SHE FREED A WOLF BOUND IN IRON CHAINS — WHEN HE SHIFTED, THE ALPHA KING CLAIMED HER AS HIS OWN

Kindness is its own reward.

That’s what Margaret Jordan’s grandmother whispered to her every night before bed, stroking her hair with gentle weathered hands.

Help those who cannot help themselves, and the universe will remember.

But when Margaret freed a dying wolf from iron chains in the forbidden forest, she would learn that kindness didn’t bring rewards, it brought consequences.

And some debts couldn’t be paid with gratitude alone.

They could only be paid in blood, in sacrifice, and in a claiming that would tear her world apart.

Chapter 1.

The girl who saw suffering.

Margaret Jordan had always been too soft for the world she lived in.

That’s what her stepmother, Dolores Culie, said every morning when Margaret brought injured sparrows into the house, or when she spent her earnings on scraps for the stray dogs that wandered through Milbrook Village.

“You’ll never survive with a heart like that.

” Dolores would sneer, her lips twisted in that familiar expression of disgust.

The world eats girls like you alive.

Perhaps she was right.

Margaret knelt in the mud behind the bakery, her worn skirt soaking up dirty water as she carefully wrapped a strip of cloth around a cat’s injured paw.

The creature hissed and struggled, but she held firm, her voice soft and soothing.

I know it hurts.

I know.

But if we don’t clean this infection will take the whole leg.

Still wasting time on vermin.

I see.

Margaret didn’t need to look up to know who stood behind her.

Her stepsister Cindy Wilcox had a voice like poisoned honey sweet on the surface rotten underneath.

She’s hurt.

Margaret said simply, finishing the bandage with careful fingers.

The cat limped away without so much as a backward glance disappearing into the shadows between buildings.

No gratitude, no acknowledgement.

Just like always, Cindy laughed, the sound sharp and cruel.

Of course she is.

And you think that creature will remember your kindness? You think it will come back to repay you? She crouched down, her beautiful face so like their mother’s inches from Margaret’s.

You’re pathetic.

23 years old and still believing in fairy tales.

Margaret stood slowly, her knees aching from the cold ground.

She was used to this.

Used to being called pathetic, naive, foolish.

Used to being compared to Cindy, who was everything Margaret was not beautiful, sharp, practical.

Cindy had inherited their mother’s golden hair and green eyes.

Margaret had inherited, well, nothing remarkable.

Brown hair that never quite behaved, gray eyes that were too large for her face, and a stubborn softness that refused to die no matter how many times the world tried to kill it.

Maybe I am, Margaret said quietly.

But I’d rather be pathetic than cruel.

The slap came fast, snapping her head to the side.

Pain exploded across her cheek, hot and stinging.

Margaret pressed her hand to her face, tasting blood where her teeth had cut the inside of her mouth.

“Don’t you dare judge me,” Cindy hissed, her green eyes blazing.

“Don’t you dare act superior, because you waste your life on creatures that don’t even know you exist.

At least I understand how the world works.

At least I’m not going to die alone and forgotten in some hvel surrounded by mangy strays.

Margaret said nothing.

What could she say? Cindy wasn’t wrong.

This was Margaret’s life working at the bakery for barely enough coin to afford her tiny room above the butcher shop.

Spending what little she had on creatures that would never love her back.

She had no prospects, no future, no hope of anything better.

But she couldn’t stop.

Something in her chest, something stubborn and burning, refused to let her walk past suffering without trying to help, even when it cost her everything.

That night, Margaret lay in her narrow bed, staring at the water stained ceiling of her room.

The sounds of the village drifted through her thin walls.

Laughter from the tavern below.

The clatter of cartwheels on cobblestones.

The distant howl of wolves from the forbidden forest that bordered Milbrook’s northern edge.

The forest.

Everyone in the village knew the rules.

Never enter the forest after dark.

Never stray from the marked paths.

And above all, never ever approach a wolf.

The wolves of the forbidden forest weren’t natural creatures.

They were bigger, more intelligent, and infinitely more dangerous than their common cousins.

Some said they were cursed.

Others whispered that they were something else entirely shape- shifters, demons, or the remnants of an ancient magic that predated human civilization.

Margaret had never paid much attention to the stories.

She had enough problems in the human world without worrying about supernatural ones.

But tonight, something felt different.

She sat up, her grandmother’s silver pendant, the only thing she had left of her father’s family warm against her chest.

The pendant had been acting strangely all day, growing hot whenever she faced north toward the forest.

She’d dismissed it as imagination.

But now, in the darkness of her room, she couldn’t ignore the pull anymore.

Something was calling her.

Something in the forest needed help.

This is insane, she whispered to herself.

But her hands were already reaching for her cloak.

This is exactly the kind of stupid thing Cindy warns you about.

But she was already moving, slipping out of her room and down the back stairs, careful to avoid the creaky steps that would wake the butcher and his wife.

The night air hit her face, cold and sharp, carrying the scent of pine and something else, something metallic and wrong.

Blood.

Margaret’s heart hammered as she hurried through the empty streets, past the sleeping houses and dark shop windows.

The village gates were closed and locked for the night, but she knew another way, a gap in the fence behind the tanner’s yard that children used to sneak out to the swimming hole.

She squeezed through, her cloak catching on rough wood, and then she was beyond the village boundaries, standing at the edge of the forbidden forest.

The trees loomed before her, dark and ancient, their branches reaching toward the star-filled sky like skeletal fingers.

Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, to return to her safe, miserable room and forget this foolishness.

But the pendant burned against her skin, and somewhere in the darkness, something was dying.

Margaret took a deep breath and stepped into the forest.

The forest was darker than she’d imagined.

The canopy overhead blocked out most of the moonlight, leaving only scattered silver patches on the forest floor.

Margaret moved carefully, her hand pressed against tree trunks for balance, following the growing heat of her pendant.

The scent of blood grew stronger, and then she heard a low, pained growl that made every hair on her body stand on end.

She pushed through a curtain of low-hanging branches and froze.

In a small clearing, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight, lay the largest wolf she had ever seen.

No, not a wolf, something more, something impossible.

The creature was easily the size of a horse, its fur midnight black and matted with blood.

But it was the chains that made Margaret’s breath catch in her throat.

Iron chains, thick and cruel, wrapped around the wolf’s body, biting deep into its flesh.

The metal glowed with a faint sickly green light magic, dark magic.

The wolf’s eyes opened as she approached, and Margaret nearly ran.

They were human eyes, gold and aware, and filled with such pain and rage that she felt it in her bones.

“Oh gods,” she whispered, moving closer despite her terror.

“What did they do to you?” The wolf snarled, lips pulling back from fangs as long as her fingers.

“A warning.

Stay back.

” But Margaret had never been good at heating warnings.

She knelt beside the creature, her hands hovering over the chains.

Up close, she could see how deeply they’d cut, how the flesh beneath was raw and infected.

The wolf had been here for days, maybe weeks, slowly dying.

“I’m going to help you,” she said softly, her voice steady despite her shaking hands.

“I know you don’t trust me.

I know you could kill me in a heartbeat, but I can’t walk away from this.

The wolf watched her with those impossible eyes, and for a moment, she swore she saw something flicker in them.

Surprise, perhaps, or recognition.

Margaret reached for the first chain, her fingers closing around the cold iron.

Pain exploded through her body.

The magic in the chains fought her, burning through her veins like liquid fire.

She screamed, but didn’t let go.

She could feel the dark spell resisting her, trying to push her away.

But her grandmother’s pendant flared hot against her chest, and suddenly she understood her family’s magic.

The old blood that ran through her veins, dormant for generations.

It recognized this spell for what it was, a curse, a binding, a prison, and it knew how to break it.

Margaret pulled, channeling everything she had into the chain.

Her vision blurred with tears, her muscles screaming in protest, but she felt the magic beginning to crack, to splinter.

The first chain shattered.

The wolf howled, a sound of pure agony that echoed through the forest.

But Margaret didn’t stop.

She grabbed the second chain, then the third, breaking them one by one until the clearing was littered with glowing fragments of iron.

The last chain fell away and Margaret collapsed forward, her hands hitting the ground as darkness swam at the edges of her vision.

She’d done it.

The wolf was free, which meant the wolf could now kill her without hindrance.

Margaret looked up, meeting those golden eyes one last time.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered, and waited for teeth to close around her throat.

Instead, the air around the wolf began to shimmer.

The massive body convulsed, bones cracking and reforming with sounds that made Margaret’s stomach turn.

The fur receded, limbs shortened and reshaped, and within seconds, the wolf was gone.

In its place knelt a man.

He was the most beautiful and terrifying thing Margaret had ever seen, tall and powerfully built, with black hair that fell past his shoulders and the same impossible golden eyes.

His body was covered in scars, old and new, and his face was all sharp angles and predatory grace.

He looked at her and Margaret saw the exact moment he truly saw her.

His eyes widened, his nostrils flared, and then he moved faster than should have been possible, closing the distance between them until his face was inches from hers.

“You,” he breathed, his voice rough from disuse.

“You freed me.

” “A! Yes,” Margaret stammered, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst.

“The chains were killing you.

I couldn’t.

You bear the scent of old magic.

Healer’s blood.

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and tilting her face up to the moonlight.

His touch was gentle despite his obvious strength.

But there was something possessive in the gesture that made her breath catch.

“And you’re not marked,” not claimed.

“I don’t understand.

I impressed in Joyce.

” Alpha King of the Northern Paxs, he said, his voice carrying a weight that made the very air feel heavy.

and by the laws of my kind, by freeing me from a binding curse.

You have invoked the ancient debt, the life debt.

” Margaret tried to pull away, but his grip held firm.

“I don’t want.

It doesn’t matter what you want.

” Preston cut her off, his golden eyes blazing.

“The debt has been called.

The magic has already recognized it.

” He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear.

“You freed me, little healer.

And now by blood and bond and the old laws that govern my kind, he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, and Margaret saw her fate written in his expression, fierce and absolute and inescapable.

You belong to me.

Chapter 2, Blood and Belonging.

The forest held its breath.

Margaret stared at Preston Joyce, Alpha King.

He’d called himself and tried to process words that made no sense.

You belong to me.

As if she were a possession.

as if saving his life had somehow made her his property.

“No,” she said, the word coming out smaller than she intended.

She cleared her throat and tried again.

“No, I helped you because you were dying.

I don’t want anything from you.

I certainly don’t belong to you.

” Preston’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in those golden eyes.

“Amusement, perhaps, or pity.

” “You misunderstand,” he said, finally releasing her chin.

He stood unashamed of his nakedness, and Margaret quickly averted her eyes, heat flooding her cheeks.

“This isn’t a choice.

The life debt is older than your village, older than your human kingdoms.

When one of my kind is freed from a binding curse, the debt must be paid, and the payment.

” He paused, and she could hear the weight in his silence.

“The payment is always the same.

I don’t care about your laws, Margaret said, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

Only his eyes.

I’m human.

Your rules don’t apply to me.

Your blood says otherwise.

Before she could respond, Preston moved again with that impossible speed, gripping her wrist and pressing his thumb against the pulse point.

