Chapter 4

Elara 

The walk back to my quarters felt like drowning in slow motion. My legs moved mechanically, one foot in front of the other, but inside I was screaming. Not just because my dreams of becoming a warrior had been ripped away and replaced with a wedding dress. Not just because I was being shipped off to marry some bloodsucking monster who probably saw me as nothing more than a warm meal with a pedigree.

No, the real terror came from that last detail Aldric had dropped so casually, like he was commenting on the weather: The previous bride endured ten years before she killed herself.

Ten years.

A full decade of surviving the Valerius Kingdom, only to finally decide that death was preferable to waking up there one more time.

My hands trembled as I reached my door, fumbling with the handle. What the hell had they done to her? What kind of monster could slowly, systematically break a werewolf's spirit so completely that after ten long years of survival, she just gave up? And why—why—did everyone seem to think I'd fare any better?

The door finally gave way, and I stumbled inside, my sanctuary suddenly feeling more like a cell. Tomorrow. I had one night left in this room, one night left as myself before I became... what? Property? A political bargaining chip? A vampire's plaything?

I moved to slam the door shut, to lock out the world and whatever fresh hell awaited me, but my parents materialized in the doorway before I could. Of course they did. Because privacy was apparently another luxury I'd lost tonight along with my future and my dignity.

"Elara." My mother's voice cracked on my name as she pushed into the room, her arms reaching for me with a desperation I'd never seen in her before. She'd always been the strong one, the legendary warrior who'd fought in campaigns I could only dream about. Seeing her like this—vulnerable, almost pleading—somehow made everything worse.

She pulled me into an embrace that felt more like she was trying to hold me together than comfort me. "Don't think about it like that," she whispered against my hair, her fingers digging into my shoulders. "That girl's death was an accident. A tragedy. But you're different—you're the bravest fighter in our family. No matter what situation you find yourself in, you'll survive. You always have."

The words should have been reassuring. Should have filled me with determination or hope or whatever emotion she was trying to invoke. Instead, they felt hollow. Empty platitudes wrapped up in maternal desperation.

I shoved her away, harder than I'd intended, and she stumbled back a step. The hurt that flashed across her face almost made me regret it. Almost.

"Brave?" The word came out sharp, cutting. "Really, Mom? You're going to stand there and call me brave?" I let out a bitter laugh that tasted like acid on my tongue. "You've got more combat experience than our king. You've seen real warriors in action. So tell me—and I want you to look me in the eye when you answer this—do you actually, genuinely still associate those words with me? Brave? Fighter? Warrior?"

For a moment, just a flickering, devastating moment, I saw the truth in her eyes. The hesitation. The doubt. The pity that she tried desperately to mask but couldn't quite hide.

That tiny pause was all the answer I needed.

"Fuck!" The word exploded out of me, raw and savage. "Just like I thought." I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly freezing despite the warmth of the room. "You know what? Maybe I've finally figured it out. Not being able to shift—that was the beginning of my tragedy. Marrying a vampire? That's how it ends. It's all the Moon Goddess's punishment, isn't it? Some cosmic joke at my expense."

I met my mother's eyes again, and this time I didn't bother hiding the darkness in my own. "So maybe I'll just make it easy on everyone. Go to that cursed place tomorrow, and on the very first day, in that dark, blood-soaked estate, I'll just... finish what the last bride started."

"Elara, no—" My mother's face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks in a way I'd never witnessed before. Not even when her own father had died in battle. She reached for me again, but a sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Elara." My father's tone could have frozen hellfire. "Have you finished your tantrum?"

I whirled on him, ready to unleash every ounce of rage and fear and desperation churning inside me, but he wasn't done. He stood there like a statue carved from stone, his posture military-perfect, his expression carved from ice. This was Commander Nightshade, not Dad. The man who'd trained me in combat, who'd pushed me harder than any of my instructors, who'd looked at me once with something like pride.

That man was gone now. In his place stood a stranger who saw me as a problem to be solved.

"You're being married to a prince," he said, each word precisely measured and colder than the last. "A marriage that will determine whether our pack lives in peace or dies in war. You claim you can't contribute to this pack as a warrior?" His eyes bored into mine with an intensity that made me want to look away, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "Fine. Then this is your chance at redemption. Your opportunity to salvage your reputation and restore honor to our family name."

The hypocrisy of it all made me want to scream. "Honor?" I spat the word like poison. "You want to talk about honor, Dad? You and the king are exactly the same—you're both perfectly fine sacrificing me for your precious family legacy! You didn't even try to refuse this insane proposal!" My voice rose with each word, months of suppressed frustration finally breaking free. "And our dear Alpha King—he has daughters of his own! Why not send one of them? Wouldn't they bring peace just as effectively? Or does it only count when it's someone else's child being thrown to the wolves? Or should I say, to the vampires?"

Something flickered in my father's eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret—but it was gone before I could be sure. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped to that dangerous quiet that meant he was truly angry.

"Enough." The single word carried the weight of command. "I didn't come here to debate with you. What's done is done. The only question now is whether you're going to accept reality and move forward, or whether you're going to wallow in self-pity until they drag you to that carriage tomorrow."

He took a step closer, and suddenly he wasn't Commander Nightshade anymore. Something shifted in his expression, a crack in the armor that let me glimpse the father underneath. When he spoke again, his voice was still cold, but there was an undercurrent of something else. Something that might have been concern.

"Tell me something, Elara." He held my gaze with an intensity that pinned me in place. "Do you really want to stay here? In this pack? For the rest of your life?"

I opened my mouth to respond, to say of course I did, that this was my home, but he cut me off before I could form the words.

"Do you want to spend decades unable to shift?" he continued relentlessly. "Watching everyone you trained with surpass you? Seeing the commanders who once praised your potential cross the street to avoid you? Feeling the weight of everyone's disappointment every single day?" He paused, letting each question land like a physical blow. "Is that the life you want? Really?"

"I..." The denial stuck in my throat because we both knew the answer. I'd been living that nightmare for three years already, and it was slowly killing me from the inside out.

"So leave." The words were harsh, but something in his tone had softened almost imperceptibly. "You're my most stubborn daughter, Elara. The one who never gives up, who fights even when the odds are impossible. Yes, the choice I'm giving you is brutal. It's unfair. But at least it's a choice. At least it's a chance—however slim—to prove you're still the warrior you claim to be."

Despite everything, despite my anger and fear and desperation, something in his words resonated. A tiny spark of something that might have been hope, or maybe just the faintest glimmer of possibility in an ocean of darkness.

"Dad..." I started, but he was already moving toward the door, his moment of vulnerability sealed away behind his commander's mask once more.

He paused at the threshold, his back to me, and when he spoke again his voice carried a weight I couldn't quite interpret. "Some people's wolves are gifts from the Moon Goddess, delivered right on schedule," he said quietly. "But some wolves... they come late. And those wolves—the ones you have to fight for, the ones you have to earn—they're often more beautiful than anyone ever imagined."

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that felt far too final.

I stood there in the sudden silence, my mother's quiet crying the only sound, and felt something shift inside me. The crushing despair didn't disappear—how could it?—but it made room for something else.

Something small and fragile but stubbornly alive.