Aria — POV
On my eighteenth birthday, the Moon was supposed to give me a wolf.
Instead, it gave me proof that I did not belong.
The Awakening Rite ended an hour ago. The bonfire still burned in the central grounds, its smoke drifting across the pack village like a celebration I was never meant to join. Laughter carried through the night — new wolves howling for the first time, families embracing, futures being decided.
Mine had already been decided.
Wolfless.
The word followed me like a shadow stitched to my back.
I kept my head down as I walked the uncemented road, carrying the herb basket Elder Mira sent me to collect — work usually given to children, but no one trusted me with patrol or training duties. My boots were worn at the edges I can see my socks popping out. My dress plain. My place clearly marked.
"Careful — the ghost might drop something," a voice called out.
I stopped.
Lana stepped into the path ahead of me, blocking the way.
She looked exactly like a future Alpha's mate should — tall, golden-skinned, honey-blonde hair braided with silver thread, eyes bright with confidence. Her fitted training leathers showed her athletic build, the pack crest stitched proudly on her shoulder. Even standing still, she looked like she belonged at the front of every line.
I looked like something placed there by mistake with loads of filthyness waiting to be doomed.
Her friends gathered behind her, equally polished, equally amused by my appearance and my simple silhouette.
She tilted her head, studying me like a defect she enjoyed inspecting. "I heard the Moon stayed silent again."
I didn't answer.
She circled me slowly. "Eighteen years old. No wolf. No shift. No scent strength. Do you know how rare that is?"
"Yes," I said quietly,embarassing myself
"Embarrassingly rare," one of the girls added.
Lana smiled. "You're making pack history, Aria. Just not the good kind."
They laughed.
I tried to step around her. She stuck her foot out.
My basket fell. Herbs scattered into the dirt.
"Oh no," she said, without a trace of regret.
I knelt at once, hands shaking as I gathered them before they were crushed. Each leaf mattered. Mistakes meant punishment duty — extra hours, less food, more humiliation.
"Tell me something," Lana said, crouching across from me. "Do you still look at Alpha-heir Dex during assemblies?"
My throat tightened. "No."
"Liar."
She leaned closer. Her perfume was sharp and floral — expensive, imported. "Girls with wolves compete for Alphas. Girls without wolves clean their floors."
Heat burned behind my eyes, but I kept my gaze lowered.
"Say it," she whispered.
I stayed silent.
She lifted my chin with one finger. "Say you are beneath him."
The circle waited.
"I am beneath him," I said.
They smiled, satisfied.
Lana stood and brushed invisible dust from her olive coloured gloves. "Good. Awareness is growth."
She kicked the basket again. It flipped. The herbs spilled a second time.
Their laughter followed me down the path. No one intervened. No one ever did.
Rank protects cruelty.
I lived at the far edge of pack territory — servant quarters built from old timber and patched stone. Wolves walked past without looking, the way people ignore broken fences.
My room held a narrow bed, a wooden trunk, a wash bowl, and a mirror cracked down the middle.
I locked the door — and the mask broke.
The sob tore out of me before I could stop it. My chest hurt. My ribs felt too tight to hold the grief.
"Why?" I whispered. "What did I do wrong just by existing?"
There were no parents to ask.
No memories before age six — only fragments. Firelight. Running feet. Strong arms lifting me. Then the pack border and unfamiliar faces staring down.
They said I was found after a rogue attack. No scent trail. No pack mark. No records.
Just a child who survived when she shouldn't have.
Maybe the Moon didn't forget me.
Maybe it refused me.
That hurt more.
I washed my face and looked into the cracked mirror.
Brown skin. Dark hair falling loose. Eyes — blue — too blue for this territory. Wolves here carried gold or amber. Mine looked like storm sky.
Different again. Wrong again. Always again.
When I closed my eyes, the visions returned — clearer tonight.
A red-haired woman turning, shouting my name.
A silver-eyed warrior covered in blood.
Blue light roaring behind them like living fire.
My heart pounded.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
The horn blast split the air.
I jumped.
Not patrol. Not training.
Royal horns.
Three long notes that rolled through bone instead of sound.
Outside, doors opened. Wolves ran. Commands were shouted. The mood shifted from routine to alarm.
Royal presence meant only one thing.
The Lycan King.
My chest tightened — and something impossible happened.
The empty space inside me — where a wolf should live — pulsed.
Once.
Warm.
Alive.
My hand flew to my chest. "That's not possible…"
Another horn thundered — closer, heavier, commanding.
And for the first time in eighteen years —
Something inside me answered back.