“I know you swore to my mother that you would sever your bond with Draven,” he said calmly. “But understand this—leaving him without endangering your pack won’t be simple.”
My fingers tightened around the cloth, but my voice held steady. “I know. But I’m still leaving.”
Calder’s dark wolf-eyes lingered on me for a long moment before he spoke again. “If you’ve truly decided, I can assist you. Dissolving the mate-mark, relocating your kin to another territory—even a new life beyond the borders. I can arrange all of it.”
My heartbeat stuttered. My throat tightened. I wanted to ask why he would help me, but I feared the question would make the fragile offer vanish. So I simply nodded.
He paused, then said casually, almost lazily, “When the time comes, all I’ll need in return… is Draven’s weakness.”
He turned and strode away. I clutched the handkerchief, the pain inside me slowly crystallizing into numbness.
The Blackspire Pack—once you entered, escaping was harder than getting in.
When Draven and I had just come of age, he had dragged me—almost desperately—to the Pack Bonding Shrine.
“Lunessa, I’m too weak right now,” he had whispered, eyes red, arms trembling as he held me close. “If we bind early, I can protect you. I swear I’ll give you a real mating ceremony later—grand and radiant—so no one dares disrespect you.”
I believed him. I never imagined that “later” would never come, that the ceremony he promised was never even planned.
And once the mate-mark was etched, escaping became almost impossible.
Leaving Draven wasn’t just ending a bond—it meant breaking the web of power and pack politics ensnaring me.
If I sought separation, the Elder Alpha would rage. Draven himself would never release me—unless I walked away with nothing and he willingly signed the unbinding rites.
But why should I leave with nothing?
I was the one who saved his life when he was bleeding out under the Blood Moon. I was the one who gave up my scholarship at Moonscourt Academy to remain by his side.
Why should the one to walk away empty-handed… be me?
Still, I knew Draven. He couldn’t distinguish love from guilt—he was addicted to repaying kindness.
Thankfully, Calder had promised to handle the rituals and parchments. All I needed was Draven’s alpha mark.
That night, I returned home with a basket of ingredients to brew moon-herb broth for my father.