Margaret gasped as heat flared where he touched her, and her grandmother’s pendant blazed so bright she could see it glowing through her dress.

Old magic, Preston murmured, his voice almost reverent.

Healer’s blood, as I suspected, deluded by generations of human breeding, but still there, still potent enough to break a curse that should have killed me.

His eyes snapped to hers.

You’re not fully human, little healer, which means you’re subject to the old laws whether you acknowledge them or not.

Margaret jerked her hand away, cradling it against her chest.

The skin where he’d touched her still tingled, still burned.

My grandmother never said anything about your grandmother probably didn’t know.

Preston turned away, scanning the treeine with the focused intensity of a predator.

The old bloodlines have been sleeping for centuries.

Most humans with the gift never awaken it.

But you, he looked back at her, and there was something hungry in his expression.

You woke yours the moment you touched those chains.

You fed it with your own life force to break a curse woven by one of the most powerful dark witches in the realm.

The clearing suddenly felt too small, too exposed.

Margaret stood on shaking legs, her mind racing.

I need to go home.

My stepmother will notice I’m gone.

And your stepmother? Preston’s lip curled.

The woman whose scent is all over your bruises.

Margaret’s hand flew to her cheek where Cindy’s slap had left a mark.

That’s none of your business.

Everything about you is my business now.

He moved closer and this time Margaret did step back, her spine hitting a tree trunk.

Preston placed one hand on the bark beside her head, caging her in.

“Tell me, little healer, who else hurts you? Who else leaves marks on skin that should be cherished and protected.

” “Stop calling me that,” Margaret said, her voice sharper than she intended.

“I have a name, Margaret.

Margaret Jordan.

” Something shifted in Preston’s expression, a softening so brief she almost missed it.

“Margaret,” he repeated, as if testing how it felt in his mouth.

“It suits you, soft but stubborn.

I’m not stubborn.

I’m arguing with an alpha king in the middle of a forbidden forest instead of accepting the inevitable.

” One dark eyebrow rose.

“That’s not stubborn.

” Despite everything, the fear, the confusion, the absolute insanity of this situation, Margaret felt a laugh bubble up in her chest.

She swallowed it down, but not before Preston’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

There, he said quietly.

That’s better.

Fear doesn’t suit you.

I’m not afraid of you.

You should be.

The words were soft, almost gentle, but they carried an edge that made her shiver.

I’ve killed men for far less than what your family has done to you.

I’ve torn apart entire packs who dared challenge my authority.

I am not a gentle creature, Margaret Jordan, no matter how human I appear.

Then why haven’t you killed me? The question escaped before she could stop it.

If you’re so dangerous, if I’m now bound to you by this debt, why are we talking? Why not just take what you want? Preston was quiet for a long moment, his golden eyes searching her face.

When he spoke, his voice was different, rougher, more raw.

Because you freed me.

Because you knelt in the mud and broke chains that were meant to hold me until I rotted.

And you did it expecting nothing in return.

His hand moved from the tree to her face.

His fingers tracing the bruise on her cheek with a gentleness that contradicted everything he’d said about his nature.

Because you’re the first person in 300 years to show me mercy.

Margaret’s breath caught.

300.

You’re that old.

Older.

A bitter smile twisted his lips.

“Time moves differently for my kind.

We age slowly, live long, and watch everything we care about turn to dust.

” His thumb brushed across her lower lip, and Margaret felt that strange heat again, pooling low in her belly until we find our mate.

The word hung between them.

“Heavy with meaning.

” “No,” Margaret whispered.

“You can’t mean.

The life debt doesn’t create the bond, Preston said, his voice dropping to something almost like a growl.

It simply reveals what was already there.

You felt it, didn’t you? The moment you touched the chains, the moment your magic recognized mine, she had felt it.

A pull, a connection, something that went deeper than gratitude or obligation.

But that didn’t mean couldn’t mean.

This is insane, Margaret said, ducking under his arm and putting distance between them.

I came here to help an injured animal.

I’m not I can’t be your She couldn’t even say the word.

I have a life.

A job.

A home.

A life where you’re beaten by your family? Preston’s voice hardened.

A job that pays you barely enough to survive.

A home that’s a single room above a butcher shop.

Where you lie awake at night wondering if you’ll die alone and forgotten.

Margaret spun to face him, anger flaring hot in her chest.

“How dare you? I can smell it on you,” he interrupted, his eyes blazing.

“The loneliness, the resignation, the belief that this is all you deserve.

” He stalked toward her.

And this time, she didn’t back away.

“You save every broken creature you find because you know what it feels like to be broken, to be unwanted, to be seen as less than you are.

” Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but Margaret refused to let them fall.

You don’t know me.

I know that you have magic in your blood and kindness in your heart, and both are wasted in that pathetic village.

Preston stopped just inches from her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

I know that you’re brave enough to walk into a forbidden forest alone.

Strong enough to break a curse that should have been impossible and foolish enough to think you can go back to your old life after awakening power that most humans can’t even comprehend.

I don’t want power, Margaret said, her voice breaking.

I just want what? To be normal? To be safe? Preston’s laugh was harsh.

You were never going to have that.

The moment you used your magic, you painted a target on your back.

The witch who cursed me, Dolores Culie, will know someone broke her spell.

And she will hunt you until she finds out who.

The name hit Margaret like a physical blow.

What did you say? Preston’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing.

The witch who chained me.

Dolores Culie.

She’s the one who lured me into a trap.

Who used dark magic to bind me in iron and leave me to die? He tilted his head, studying her reaction.

You know that name? She’s my stepmother.

Margaret whispered, the words feeling like broken glass in her throat.

Dolores Culie is my stepmother.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Preston moved so fast she didn’t see it coming.

One moment he was standing 3 ft away.

The next his hand was wrapped around her throat.

Not squeezing, not hurting, but the threat was clear.

“Explain,” he growled.

And for the first time, Margaret saw the monster beneath the man.

His eyes had shifted, no longer fully human, and she could feel the vibration of a barely contained snarl in his chest.

Explain why the woman who tried to murder me raised you.

Explain why you smell like her magic, but broke her curse.

Explain before I decide you’re part of whatever game she’s playing.

Margaret’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced herself to stay still to meet those inhuman eyes.

“I didn’t know,” she said, her voice steady despite her terror.

I swear to you, I didn’t know she was a witch.

She married my father when I was 8 years old.

He died 6 months later.

They said it was his heart.

But now the pieces were falling into place.

Horrible and clear.

She killed him, didn’t she? She married him to get close to me because of my blood.

Preston’s grip loosened slightly, his eyes searching her face.

Your father, did he have the gift? My grandmother did.

She could heal with her hands.

could make plants grow with a touch.

She died before I was born, but my father told me stories.

Margaret swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Preston’s hand on her throat.

He said the gift skipped him, that it might skip me, too.

I never showed any signs of it, so I thought it was dormant.

Preston finished, his voice losing some of its edge.

Waiting for the right catalyst.

His thumb brushed against her pulse, a gesture that felt almost unconscious.

And Dolores suspected she married your father to get access to you to test you.

When nothing happened, she killed him and stayed close, waiting.

Waiting for what? For you to awaken.

Preston finally released her throat, but he didn’t step back.

Healer’s blood is rare, Margaret.

It’s powerful and in the hands of a dark witch.

He trailed off, his jaw clenching.

She probably planned to harvest it.

To use your magic to fuel her own spells, nausea rolled through Margaret’s stomach.

All those years of cruelty, of being made to feel worthless and unwanted.

It had all been calculated.

Dolores had been watching her, waiting for her to become useful.

I need to warn my father’s family, Margaret said, her mind racing.

I need to You need to come with me.

Preston’s voice left no room for argument.

Dolores will feel the breaking of her curse.

She’ll know someone with significant power interfered.

And when she realizes it was you, his hand cuped her face, forcing her to look at him.

She will kill you, Margaret.

Or worse, she’ll bind you, break you, and use your magic until there’s nothing left.

I can’t just abandon everything.

What is there to abandon? Preston’s words were brutal, but not unkind.

A family that beats you.

a village that ignores you.

You said it yourself.

You have nothing.

The truth of it hurt worse than any slap Cindy had ever given her.

Margaret closed her eyes, feeling tears finally spill down her cheeks.

He was right.

She had nothing.

She was nothing.

Just a foolish girl who’d thought kindness mattered, who’d believe that if she just helped enough broken things, maybe she could fix the broken parts of herself.

Hey.

Preston’s voice was softer now, and she felt his thumb brush away her tears.

Look at me.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

You’re not nothing, he said as if he could hear her thoughts.

You’re not worthless or unwanted or any of the other lies they’ve made you believe.

You’re a woman with power in her blood and courage in her heart.

And if you come with me, if you accept the bond, I swear on my life that you will never be treated as less than you are again.

And what am I? Margaret asked, her voice barely a whisper.

What do you see when you look at me? Preston’s smile was slow and dangerous and made her heart skip in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

I see my mate, he said simply.

I see my queen.

Before Margaret could respond, Preston stiffened, his head snapping toward the forest edge.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and she saw his muscles tense, preparing for violence.

“They’re coming,” he said, his voice hard.

“Dolores hunters.

” She sent them to check on me, to make sure I was still dying.

His eyes met hers, urgent and fierce.

We need to go now.

I don’t.

Trust me.

Preston held out his hand, and Margaret saw something vulnerable flash across his face.

I know I’ve given you little reason to.

I know this is happening too fast, that you need time to process.

But right now, Margaret Jordan, you need to choose.

Come with me and live or stay here and die.

Margaret looked at his outstretched hand, then back toward the direction of her village.

Everything she’d ever known was in Milbrook.

Everything safe and familiar and soulc crushingly lonely.

She thought of Cindy’s slap, Dolores’s cruel smile, the endless cycle of working and surviving and never ever being seen.

She thought of the wolf’s eyes, so full of pain and awareness, of the moment the chains broke, and she’d felt something awaken inside her, something powerful and ancient and utterly terrifying.

She thought of Preston calling her his mate.

“His queen,” Margaret took his hand.

“Good girl,” Preston murmured, pulling her close, his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against his body.

And before she could ask what he was doing, she felt the air around them begin to shimmer.

“Wait, what’s happening? Hold on, Preston said, and his form began to blur and shift.

Margaret felt the ground drop away.

Felt fur replace skin beneath her hands.

And then she was no longer standing beside a man, but clinging to the back of an enormous black wolf.

Preston the wolf turned his massive head, golden eyes meeting hers one last time.

Then he ran.

The forest became a blur of shadow and moonlight.

Margaret buried her face in his fur, her arms locked around his neck as he moved with a speed that stole her breath.

She could hear shouts behind them the hunters Dolores had sent.

But they were already too far away, their voices fading into the night.

Margaret Jordan had spent her entire life being small and quiet and forgettable.

But as she clung to the back of an alpha king racing through a forbidden forest, she realized her old life was already gone.

and whatever came next, whether she was ready or not, there would be no going back.

Chapter 3.

A wolf’s sanctuary.

They ran for hours.

