like ash. Alpha Thorne’s name carried through every pack like a curse. Once or twice a year, he demanded tribute, and the Alphas obeyed—sending warriors, scholars, anyone they could spare to keep his wrath at bay. My Alpha chose me instead. The mateless wolf. The broken one. The offering. “I accept,” I whispered, the words slipping past my lips like a ghost I could never call back. For a moment, the silence that followed felt endless, thick enough to choke on. Whether this was a death sentence or a chance to vanish into the shadows as one of Crimson Moon’s forgotten servants, I couldn’t decide which was worse. Once, I had been the daughter of an Alpha, respected, envied, untouchable. My name used to mean something, carried on whispers and bowed heads. Now it was nothing more than a reminder of what I’d lost. I could still remember the way the pack used to look at me, pride in their eyes. Now they wouldn’t even meet my gaze. The mateless wolf. The one the Moon turned its back on. I should have fought. Should have demanded the respect and position that once belonged to me by blood and birthright. But outrage took energy, and anger was for those who still believed they could change something. I didn’t. Not anymore. So I stood there, still as stone, while my fate sealed itself around me like a noose. Acceptance wasn’t strength, it was surrender. But in that moment, surrender felt easier than hope.