“No,” he agreed softly. “You belong to the contract now.”
My heart stuttered. “We haven’t—”
“—completed it,” he finished. “But the Moon-root has already recognized your intent. From this moment on, every pack will sense you as mine.”
A chill slid down my spine. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
He crouched before me, eyes level with mine. “It was always part of it. You simply chose not to hear it.”
For a moment, fear threatened to rise.
Then I remembered the cold silence of the ritual chamber. Kael’s eyes. Lyra’s smile.
I straightened. “Then let them sense it. I’m done begging for permission to survive.”
Something dark and approving flickered across Nicero’s face.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because Blackfang does not shelter victims.”
He rose and turned away. “Rest. Tomorrow, we begin preparing the contract bond. And Elira—”
He paused at the doorway.
“If Kael comes looking for you,” he said quietly, “I won’t stop him from trying.”
The doors closed behind him, leaving me alone in the echoing chamber, Papa’s stabilized soul-vessel warm against my heart.
For the first time since the Moon turned away, I did not feel lost.
I felt claimed.
The first night in Blackfang territory passed without dreams.
That alone told me how far I had fallen.
In Silvermoon, my sleep had always been filled with the echo of pack-heartbeats — the layered breathing of hundreds of wolves bound by Moon law and bloodline magic. Even in my chambers, I’d felt their presence like a second pulse beneath my own skin.
In Blackfang, there was only silence.
Not empty silence.
Watchful silence.
I woke before dawn with my muscles coiled tight, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath my ribs. The chamber Nicero had given me was carved into the citadel wall, dark stone polished smooth, no symbols of rank or comfort. Only a narrow window slashed into the rock, overlooking the forest canopy stretching endlessly below.
No banners.
No silver sigils.
No reminders that I had ever been Luna.
I rose and dressed in the plain tunic left on the chair. The fabric smelled faintly of cedar and iron — Blackfang’s scent. It clung to me as if testing whether I would resist it.
I didn’t.
I slipped from the room into the corridor, moving quietly, unwilling to announce myself in territory that had not yet decided whether I was prey or guest.
The citadel was already awake.