Margaret lost track of time as the forest blurred around them.

Preston’s powerful muscles moving beneath her with tireless rhythm.

She’d stopped trying to hold on with her arms they’d gone numb miles ago, and instead pressed herself flat against his back, fingers twisted in his fur, trusting him not to let her fall.

The forbidden forest gradually changed.

The trees grew taller, older, their trunks so wide it would take six men to encircle them.

The air grew colder, sharper, carrying sense Margaret had never encountered pine and snow and something wild that made her pulse quicken.

Dawn was breaking when Preston finally slowed.

They emerged from the treeine onto a cliff overlooking a valley that stole Margaret’s breath.

Below them stretched a territory unlike anything she’d imagined.

A sprawling settlement of wooden structures built into the landscape itself, connected by rope bridges and stone pathways.

Waterfalls cascaded down the valley walls, feeding a river that cut through the center like a silver ribbon, and everywhere everywhere were wolves.

Dozens of them, in every size and color, moving through the settlement with purpose.

Some were in wolf form, others human, and a few seemed to be mid transformation, as if shifting between shapes was as natural as breathing.

Preston let out a howl that echoed across the valley and Margaret felt the sound vibrate through her entire body.

It was a call, a command, an announcement.

The alpha has returned.

The response was immediate.

Wolves across the settlement stopped and turned, their heads rising.

And then they began to howl in return a chorus of voices that made Margaret’s eyes sting with unexpected tears.

There was joy in that sound.

Relief.

Celebration.

They’d thought he was dead.

She realized they’d mourned him.

Preston began the descent down a narrow path carved into the cliff face.

Margaret clung tighter, trying not to look at the dizzying drop to her right.

The path eventually widened, leading them into the settlement proper.

Wolves began to gather as they passed, some keeping their distance, others approaching with cautious excitement.

All of them stared at Margaret with open curiosity, their eyes flickering between her and Preston.

What is she? Their expressions seemed to ask.

Why did he bring a human here, Preston ignored them all, moving through the settlement with single-minded determination, they crossed one of the rope bridges, Margaret squeezed her eyes shut for that part, and climbed a series of stone steps to the largest structure in the valley.

It wasn’t a palace, not in the traditional sense.

It was a massive lodge built from ancient timber and stone with a roof that seemed to grow from the cliff face itself.

Smoke rose from multiple chimneys and the entrance was flanked by two enormous wolves who bowed their heads as Preston approached.

Guards, Margaret realized.

Even here, even among his own people, the Alpha King needed protection.

Preston shifted as they crossed the threshold.

The transformation so smooth that Margaret barely had time to register it before she was stumbling, suddenly unsupported.

Strong hands caught her waist, steadying her, and she found herself standing in a grand hall with Preston human again, still naked, still utterly unself-conscious, gripping her shoulders.

“Can you walk?” he asked, his voice rough from ours in wolf form.

Margaret tested her legs and nearly collapsed.

Every muscle screamed in protest, her thighs especially.

She’d essentially been riding a horse at full sprint for hours without a saddle.

I’ll take that as a no.

Before she could protest, Preston swept her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

Someone bring clothes, he barked at the room in general.

And food and tell Rogelio I need him immediately.

Several wolves in human form now scattered to obey.

Margaret wanted to argue, wanted to insist she could stand on her own, but the truth was she couldn’t.

Her body had reached its limit.

Preston carried her through corridors lit by oil lamps and fire light, past rooms filled with the murmur of voices and the smell of cooking food.

Everything felt surreal, dreamlike.

Just last night, she’d been in her tiny room above the butcher’s shop.

And now, now she was being carried through a werewolf stronghold by their king.

Preston shouldered open a heavy wooden door and stepped into a chamber that could only be his personal quarters.

It was massive, a bedroom that could have fit her entire old room three times over.

A stone fireplace dominated one wall, already burning with a fire that cast dancing shadows.

Furs covered the floor and the bed gods.

The bed was enormous, piled high with blankets and pillows.

Preston set her down on the edge of the bed with surprising gentleness, then stepped back.

For the first time since they’d met, he looked uncertain.

“I should apologize,” he said finally.

“For bringing you here without more preparation, for not giving you time to adjust,” his jaw clenched for everything.

Margaret stared at him, this impossibly powerful being who’d just carried her across miles of wilderness, who’d called her his mate, and claimed her as his queen.

He looked almost vulnerable in the fire light, all hard muscles and old scars, and barely contained intensity.

Why did you save me?” she asked quietly.

“In the forest when your hunters were coming, you could have escaped faster without me.

Why didn’t you leave me behind?” Preston’s eyes met hers.

And she saw something raw in them.

Because the moment you touched those chains, the moment your magic called to mine, I knew what you were.

He moved closer, dropping to one knee, so they were eye level.

Mates are rare among my kind, Margaret.

Some wolves live centuries without finding theirs.

I’d given up hope of ever having that bond.

His hand reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

And then you appeared.

You knelt in the mud and broke a curse that should have killed me.

And I smelled your magic and knew knew that I’d been bound in that clearing for a reason.

So you could find me.

So we could find each other.

That sounds like fate.

Margaret whispered.

Like we had no choice.

We always have a choice.

Preston’s thumb traced her cheekbone, his touch feather light.

I could have let you go.

Could have thanked you for freeing me and sent you back to your village with enough gold to start a new life somewhere safe.

The life debt would still be paid.

His eyes darkened.

But I didn’t.

I claimed you.

I brought you here.

And that was choice, Margaret.

Mine and yours.

I only chose to survive.

You chose to take my hand instead of running back to the village.

You chose to hold on during the journey instead of letting go.

You chose to trust me enough to bring you to my home, to my people.

Preston’s voice dropped to something almost tender.

Those were choices.

And you can still make more.

You can still tell me to return you to the human world, to find you a safe place far from Dolores’s reach.

I would do it even though it would tear me apart.

Because you deserve the right to choose.

Margaret looked at him.

Really looked at him.

She saw the Alpha King, yes, but she also saw the wolf who’d been chained and left to die.

The man who’d been alone for 300 years.

The creature who’ called her his queen with a reverence that made her chest ache.

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” she said finally.

“I don’t know how to be anyone’s mate.

I’m just I’ve spent my whole life being no one, being forgettable.

Then we’ll figure it out together.

” Preston caught her hand, pressing it against his chest, where she could feel his heart beating strong and steady and somehow synchronized with her own.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Margaret.

I need you to be exactly what you are.

” Before she could respond, someone knocked on the door three sharp wraps.

“Enter,” Preston called, not moving from his position at her feet.

The door opened to reveal a tall, lean man with silver streaked hair and shrewd eyes.

He carried a bundle of clothes in his arms and moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who’d served the Alpha King for a very long time.

“My lord,” the man said, bowing slightly.

His eyes flicked to Margaret with barely concealed curiosity.

“I came as quickly as I could.

The entire pack is,” He paused, seeming to search for the right word.

“Excited about your return.

I’m sure they are, Rogelio.

” Preston stood and Margaret saw him slip effortlessly into the role of king.

His posture straightening, his voice taking on that note of absolute authority.

This is Margaret Jordan.

She freed me from Dolores Coulie’s curse.

Rogelio’s eyes widened.

The witch’s curse.

But that’s he looked at Margaret with new understanding.

Impossible unless.

His gaze dropped to the pendant still hanging around her neck now visible above her dress.

She has the old blood healer’s line, Preston confirmed.

Dormant until she touched the chains.

And the witch is Margaret’s stepmother.

Preston’s voice hardened.

Who almost certainly married into the family to gain access to her blood.

When Dolores realizes what happened, she’ll come for Margaret.

We need to be prepared.

Roelio nodded sharply, his mind clearly already working through strategies.

I’ll double the perimeter guards and send scouts to monitor the border.

If the witch makes a move, she will, Preston interrupted.

Dolores didn’t invest years in a plan only to let her prize slip away.

She’ll come and she’ll bring whatever dark magic she can summon.

He glanced at Margaret, his expression softening slightly, which is why Margaret stays in the stronghold.

No exceptions.

I’m not a prisoner, Margaret said, finding her voice.

No.

Preston agreed.

You’re my mate.

Which means you’re the most valuable target in this entire territory.

Every wolf here would die to protect you, but I’d rather not test their loyalty if we can avoid it.

Regelio cleared his throat diplomatically.

Perhaps the lady would like to bathe and change before we discuss security measures.

He offered the bundle of clothes.

I took the liberty of gathering garments from our seamstresses.

They should fit reasonably well.

Margaret accepted the clothes gratefully, relieved to have something to do with her hands.

The fabric was soft and well-made, far nicer than anything she’d owned in Milbrook.

“Thank you,” she said, and was rewarded with a small smile from Rogelio.

“You’re welcome, my lady.

” He bowed again, this time to her, and Margaret felt heat rise in her cheeks.

If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.

The pack is at your service.

After Rogelio left, Preston showed Margaret to an adjoining bathing chamber that made her jaw drop.

It was carved from natural stone with a large pool fed by a hot spring that steamed in the cool air.

Towels and soaps were arranged on shelves.

And miracle of miracles, there was even a mirror.

“Take your time,” Preston said, pausing at the doorway.

“I need to address the pack.

Let them know what’s happening, but I’ll be back within the hour.

” His eyes held hers.

“Don’t try to leave.

Not because I don’t trust you, but because some of the younger wolves might not recognize your scent yet.

I don’t want any accidents.

” Margaret nodded, understanding the unspoken threat.

“She might be the Alpha King’s mate, but to some wolves, she was still just prey.

” After Preston left, Margaret slowly undressed, wincing as her sore muscles protested every movement.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze.

She looked wild.

Her hair had come loose from its braid, tangling around her face in a mess of brown waves.

Her dress was torn and muddy, and bruises were already forming on her arms and legs from the journey.

But it was her eyes that shocked her most.

They seemed brighter, somehow, more alive than she’d ever seen them.

She looked like someone who’d survived something impossible.

She looked like someone who mattered.

Margaret slipped into the hot spring with a groan of relief.

The water was perfect, hot enough to ease her aching muscles, but not scalding.

She dunked her head under, scrubbing away the dirt and sweat and fear of the past day.

When she surfaced, she let herself float, staring up at the stone ceiling and trying to process everything that had happened.

24 hours ago, she’d been Margaret Jordan Baker’s assistant, invisible girl, professional disappointment.

Now she was what? The maid of an alpha king, a woman with magic in her blood.

Someone important enough to be hunted by a dark witch.

It was too much, too fast, too overwhelming.

But as she floated in the warm water, Margaret realized something.

For the first time in her life, she wasn’t alone.

Preston had looked at her like she mattered, like she was worth protecting, worth claiming.

It terrified her.

But it also made something warm and bright unfurl in her chest.

Something that felt dangerously like hope.

Margaret finished bathing and dressed in the clothes Rogelio had provided, a soft tunic and leggings that fit surprisingly well along with sturdy boots.

She braided her damp hair and returned to the main chamber to find Preston had returned.

He dressed too in dark pants and a simple shirt that did nothing to hide his powerful build.

