Twenty years ago, when she was nine, her parents died in a glider crash. While her relatives fought viciously over her guardianship to steal the Hamilton Pack inheritance, only Riven—just fourteen at the time—took her hand and brought her into his home.
Back then he had promised, “Freya, I’ll protect you. You’ll never suffer again.”
That vow became the guiding moonlight of her life. No matter how many times she stumbled, she always followed him.
When she learned of his weak stomach, she studied foodcraft magic and perfected nourishing dishes just for him.
When he left to study overseas in the Northern Crescent, she forced herself to master the language and travel there just to enroll in the same academy.
Highborn circles gossiped that Freya was nothing but a little wolf raised to be Corvath’s future Luna. She didn’t care. She believed their love would endure all storms.
But in the world of powerful packs and shifting alliances, genuine affection faded faster than moon phases. Riven had a new lover—and still showered Freya with lies.
As Freya wiped her tears, another message from Sorenna arrived. [I assume you received your anniversary gift? The jade moon-bracelet was too large and outdated for me, but it should suit you just fine.]
Arrogance oozed through every word, thinly veiled insults about Freya’s age and fading beauty.
Freya turned off the crystal comms and drew in a long breath, trying to steady herself. She wanted desperately to pretend none of this mattered. But she couldn’t lie to her own heart.
The crimson fire-roses… the jade moon-bracelet… every “gift” from Riven and Kael—each of them had first been Sorenna’s cast-offs.
The realization crushed her. It made her question every present from the past—had they all been discarded by other women? Had she been foolish enough to believe she was treasured?
Just then, Riven entered with Kael, who wore his bear-print sleepwear. “Kael insists on sleeping with us tonight,” he said.
Riven settled their pup into the den-bed, then slipped beneath the covers and—out of habit—draped an arm around Freya’s waist.
“You seem troubled tonight,” he murmured softly. “An anniversary isn’t about the date. It’s about who you spend it with.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he thought of the surprise he was saving.