He stood at the window staring out at his territory with an expression that made him look every one of his 300 years.

“They’re preparing for war,” he said without turning around.

“The pack, they know Dolores will come and they’re ready to fight.

” “Because of me,” Margaret said quietly.

“Because you’re mine.

” Preston finally looked at her and the fierce possessiveness in his eyes made her breath catch because you’re pack now whether you realize it or not and we protect our own.

Margaret moved to stand beside him looking out at the valley below.

Wolves moved through the settlement with purpose now.

Guards taking up positions.

Mothers gathering children.

Warriors sharpening weapons.

I’ve brought war to your doorstep.

She whispered.

No.

Preston’s hand found hers.

his fingers lacing through her own.

Dolores brought this war when she cursed me.

You simply gave me a reason to fight back.

He squeezed her hand gently and a reason to win.

They stood together in silence, watching the pack prepare for the storm that was coming.

And Margaret realized that whatever happened next, whether she was ready or not, she was no longer alone.

She had a mate, a pack, a home, even if she had to fight to keep it.

Chapter 4.

the packs test.

The pack wanted to meet her.

Margaret learned this from Rogelio, who appeared at Preston’s chamber the next morning with breakfast and an apologetic expression.

“They’re not trying to be disrespectful, my lord,” Rogelio explained as he set down a tray laden with food.

“Fresh bread, cheese, dried meat, and fruit that made Margaret’s mouth water.

” “But you’ve been gone for 3 weeks.

They mourned you, and now you’ve returned with a human mate, claiming she broke an impossible curse.

He trailed off delicately.

They have questions.

Preston, who’d spent the night in wolf form, curled protectively around Margaret’s side of the massive bed, shifted back to human with a low growl.

They can wait.

With respect, my lord, they can’t.

Roelio’s voice was gentle but firm.

You know pack law.

A new mate must be presented to the council within 3 days of arrival.

It’s been one night.

You have two more days, but the longer you wait, the more they’ll speculate.

His eyes flicked to Margaret, and speculation breeds doubt.

Margaret set down the piece of bread she’d been eating.

What kind of doubt? Roelio hesitated, clearly uncomfortable.

Preston answered for him, his voice hard.

Whether you’re strong enough to be Luna, whether a human with dormant magic can truly be the maid of an alpha king, whether I’ve let sentiment cloud my judgment, whether I’m worthy,” Margaret translated quietly.

“You’re worthy,” Preston said immediately, moving to her side.

“But the pack doesn’t know that yet.

They need to see you.

Test you,” his jaw clenched.

“It’s tradition, ancient law.

I can’t circumvent it, even as Alpha.

” Margaret looked between Preston and Rogelio, seeing the tension in both their faces.

What kind of test? Nothing dangerous.

Rogelio assured her quickly.

The council will ask questions, observe your interactions with pack members, and assess your character.

It’s more of an interview than a trial.

An interview conducted by wolves who can smell fear and lies, Preston added darkly.

Who will push you to see how you react under pressure? He caught her hand, his grip almost painful.

I’ll be there.

I won’t let them hurt you.

But you can’t interfere, Margaret guessed, seeing the frustration in his eyes.

If you defend me too much, it looks like I need defending, like I’m weak.

Rogelio nodded approvingly.

You’re clever.

That will serve you well.

Margaret took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

She’d faced Dolores’s cruelty for years.

She’d broken a dark curse in a forbidden forest.

Surely she could handle an interview with a pack of werewolves.

When? She asked.

Tonight, Rajalio said, “At moonrise, the full council will gather in the great hall.

” He bowed slightly.

“Until then, I suggest you rest and prepare.

The test can be intense.

” After Regelio left, Preston paced the chamber like the caged wolf he was.

I should have known they’d demand this.

Should have prepared you better.

How could you prepare me? Margaret asked reasonably.

You’ve known me for 2 days.

I’ve known I’m your mate for even less.

She stood, moving to intercept his pacing.

Preston, look at me.

He stopped, his golden eyes meeting her is wild and worried.

I’ve spent my entire life being tested.

Margaret said quietly.

Being judged.

Being found wanting.

I know how to survive.

people who think I’m not good enough.

She reached up, cupping his face with both hands, marveling at her own boldness.

And if your pack decides I’m not worthy to be Luna, then I’ll prove them wrong.

The same way I’ve proven everyone else wrong my whole life by refusing to break.

Something shifted in Preston’s expression.

Pride mixed with that fierce possessiveness she was beginning to recognize.

“You’re already worthy,” he said roughly.

“But I’ll enjoy watching you show them.

” He leaned down and for a moment Margaret thought he might kiss her.

Her heart stuttered, her lips parting in anticipation, but at the last second, Preston pressed his forehead to hers instead, breathing in her scent like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Tonight,” he murmured, “After the council, if you still want me after facing them, I’ll still want you.

” Margaret interrupted, surprised by her own certainty.

Preston’s smile was slow and dangerous and made heat pull low in her belly.

Good.

The day passed in a blur of preparation.

Preston took Margaret through the stronghold, introducing her to keypack members, warriors who bowed with barely concealed skepticism, healers who examined her with clinical interest, mothers who clutched their children close when she passed.

Everywhere they went, wolves stopped and stared.

the future Luna, the human who’d freed their king, the woman who might be their salvation or their doom.

Margaret held her head high and met every stare, every whisper, every doubtful expression.

She’d spent years being invisible.

At least here, people saw her, even if they weren’t sure what they were seeing.

They stopped at the packs training grounds, where warriors sparred in both wolf and human form.

The clash of claws and teeth and steel filled the air along with the scent of sweat and blood and earth.

Margaret Preston’s voice was low, meant only for her.

The large man near the center, that’s Gerard Pierce, my head warrior and oldest friend.

Hell be at the council tonight.

Margaret studied Gerard a mountain of a man with scars covering his arms and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite.

He fought three opponents at once, moving with brutal efficiency.

As if sensing their attention, Gerard looked up, his eyes locking on Margaret.

He shifted midfight, bones cracking and reforming until a massive grey wolf stood where the man had been.

The wolf padded toward them, and Preston tensed beside her.

“Easy,” he murmured, though Margaret wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Gerard.

The wolf stopped 3 ft away, tilting its head as it studied her.

Margaret could see intelligence in those amber eyes, curiosity and judgment in equal measure.

Hello, Margaret said quietly, resisting the urge to step back.

You’re Gerard, aren’t you? Preston says, “You’re his oldest friend.

” The wolf’s ears flicked forward, and something that might have been surprise flickered across its face.

Then, slowly, Gerard bowed his head.

Not a full submission, but an acknowledgement.

Respect tentatively offered.

Thank you, Margaret said, and meant it.

Gerard shifted back to human unself-conscious in his nakedness like all the pack seemed to be and crossed his massive arms.

She doesn’t smell afraid, he said to Preston, as if Margaret wasn’t standing right there.

“That’s good.

Fear is weakness.

She’s faced worse than wolves,” Preston replied, an edge to his voice.

Gerard’s eyes narrowed.

“Well see.

” He turned to Margaret directly for the first time.

Tonight the council will test you.

They’ll try to make you angry, try to make you cry, try to make you show your throat and submit.

His smile was sharp.

Don’t Don’t submit? Margaret asked, confused.

But isn’t that what they want? To see if I’ll accept my place in the pack.

They want to see if you’re strong enough to stand beside an alpha king.

Gerard corrected.

Submission has its place, but Aluna doesn’t bow to anyone except her mate.

The pack needs strength at the top, not another wolf who rolls over.

He glanced at Preston.

She understand that I’m standing right here, Margaret said, her voice sharper than intended.

And I understand perfectly.

You want to see if I’ll break? If I’m just another weak human who’ll crumble under pressure.

She stepped forward, ignoring Preston’s warning growl.

I won’t because I’ve already survived worse than your council’s judgment.

I’ve survived years of being told I’m worthless, being beaten and starved and made to feel like I don’t deserve to exist, and I’m still here, still standing.

So, whatever your pack throws at me tonight, she met Gerard’s eyes without flinching.

I’ll survive that, too.

Silence fell over the training grounds.

Every wolf had stopped fighting to watch the exchange.

Gerard stared at her for a long moment.

Then slowly his lips curved into something that might have been a smile.

Maybe she’ll do after all.

He glanced at Preston.

She’s got teeth.

That’s more than most humans.

She’s got more than teeth, Preston said pride thick in his voice.

But they’ll see that tonight.

As sunset approached, Margaret found herself back in Preston’s chambers being dressed by two pack seamstresses who’d appeared with an armful of formal clothing.

The council expects traditional dress.

the older one, Betty Fuller, explained as she laced Margaret into a gown of deep forest green.

It shows respect for our customs.

The gown was beautiful, far nicer than anything Margaret had ever worn.

The fabric hugged her curves before flowing to the floor, and the neckline was low enough to display her grandmother’s pendant.

“Silver embroidery traced the edges.

Wolves running through trees, chasing the moon.

You look like a Luna, the younger seamstress, Mandy Shield said softly, fastening a silver clasp at Margaret’s shoulder.

Like you belong here.

I don’t feel like I belong anywhere, Margaret admitted.

Betty met her eyes in the mirror.

None of us did.

Not at first.

She adjusted the pendant so it caught the light.

I was human once, too.

50 years ago, I married into the pack.

The council tested me just like they’ll test you tonight.

Her smile was knowing.

I survived.

So will you.

How? Margaret asked.

How did you convince them? I didn’t convince them of anything.

Betty’s hands were gentle as she arranged Margaret’s hair.

I just showed them who I was.

The rest took care of itself.

Preston entered as the seamstresses were finishing, and Margaret saw his eyes widen.

He’d changed, too, wearing formal leathers that made him look every inch the king he was.

But it was the way he looked at her that made Margaret’s breath catch like she was already his queen.

“You’re beautiful,” he said roughly.

“I’m terrified,” Margaret corrected.

“Good.

” Preston crossed to her, taking her hands in his terror means you understand the stakes.

But don’t let them see it.

The council respects strength, not perfection.

His thumbs trace circles on her wrists.

Be yourself, Margaret.

That’s all I ask.

Be the woman who walked into a forbidden forest alone.

The woman who broke an impossible curse.

The woman who told my head warrior she wouldn’t break.

What if they reject me? Then we fight.

Preston’s voice was absolute.

Because you’re mine and I don’t let go of what’s mine.

Council approval or not.

A bell told somewhere in the stronghold deep and resonant.

Calling the pack together.

It’s time.

Preston said.

Margaret took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and let him lead her toward the great hall, toward judgment, toward whatever came next.

The great hall was packed.

Margaret had expected a small council, maybe a dozen elders sitting in judgment.

Instead, she found herself facing hundreds of wolves.

They filled every available space, standing along the walls, sitting on the floor, even perched in the rafters above.

All of them watching her with golden eyes that gleamed in the fire light.

Preston led her down the center aisle, his hand firm on her lower back.

Margaret kept her chin up, her gaze forward, refusing to show the fear that threatened to choke her.

At the far end of the hall, a semicircle of chairs awaited the council.

Seven wolves, each radiating power and age.

Gerard sat among them, his expression unreadable.

The others ranged from ancient to merely old, their faces weathered by centuries of life.

Preston stopped before the council and bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, not submission.

Margaret mimicked him, her heart pounding so hard she was certain everyone could hear it.

Alpha King Preston Joyce, the eldest counselor, said, “A woman with silver hair and eyes like ice.

You’ve returned to us after 3 weeks in Dolores Coulie’s chains.

The pack rejoices.

” Her gaze shifted to Margaret.

And you’ve brought a guest.

Not a guest.

Council Elder Arlene Kirk.

Preston corrected, his voice carrying across the hall.

My mate, my Luna, Margaret Jordan, who broke the curse that bound me and freed me from certain death.

Murmurss rippled through the crowd.

Arlene’s expression didn’t change.

A bold claim, one that requires proof.

She gestured to Margaret.

Step forward, Margaret Jordan.

Let the council see what broke an impossible curse.

Margaret released Preston’s hand and moved forward, feeling hundreds of eyes track her movement.

She stopped before the council, alone and exposed.

“You’re human,” Arlene stated flatly.

“Mostly,” Margaret agreed.

“And yet you claim to have broken a curse woven by one of the most powerful dark witches in the realm.

A curse designed specifically to kill an alpha king.

” Arlene leaned forward.

Forgive our skepticism, but that seems unlikely.

I don’t need you to believe me, Margaret said quietly.

Preston is alive.

The curse is broken.

Those are facts whether you find them likely or not.

Gerard made a sound that might have been approval.

Arlene’s eyes narrowed.

You have spirit, she acknowledged.

But spirit alone doesn’t make a Luna.

Tell us, Margaret Jordan.

Why should we accept a human as our queen? What can you possibly offer this pack? The question hung in the air, heavy with challenge.

Margaret thought of all the answers she could give.

She could mention her magic, her healing blood, her connection to Preston.

She could beg for their acceptance, promise to learn their ways, pledge her loyalty.

But Gerard’s words echoed in her mind.

Aluna doesn’t bow to anyone except her mate.

So instead, Margaret met Arlene’s icy gaze and said, “I can offer you the truth.

I can offer you someone who sees suffering and chooses to help even when it costs her everything.

I can offer you a Luna who won’t look away from the broken things in this pack, who won’t let anyone, wolf or human, be forgotten or discarded.

She paused, letting her words sink in.

And I can offer you someone who loves your Alpha King enough to face your judgment without flinching.

If that’s not enough for you, then nothing I say will be.

Silence.

And then Gerard started to laugh.

a deep booming sound that filled the hall.

“Told you she had teeth,” he said to Arlene, grinning widely.

“I vote to accept her.

The vote hasn’t been called yet,” Arlene said sharply.

But Margaret saw something shift in her expression.

“Not approval.

” “Exactly, but reconsideration.

Let’s make it interesting.

” Another council member said, “A man with a scar bisecting his face.

Test her not with words, but with action.

If she’s truly meant to be Luna, let her prove it, Preston growled.

Low and dangerous.

The law says questions only.

The law says we assess her character.

The scarred man interrupted.

And I say we need more than pretty words.

He stood, moving toward Margaret with predatory grace.

Tell me, human, have you ever felt the pack bond? That connection that ties us together makes us stronger than the sum of our parts.

No, Margaret admitted.

Then how can you lead what you don’t understand? He circled her slowly.

How can you be Luna when you can’t even feel your own pack? Maybe she can.

Betty’s voice rang out from the crowd.

The seamstress stepped forward, her chin raised defiantly.

I felt nothing when I joined the pack 50 years ago.

Not until my mate bit me, claimed me properly.

Maybe the bond is waiting for the claiming.

A convenient excuse, the scarred man said.

Or the truth, Gerard rumbled.

Preston hasn’t completed the mating bond.

Without his bite, without the blood exchange, she’s still half human, still disconnected.

He looked at Preston.

So complete it here.

Now, let us witness the claiming and we’ll see if the pack bond recognizes her.

Preston moved so fast Margaret barely saw it.

One moment he was behind her, the next he was between her and the council, his body a wall of protective fury.

No, not like this.

Not as a spectacle for your entertainment.

Then when, Arlene demanded, the pack needs to know she’s truly yours, Preston.

That this isn’t just sentiment or gratitude or some temporary madness brought on by 3 weeks in chains.

Her voice softened slightly.

We love you.

We want you to have a mate, but we also need to be certain she can bear the weight of being Luna, and the only way to know that is to complete the bond and see if the pack accepts her.

Preston’s shoulders were rigid with tension.

Margaret could see the war raging inside him, his need to protect her versus his duty to his pack.

She made the choice for him.

“Do it,” Margaret said quietly, placing her hand on Preston’s arm.

“Complete the bond.

Let them see.

” Preston turned to face her, his eyes blazing.

Not like this.

Not because they demanded it.

No, because I’m choosing it.

Margaret met his gaze steadily.

Because I’m tired of being tested.

Tired of proving myself.

And because.

She took a breath.

Because I want this.

Want you.

Want to be part of something bigger than myself.

Her voice dropped to a whisper meant only for him.

Claim me, Preston.

Make me yours in a way no one can question.

For a long moment, Preston just stared at her.

Then slowly, he cuped her face with both hands.

“You’re sure? I’m terrified,” Margaret admitted.

“But yes, I’m sure.

” Preston’s smile was fierce and tender and utterly devastating.

“Then hold on, my Luna, because this is going to hurt.

” He pulled her close, tilting her head to expose her throat.

Margaret felt his breath hot against her skin.

felt every eye in the great hall watching them.

And then Preston’s teeth sank into her neck and the world exploded into light and pain and something so overwhelming she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel the pack bond rushing into her like a flood.

Hundreds of minds, hundreds of hearts, hundreds of souls suddenly connected to hers.

She felt their emotions, curiosity, skepticism, hope, love, fear, anger, all swirling together in a maelstrom that threatened to drown her.

And underneath it all, burning brighter than everything else combined, was Preston.

His love for her, his need, his absolute certainty that she was his and he was hers, and nothing would ever separate them.

Mine, his voice echoed in her mind.

My mate, my Luna, my love.

Margaret gasped as Preston pulled back, licking the wound to seal it.

Her legs gave out, but he caught her, holding her against his chest as the pack bond settled into something manageable.

A constant awareness at the back of her mind, a connection that would never break.

“Well,” Gerard said into the stunned silence.

I’d say the pack bond recognizes her because it did.

Margaret could feel it.

Hundreds of threads connecting her to every wolf in the hall.

Some were thin and tentative, others stronger, but they were there, real, undeniable.

She was pack now.

Luna in truth, not just name.

Arlene stood slowly, her expression unreadable.

Then, deliberately she bowed.

Welcome to the Northern Pack, Luna Margaret.

May your reign be long and your strength unwavering.

One by one, the rest of the council bowed.

And then the entire hall followed hundreds of wolves bending knee to their new queen.

Margaret, still cradled in Preston’s arms, felt tears slip down her cheeks.

Not from pain or fear, but from something she’d never experienced before.

Belonging.

For the first time in her life, Margaret Jordan belonged somewhere.

And no one, not Dolores, not the council, not anyone could take that away from her.

Chapter 5.

The witch’s shadow.

The celebration lasted until dawn.

Margaret had never experienced anything like it.

The pure, unbridled joy of hundreds of wolves welcoming her into the pack.

They brought food and drink, told stories of Preston’s reign, and one by one approached to introduce themselves properly.

Each touch a handshake, a brush of shoulders, a brief embrace strengthened the pack bond until Margaret could feel the northern territory like a living map in her mind.

She knew when scouts returned from patrol.

felt when mothers settled their children to sleep.

Sense the contentment of elders sharing memories by the fire.

It was overwhelming and beautiful and terrifying all at once.

“You’re doing well,” Preston murmured against her ear, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

They sat at the head table watching pack members dance to drums and flutes.

“Most new wolves take weeks to adjust to the bond.

You’ve managed it in hours.

I don’t feel like I’m managing, Margaret admitted, leaning into his warmth.

I feel like I’m drowning in emotions that aren’t mine.

They are yours now.

Preston pressed a kiss to her temple.

Every joy, every sorrow, every triumph and loss you’ll feel it all.

That’s what it means to be Luna.

His hand found hers under the table, their fingers lacing together.

But you don’t have to carry it alone.

I’m here always.

Margaret turned to look at him.

this impossible man, this king who’d claimed her so completely.

The mating bite on her neck throbbed with a pleasant heat, and she could feel Preston through their bond like a second heartbeat.

His love for her was a constant warmth, steady and unwavering.

I never thought I’d have this, she whispered.

Any of this.

Neither did I.

Preston’s eyes softened.

300 years, Margaret.

300 years of watching my pack find their mates while I remained alone.

I’d convinced myself it wasn’t meant for me, that perhaps I was too old, too damaged, too.

Stop.

Margaret interrupted, pressing her fingers to his lips.

“You’re none of those things.

You’re everything.

” Preston caught her hand, turning it to press a kiss to her palm.

The gesture was tender, intimate, and made heat pull low in her belly.

“Dance with me,” he said suddenly, standing and pulling her to her feet.

I don’t know how to dance, Margaret protested.

But Preston was already leading her into the center of the hall where other couples swayed to the music.

Then I’ll teach you.

He pulled her close.

One hand on her waist, the other holding hers.

Just follow my lead.

The dance was simpler than Margaret expected.

A slow swaying rhythm that required her to do little more than move with Preston’s body.

around them.

Pack members smiled and made space, their approval radiating through the bond.

They’re happy, Margaret said, surprised.

The pack, I can feel it.

They’re genuinely happy for us.

They’ve been waiting for this almost as long as I have.

Preston spun her gently, then pulled her back against his chest.

An alpha without a mate is only half of what he should be.

You complete me, Margaret.

You make me whole.

And the pack feels that.

Margaret rested her head against his shoulder, letting herself sink into the moment.

For the first time in her life, she felt safe, cherished, home.

But the peace didn’t last.

A sharp jolt of alarm shot through the pack bond, followed immediately by another and another.

Margaret gasped, stumbling as the emotions hit her.

Fear, urgency, danger.

Preston caught her, his body going rigid.

The perimeter scouts,” he said, his voice hard.

“Something’s wrong,” the music stopped.

Every wolf in the hall turned toward the entrance as a young scout burst through the doors, his chest heaving and eyes wild.

“Alpha!” the scout, Roberto Dixon, shouted, “The southern border, there’s magic, dark magic.

It’s spreading through the forest like poison.

” Preston released Margaret and strode toward Roberto, his entire demeanor shifting from lover to king in an instant.

How fast is it spreading? Fast.

It’s already consumed 2 mi of forest.

Everything it touches dyes, trees, animals, everything.

Roberto’s voice shook.

And there’s something else.

A message carved into the largest tree at the border.

What does it say? Gerard demanded, moving to Preston’s side.

Roberto swallowed hard.

Return what you stole or watch your territory burn.

You have three days.

D C.

The hall erupted into chaos.

Wolves shifted nervously, their fear feeding through the bond until Margaret felt like she couldn’t breathe.

She gripped the edge of the table, trying to ground herself as Preston’s fury blazed across their mating bond, hot and fierce and barely controlled.

Dolores Preston growled.

The words barely human.

She’s declaring war.

She wants the girl.

Arlene said, her icy gaze sliding to Margaret.

The Luna.

That’s what she means by what you stole.

She’s not a possession to be returned.

Preston snarled, rounding on the council elder.

Margaret is my mate, my Luna, and I will burn the entire realm to ash before I let that witch touch her, even if it costs us the territory.

Another council member, Clarence Horton, asked quietly.

Even if Dolores’s magic kills everything we’ve built.

Yes.

Preston’s voice was absolute.

Because without Margaret, none of it matters.

She’s not just my mate.

She’s Pack now.

And we don’t sacrifice Pack.

Not ever.

Margaret felt the weight of every eye in the hall turned to her.

Some looked at her with sympathy, others with barely concealed resentment.

She could feel their thoughts through the bond.

the fear that she’d brought destruction to their doorstep, the anger that their alpha might choose one woman over the survival of hundreds.

She couldn’t let Preston make that choice.

“What if I go to her?” Margaret heard herself say.

The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.

“What if I agree to meet with Dolores, talk to her? Maybe we can negotiate.

” “No.

” Preston moved so fast she didn’t see it coming, his hands gripping her shoulders.

“Absolutely not.

You’re not going anywhere near that witch.

But if it stops the magic if it saves the territory.

It won’t save anything, Preston interrupted, his eyes blazing.

Dolores doesn’t want to negotiate.

She wants to harvest your blood, break your magic, and use you like a battery until there’s nothing left.

And then she’ll kill you.

His grip tightened.

I will not lose you.

Not to her.

Not to anyone but the pack.

The pack will survive.

Gerard cut in his voice hard.

We’ve survived worse than dark magic.

We’ve survived wars, plagues, and centuries of human persecution.

Well survive this, too.

He looked at the gathered wolves.

Anyone who suggests handing our Luna over to a dark witch can take it up with me, and I promise that conversation will be brief and painful.

Murmurss of agreement rippled through the hall.

Margaret felt the pack’s resolve hardened through the bond, their determination to protect her, even at great cost.

It was humbling and terrifying in equal measure.

“What’s our strategy?” Preston asked, his kings voice steady despite the fury Margaret could feel raging beneath.

“How do we fight magic that kills on contact? We need a witch of our own,” Betty said, stepping forward from the crowd.

“Someone who understands Dolores’s magic and can counter it.

There are no witches in the Northern Territory, Arlene pointed out.

Not since the purge 50 years ago.

Then we find one.

Preston’s jaw clenched.

We send runners to every territory, every pack, every Wait.

Margaret’s voice was quiet, but something in it made everyone stop.

What if you already have a witch? Or at least someone with magic in her blood? Preston’s eyes widened.

Your healing gift.

I don’t know if it’s just healing, Margaret said slowly, her mind racing.

When I broke your chains, I felt something more, something deeper.

My grandmother could heal, yes, but the stories my father told.

She touched her pendant, feeling it warm beneath her fingers.

She could do other things, too.

Grow plants from nothing, purify poisoned water, even stop dark magic when it threatened her village.

You’re saying you might be able to stop Dolores’s curse? Gerard’s voice was skeptical but hopeful.

I’m saying I might be able to try.

Margaret looked at Preston, seeing the war raging in his eyes, his desire to protect her waring with the desperate hope that she might save them all.

But I’d need to understand my magic first.

Really understand it? And I’d need to do it fast.

3 days, Regelio said grimly.

That’s all Dolores gave us.

Then we have three days to turn a dormant healer into a weapon, Preston said, his voice hard with determination.

He looked at Margaret.

And she saw both fear and pride in his expression.

Can you do it? Margaret thought of her grandmother, who’d healed the sick and protected the weak.

She thought of her father, who’d died believing his daughter was ordinary.

She thought of every time Dolores had looked at her with contempt, never realizing what she was dismissing.

I can try, Margaret said.

But I’ll need help.

Someone who knows magic, who can guide me.

I can help with that.

The voice came from the back of the hall.

The crowd parted to reveal a woman Margaret hadn’t noticed before, ancient beyond measure, her skin like weathered parchment, and her eyes milky with cataracts.

But there was power radiating from her, old and vast and undeniable.

Millie Yates, Preston breathed, bowing his head in respect.

I thought you’d passed into the long sleep.

Nearly did.

Millie rasped, shuffling forward with the aid of a gnarled staff.

But then I felt new magic awaken in the territory.

Healer’s blood, pure and strong.

She stopped before Margaret, tilting her head as if seeing through those clouded eyes.

“You’re the one.

The girl who broke the impossible curse.

” “Yes,” Margaret whispered, feeling power roll off the old woman in waves.

Good.

Milliey’s smile revealed gaps where teeth should have been.

Then we have work to do and very little time to do it in.

They began that very night.

Millie led Margaret to a chamber deep beneath the stronghold, a place of stone and shadows where the pack bond felt muted, distant.

Crystals lined the walls, glowing with soft phosphoresence, and the air smelled of earth and old magic.

This is the heart of the territory, Millie explained, settling onto a cushion with a groan.

Where the pack’s power is strongest, where your connection to the land will be clearest.

She gestured for Margaret to sit opposite her.

Now tell me what you felt when you broke Preston’s chains.

Margaret closed her eyes, remembering pain like fire in my veins, but also a recognition like the curse knew what I was and I knew what it was.

We were opposites.

My magic wanted to heal and the curse wanted to destroy.

So they fought and your magic won.

Millie said, “Because healing is more powerful than harm when wielded properly.

Destruction is easy, creation is hard, and restoration,” she chuckled.

“That’s the hardest magic of all, but I don’t know how I did it,” Margaret admitted.

“It just happened.

I touched the chains and my pendant got hot and suddenly I was breaking them without knowing how.

” “The pendant?” Millie held out her hand.

“May I?” Margaret hesitated, then lifted the chain over her head and placed the silver pendant in Milliey’s palm.

The old woman held it close to her face, examining it with those clouded eyes.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Oh, this is old.

Very old prekingdom old.

” She traced the engraved wolf on the pendant surface.

“This isn’t just jewelry, child.

It’s a focus, a channel for your family’s magic.

” She handed it back carefully.

Your grandmother must have been powerful indeed to bind her gift into silver like this.

Margaret clasped the pendant, feeling its warmth pulse against her palm.

She died before I was born.

My father said she used the last of her strength to create this to protect me.

She knew, Millie said softly.

Knew that dark times were coming.

Knew you’d need every advantage you could get.

Her expression hardened.

Now, we need to teach you to use it properly because Dolores isn’t playing games, child.

That magic spreading through the forest.

It’s a death curse specifically designed to kill wolves.

Horror washed through Margaret.

She’s not trying to destroy the territory.

She’s trying to destroy the pack.

Exactly.

Kill enough of us and Preston will have no choice but to hand you over to save the survivors.

Milliey’s clouded eyes seem to sharpen.

She’s counting on his love for you to be his weakness.

on him choosing you over his people.

But he won’t, Margaret said, feeling the truth of it through their bond.

He’ll choose the pack.

That’s what an alpha does.

Which means you need to give him a third option.

Millie placed her weathered hands over Margaret’s, the pendant trapped between their palms.

You need to learn to fight Dolores’s magic with your own, to heal what she’s poisoned, to restore what she’s destroyed.

Her grip tightened, and you have 3 days to learn what should take years.

That’s impossible.

So was breaking an alpha binding curse.

Milliey’s smile was sharp.

But you did it anyway, because impossible is just another word for hasn’t been done yet.

She closed her eyes.

Now feel the magic in your blood, not the pendant’s magic yours, the gift your grandmother passed down.

Feel it sleeping in your veins, waiting to be awakened.

Margaret closed her eyes and searched inside herself.

At first, she felt nothing but her own heartbeat, her own breath.

But then, slowly, she began to sense something else, a warmth that wasn’t quite physical, a presence that wasn’t quite thoughts.

Magic.

Her magic.

It felt like sunlight on skin.

Like the first green shoots of spring, like the moment a wound closes and becomes a scar.

It felt like life itself.

Pure and potent and waiting.

I feel it.

Margaret whispered.

Good.

Now reach for it.

Pull it forward.

Let it fill you until you’re overflowing with it.

Margaret pulled and the magic responded, flooding through her body like a river breaking through a dam.

She gasped, her back arching as power surged into every cell.

The pendant flared hot against her chest, amplifying the magic until Margaret felt like she was made of light.

Control it.

Millie barked.

Don’t let it control you.

You’re the master here.

The magic is your tool, not your master.

Margaret gritted her teeth, trying to reign in the power.

It fought her wild and untamed, but gradually, painfully, she managed to shape it, to direct it, to make it obey.

When she finally opened her eyes, the chamber was glowing.

The crystals in the walls blazed with light, responding to her magic, and her hands, her hands were wathed in soft golden radiance.

“Well,” Millie said, satisfaction thickened her voice.

“That’s a start.

” They worked through the night and into the next day.

Millie pushed Margaret to her limits and beyond, teaching her to sense magic in the environment, to purify corrupted water, to accelerate the healing of wounded plants.

Each exercise left Margaret exhausted, drained, but also stronger, more confident.

By the second night, Margaret could feel the death curse spreading through the forest.

It crawled across the land like a living thing, killing everything it touched.

Through the pack bond, she felt the wolves growing fear as the curse drew closer to the heart of their territory.

“We’re running out of time,” Margaret said, watching green light pulse in her palms.

“The curse will reach the stronghold by tomorrow night.

Then tomorrow we test your training,” Millie said.

“We go to the border.

You face Dolores’s magic directly.

” Her expression was grim.

“And we see if you’re strong enough to stop it.

” Preston found Margaret that evening in their chambers, sitting by the window and watching the forest.

She felt him before she heard him, his presence a warm weight through their bond.

“You should be resting,” he said quietly, moving to stand behind her.

His hands settled on her shoulders, strong and steady.

“I can’t rest.

Not while the curse is killing the forest.

” Margaret leaned back against him.

“Every hour we wait, more dies.

More of your territory is lost.

It’s just land, Margaret.

Trees and dirt.

It can be reclaimed.

Preston pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

You’re what matters.

If this is too much, if you need more time, we don’t have more time.

Margaret turned to face him, taking his hands in hers.

Tomorrow, I’m going to the border.

I’m going to face Dolores’s curse, and I’m going to stop it.

Fear flashed across Preston’s face bright and sharp through their bond.

You don’t know if you can.

I know I have to try.

Margaret stood, cupping his face with both hands.

Because I’m Luna now.

These are my people, too.

And I won’t let Dolores destroy them just to get to me.

Preston closed his eyes, his jaw clenching.

I could lose you.

You won’t.

Margaret pressed her forehead to his.

Because I have you.

Because I have the pack.

Because I have magic in my blood and stubbornness in my heart.

She smiled slightly.

And because I’m done being the victim of Dolores’s games.

It’s time to fight back.

Preston’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.

Then I’m coming with you.

Every step of the way.

I wouldn’t have it any other way, Margaret whispered.

They stood together in the darkness, holding each other as the death curse crept closer.

Tomorrow would bring the real test not of Margaret’s magic, but of her courage, her strength, her right to be Luna, and somewhere beyond the border, Dolores waited, certain that her stepdaughter would break.

But Margaret Jordan had been breaking her whole life, and she’d learned that broken things could be the sharpest weapons of all.

Chapter 6.

The border of death.

Dawn broke gray and cold over the Northern Territory.

Margaret stood at the edge of the stronghold, watching warriors prepare for the journey to the southern border.

They moved with grim efficiency, checking weapons, securing supplies, their faces set with determination.

Through the pack bond, she felt their emotions fear mixed with loyalty, doubt tempered by duty.

They were going to war, and she was the reason.

“Stop that,” Preston said, appearing at her side.

He dressed for battle, leather armor reinforced with steel.

weapons strapped to his body.

He looked every inch the warrior king.

I can feel your guilt through the bond.

This isn’t your fault, isn’t it? Margaret touched the mating bite on her neck.

Still tender.

If I hadn’t freed you, if I just walked away, then I’d be dead and Dolores would still be out there plotting God’s know what.

Preston caught her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

You didn’t create this situation, Margaret.

You simply revealed it.

Dolores has been our enemy for decades.

We just didn’t know it until now.

She used me, Margaret whispered.

Married my father to get close to me.

Waited years for my magic to manifest.

All of it was calculated, which makes her even more dangerous.

Gerard approached, his massive frame casting a shadow.

A witch who plans decades ahead is not one to be underestimated.

He looked at Margaret, his expression serious.

You sure you’re ready for this, Luna? What you’re about to attempt, it’s never been done.

Not even by the most powerful healers in history.

I’m sure I have to try.

Margaret corrected.

Whether I’m ready or not.

Gerard studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

That’ll do.

He glanced at Preston.

The scouting party is ready.

20 warriors, all volunteers.

They know the risks.

Good.

Preston’s hand found Margaret’s, their fingers lacing together.

“Millie, here, Alpha.

” The ancient witch shuffled forward, leaning heavily on her staff.

Despite her frail appearance, power radiated from her in waves.

“I’ve prepared what protections I can.

Amulets for the warriors to shield them from the worst of the death curse.

But they won’t last long, an hour, maybe two.

Will that be enough time?” Preston asked Margaret.

Margaret thought of everything Millie had taught her over the past two days.

the exercises, the meditations, the brutal training that had pushed her magic to its limits.

She’d learned so much, but was it enough? “It has to be,” she said simply.

The journey to the southern border took 3 hours, 3 hours of descending through increasingly dead forest.

“The change was gradual at first.

Trees with browning leaves, grass that crunched beneath their feet despite the morning dew.

But as they drew closer to the border, the destruction became absolute.

Everything was dead.

Trees stood like skeletal monuments, their bark black and cracking.

The ground was ash gray, devoid of any plant life.

Even the air tasted wrong, stale, and lifeless, as if something fundamental had been stripped away.

And the smell, gods, the smell of rot and decay was overwhelming.

This is what Dolores’s magic does, Millie said quietly, her clouded eyes somehow seeing more than those with perfect vision.

It doesn’t just kill, it consumes.

Takes the very life force from the land and feeds on it like a parasite.

Margaret felt sick.

This was the woman who’d raised her, who’d smiled sweetly while serving dinner, then locked Margaret in the cellar for breaking a plate, who’d pretended to care while slowly, methodically destroying everything Margaret loved.

“How far does the curse extend?” Preston asked Roberto, who’d been scouting ahead, 2 mi in every direction along the border.

Roberto reported.

And it’s still spreading slowly but steadily.

At this rate, it’ll reach the stronghold in 36 hours.

Less time than Margaret had thought.

They pressed forward until they reached the true border marked by a line of ancient stones that had stood for millennia.

Beyond those stones, the death was absolute.

Not a single blade of grass survived.

Not a single insect buzzed.

and carved into the largest tree a massive oak that had been ancient when kingdoms were young were the words Dolores had promised.

“Return what you stole or watch everything die.

” “Two days remain.

” “D C She’s counting down,” Gerard growled, taunting us.

“No,” Margaret said, studying the message.

“She’s creating pressure, making us desperate.

Desperate people make mistakes.

” She stepped forward, approaching the border.

The moment she crossed the line of stones, nausea rolled through her.

The death curse wasn’t just environmental, it was metaphysical.

It pushed against her magic like oil against water, trying to corrupt what she was.

Margaret, Preston grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

Don’t.

I need to feel it.

Margaret interrupted, her voice strained.

Need to understand how it works before I can counter it.

She pressed her hand to her chest where her pendant hung warm beneath her tunic.

Millie, what am I feeling? Millie had crossed the border with her, seemingly unaffected by the curse.

Void magic, the opposite of creation.

It’s not evil exactly.

It’s simply the absence of life.

The negative space where existence should be.

She tapped her staff against the dead ground.

Most magic can be fought with opposing magic.

Fire with water, darkness with light.

But void magic? She shook her head.

You can’t fight nothing with something.

You have to fill the void.

Replace what was taken.

Fill an entire 2-m radius.

Gerard’s voice was skeptical.

That would require more power than than one person has.

Millie agreed.

Which is why Margaret won’t be doing it alone.

She looked at Preston meaningfully.

Understanding dawned in Preston’s eyes.

The pack bond.

Exactly.

Milliey’s smile was sharp.

Aluna is connected to every member of her pack.

Their strength is her strength.

Their life force is her life force.

If Margaret can channel the pack’s energy through the bond, she might have enough power to counter Dolores’s curse.

Might.

Preston’s voice was dangerous.

Magic is not an exact science.

Alpha.

Milliey’s expression turns serious.

What Margaret is about to attempt has never been done because it’s extraordinarily dangerous.

If she draws too much from the pack, she could kill them.

If she doesn’t draw enough, the void magic will consume her instead.

She needs to find the perfect balance, and she needs to do it.

While fighting off a curse specifically designed to kill wolves, Margaret felt every eye turned to her.

Through the pack bond, she sensed their fear, their doubt, their hope.

They were trusting her with their lives.

All of them.

I need you to understand something, Margaret said, addressing the warriors who’d accompanied them.

If I fail, if this goes wrong, some of you might die.

Not from Dolores’s curse, but from me.

From my magic draining too much of your life force.

She swallowed hard.

I’m asking you to trust me with more than your safety.

I’m asking you to trust me with your very existence.

Silence.

The warriors looked at each other, then at Preston, then back at Margaret.

Finally, Gerard spoke.

We’re wolves, Luna.

We live and die as pack.

If you need our strength to save the territory, then take it.

All of it.

If necessary, he dropped to one knee.

We trust you.

One by one, the other warriors knelt.

20 wolves bowing before their Luna.

Margaret felt tears burn her eyes.

“I’ll try not to let you down.

You won’t,” Preston said, his voice rough with emotion.

“Because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.

And because you have an entire pack standing with you,” he cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a tear.

“Do what you need to do, Margaret.

We’ll be right here.

” Margaret nodded, steadying herself.

She stepped fully across the border into the heart of the dead zone.

The void magic pressed against her immediately cold and hungry and wrong.

She could feel it trying to leech the life from her body to reduce her to the same ash that covered the ground.

But she had something Dolores hadn’t counted on.

She had a pack.

Margaret closed her eyes and reached for the pack bond that web of connections linking her to hundreds of wolves across the territory.

She felt them respond immediately, their attention focusing on her like a spotlight.

I need your help.

She sent through the bond.

her mental voice clear.

I need your strength, your life force.

Trust me, and together we can heal what Dolores has broken.

The response was immediate and overwhelming.

Power flooded through the bond, not just from the 20 warriors present, but from every wolf in the Northern Territory.

Mothers nursing pups, elders resting in the sun, warriors training in the yards.

Even children, their young magic bright and pure, they all gave her their strength.

Margaret gasped as the power filled her, far more than she’d ever channeled before.

Her body lit up like a star, golden light blazing from her skin.

The pendant around her neck grew hot, not burning, but warm like summer sunshine.

Now, Millie shouted, “Chan it into the land.

Pour life back into the void.

” Margaret dropped to her knees and pressed her palms against the dead earth.

The power flowed through her like a river from the pack, through her body, into the ground.

She felt the void magic resist.

Felt it try to consume what she offered.

But life was stronger than death.

Creation was more powerful than destruction.

The ground beneath her hands began to warm, then to tremble, and then green.

A single blade of grass pushed through the ash, tiny and perfect and impossibly alive.

Then another, and another.

The green spread outward from where Margaret knelt, racing across the dead zone like wildfire in reverse.

Grass became saplings.

Saplings became trees.

Dead bark cracked and fell away, revealing healthy wood beneath.

The forest was healing, but it was costing her.

Margaret felt the drain intensely.

Not just her own energy, but the packs.

Through the bond, she felt wolves stumbling, weakening, some even collapsing.

She was taking too much, pushing too hard.

Stop.

Preston’s voice commanded through their bond.

You’re killing them.

You’re killing yourself.

Almost done.

Margaret sent back, gritting her teeth.

Just a little more.

The void magic surged, fighting back with renewed fury.

Dolores had felt the healing.

Margaret realized felt her curse being undone.

And now the witch was pouring more power into the spell, trying to overwhelm Margaret’s magic through sheer force.

It was working.

The green began to retreat.

Trees that had been healthy seconds ago started to wither.

The void was winning.

Margaret, stop.

Gerard’s voice, desperate.

You’ve done enough.

Pull back.

But Margaret couldn’t stop.

If she stopped now, the curse would spread even faster.

Would reach the stronghold within hours instead of days.

Would kill everyone she’d come to love.

She pulled deeper from the pack, drawing more power than she’d ever attempted.

Wolves began to scream through the bond, not in pain, but in warning.

She was draining them past their limits.

“Stop!” Preston’s command was absolute, the alpha’s voice that couldn’t be disobeyed.

“That’s an order,” Margaret.

“Stop now or what?” a new voice said, cold and familiar and filled with dark amusement.

or you’ll let your mate kill your entire pack trying to save them.

” Margaret’s eyes snapped open.

Standing 20 ft away.

On the other side of the expanding green was Dolores Culie.

Her stepmother looked exactly as Margaret remembered beautiful in a cold, calculated way.

Golden hair perfect despite the dead forest around her.

Green eyes sharp with intelligence and cruelty.

She wore robes of deep purple and power radiated from her in waves that made Margaret’s skin crawl.

Hello, Margaret,” Dolores said, her smile sweet and poisonous.

“Did you really think you could heal my curse? This spell took me 3 years to perfect.

It’ss designed to consume healing magic and grow stronger from it.

” She took a step forward, and the green grass at her feet withered to ash.

Every bit of power you pour into the land feeds my spell, makes it hungrier, more resilient.

Margaret stared at her stepmother, horror washing through her.

She’d been playing directly into Dolores’s hands, feeding the curse instead of fighting it.

You used her, Preston snarled, moving to Margaret’s side.

His body rippled, preparing to shift.

You knew she’d try to heal the forest.

Counted on it.

Of course, I did.

Dolores’s smile widened.

I raised the girl.

I know exactly how her foolish mind works.

She’s a healer.

She can’t help but try to fix broken things.

It’s her fatal flaw.

She looked at Margaret with something that might have been pity.

You were always so predictable, stepdaughter.

Always trying to save creatures that would never love you back.

Always believing that kindness mattered.

Rage burned through Margaret’s chest hot and clean and overwhelming.

Not just her rage, but the packs.

They’d trusted her, given her their strength, and she’d nearly killed them trying to heal an unhealable curse.

“What do you want?” Margaret asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

what I’ve always wanted.

Dolores raised her hand and dark magic swirled around her fingers like smoke.

Your blood, your magic, your life force.

Her expression hardened.

Come with me willingly and I’ll stop the curse.

I’ll spare the pack.

You have my word.

Your word is worth nothing.

Preston growled.

Perhaps.

Dolores shrugged.

But it’s the only chance these wolves have.

Because in She glanced at the sky, approximately 10 minutes, my curse will reach critical mass.

The void magic will consume not just the border, but the entire territory.

Every tree, every animal, every wolf, all of it will become ash.

She smiled.

Unless Margaret comes with me right now.

Through the pack bond, Margaret felt the warrior’s despair.

felt the distant panic of mothers gathering their children.

Felt Preston’s fury and fear waring inside him.

She’d failed.

Despite all her training, all her power, she’d failed.

“Margaret, no,” Preston said, reading her expression.

“Don’t you dare.

I have to,” Margaret interrupted quietly.

“You know I do.

There has to be another way.

” “There isn’t.

” Margaret turned to face him, memorizing every detail of his face.

“And we both know it.

Either I go with Dolores or everyone dies.

That’s not a choice, Preston.

That’s fate finally catching up with me.

Then I’m coming with you, Preston said, his voice absolute.

Wherever you go, I go.

That’s what mates do.

No.

Margaret pressed her hand to his chest, feeling his heart race beneath her palm.

You stay here.

You protect the pack.

You survive, Preston.

Because they need you.

And because.

Her voice broke.

Because I need to know you’re out there, that you’re okay, even if I’m not.

Tears streaked down Preston’s face the first time she’d seen him cry.

I can’t lose you.

Not after finally finding you.

Not after 300 years of Margaret kissed him.

Hard and desperate and final.

She poured everything she felt into that kiss.

Her love, her fear, her grief for the life they’d never have.

When she pulled back, Preston’s eyes were blazing gold, his wolf barely contained.

I will come for you, he said.

The words both promise and threat.

Wherever she takes you, whatever she does to you, I will find you.

I will save you.

And I will tear Dolores Culie apart with my bare hands.

I know, Margaret whispered.

But until then, live Preston.

For both of us, she turned away before her courage could fail and walked toward Dolores.

Each step felt like walking through quicksand, like her body was refusing to cooperate.

Behind her, she heard Preston howl, a sound of pure anguish that echoed across the dead forest and stabbed through her heart.

The pack howled with him, hundreds of voices raised in grief for their Luna.

Dolores smiled as Margaret approached.

“Good girl! Always so predictable!” She grabbed Margaret’s wrist, her grip iron strong.

Dark magic flared around them both, and Margaret felt the world begin to shift and distort.

They were teleporting, being pulled away from the Northern Territory through some kind of magical transportation.

In the last second before they vanished, Margaret looked back at Preston.

She saw him shift into wolf form, saw Gerard and the other warriors holding him back as he tried to reach her.

I love you, she sent through their bond.

One final message.

Never forget that.

Margaret Preston’s mental voice was a roar of fury and grief.

And then the world dissolved into darkness, and Margaret Jordan Luna of the Northern Pack, mate to the Alpha King, was gone.

Dragged into whatever hell Dolores Culie had prepared for her.

The curse at the border flickered, then began to recede.

True to her word, Dolores was pulling back the void magic, but Preston barely noticed.

He stood in the clearing, his massive wolf form shaking with rage and grief, and howled until his voice was raw.

His mate was gone, and he had no idea how to get her back.

Chapter 7.

The Witch’s Tower.

Margaret woke to the smell of herbs and old magic.

Her head throbbed, and her body felt like she’d been dragged behind a horse for miles.

She tried to move and discovered her wrists were bound with iron chains.

Not the cursed chains that had held Preston, but ordinary iron that bit into her skin with cold efficiency.

Awake at last.

Dolores’s voice came from somewhere to her right.

I was beginning to worry I’d use too much seditive.

It would be terribly inconvenient if you died before I could harvest your magic.

Margaret forced her eyes open.

She was in a circular room, a tower, judging by the curved walls and narrow windows that showed nothing but gray sky.

Shelves lined every available surface, crowded with bottles, books, and objects she didn’t want to identify.

A workbench dominated the center of the room, covered in magical instruments that gleamed in the lamp light.

And standing beside that workbench, organizing knives and vials with methodical precision, was Dolores.

“Where are we?” Margaret asked, her voice.

my sanctuary, the place where I do my real work, far from the prying eyes of foolish villagers.

Dolores didn’t look up from her preparations.

We’re at least 50 mi from the northern territory.

Far enough that your wolf king won’t find you.

At least not before I’m finished with you.

Terror tried to claw its way up Margaret’s throat, but she swallowed it down.

Fear wouldn’t help her now.

You promised to stop the curse, and I did.

You’ll notice you’re not dead, which means Preston and his pack aren’t either.

Dolores finally looked at her, green eyes cold.

I always keep my word, Margaret.

It’s one of the few honorable traits I possess.

I said I’d spare the pack if you came willingly, and I have.

For how long? Margaret pushed herself into a sitting position despite the chains.

How long before you attack them again? That depends entirely on how cooperative you are.

Dolores selected a thin blade, testing its edge against her thumb.

A drop of blood welled up, and she smiled.

“If you give me what I need without resistance, I might let the wolves live peacefully for years, decades even.

But if you fight me, if you make this difficult, she let the threat hang.

” “Well, accidents happen.

Curses sometimes slip control.

Entire territories have been known to vanish.

” Margaret’s hands clenched into fists.

You’re threatening to kill hundreds of innocent people because of me.

I’m explaining consequences.

Dolores set down the blade and approached, kneeling so they were eye level.

You have magic in your blood, Margaret.

Magic.

I’ve spent years positioning myself to access.

Your father was merely a stepping stone, a way to get close to you and your grandmother’s legacy.

His death was unfortunate but necessary.

The casual way Dolores spoke of murdering Margaret’s father made rage burn hotter in her chest.

He loved you.

He loved an illusion.

Dolores’s expression didn’t change.

I gave him what he wanted.

A beautiful wife, a mother for his daughter, a normal life, and in return, I got access to you to watch you to wait for your magic to manifest.

She tilted her head.

I almost gave up.

You know, 23 years of waiting for even a flicker of power.

I’d started to think your grandmother’s blood had been too diluted, that you were just another useless human.

But then you cursed Preston, Margaret said, understanding dawning.

You used him as bait.

Knew I’d eventually wander into that forest.

Not new, hoped.

Dolores stood, pacing around Margaret like a predator circling prey.

I’d been monitoring the forbidden forest for years.

When I finally captured the alpha king, it was almost too perfect.

I cursed him with a binding that would take months to kill him, then waited.

Sent rumors through the village about wolves crying in pain.

Paid children to report strange sounds near the border.

Her smile was cruel, and sure enough, eventually my soft-hearted step-daughter couldn’t resist investigating.

Margaret felt sick.

Every moment of that night in the forest, every decision she’d made had been orchestrated by Dolores.

She hadn’t saved Preston through chance or fate.

She’d been manipulated into it.

You wanted me to break the curse, Margaret whispered.

Wanted me to awaken my magic.

Dormant magic is useless to me.

I needed you to manifest your power.

And what better catalyst than breaking an impossible curse.

Dolores’s eyes gleamed.

And it worked even better than I’d hoped.

Not only did you awaken your gift, you bound yourself to the most powerful alpha in the realm.

Do you know how much power flows through a completed mating bond, how much life force you now have access to through your connection to the pack? Understanding crashed over Margaret like a wave.

You want the pack bond.

You want to use my connection to them to to harvest their collective magic.

Yes.

Dolores returned to her workbench, selecting a crystal vial.

Individually, werewolves are powerful but limited.

But collectively, channeled through their Luna, she held up the vial, which swirled with dark energy.

That’s the kind of power that can reshape the world.

Make me immortal, unstoppable.

It’ll kill them, Margaret said, horror washing through her.

Draining that much magic through the bond will kill every wolf in the Northern Territory.

Eventually, yes.

Dolores examined the vial critically, but it will take weeks, perhaps months.

Plenty of time for me to accomplish my goals.

And by then, she shrugged.

By then, you’ll be dead anyway.

So, their fate won’t matter to you.

The casual cruelty of it, the cold calculation made Margaret want to scream.

This was the woman who’d tucked her into bed as a child, who’d made her breakfast and mended her clothes and smiled that empty smile that never reached her eyes.

This was the woman who’d stolen years of her life, killed her father, and was now planning to murder hundreds more.

“I won’t help you,” Margaret said, her voice steady despite her terror.

“Whatever you’re planning, I won’t cooperate.

You don’t have a choice.

” Dolores moved with sudden speed, grabbing Margaret’s face and forcing her to look into those cold green eyes.

I don’t need your permission, step-daughter.

I just need your blood and your bond.

The rest is irrelevant.

She released Margaret roughly, but I’d prefer you conscious for the initial extraction.

The magic flows more freely when the vessel is aware.

Vessel, Margaret repeated flatly.

Is that all I am to you? A container for magic? That’s all you’ve ever been.

Dolores returned to her preparations, dismissing Margaret entirely now.

Be quiet.

I need to concentrate on the ritual preparations.

The blood moon rises in 3 hours, and everything must be perfect.

Margaret sat in her chains, watching Dolores work.

The witch moved with practiced efficiency, drawing symbols on the floor with chalk and crushed herbs, arranging candles in specific patterns, chanting in a language that made Margaret’s teeth ache.

This was it.

Margaret realized this was how she died.

Drained of magic in some tower in the middle of nowhere.

While Preston and the pack suffered the same fate through their bond to her, unless she found a way to stop it, Margaret closed her eyes and reached for the pack bond cautiously, testing to see if it still worked.

The connection was there, muted by distance and Dolores’s magic, but present.

She could feel Preston, his grief and rage, a constant pulse.

could feel the packs fear as they realized their Luna had been taken.

Preston, she sent carefully, not sure if her thoughts would reach him.

Can you hear me? Nothing.

The distance was too great.

Or Dolores’s tower was shielded.

Or Margaret.

Preston’s mental voice exploded through the bond so loud she flinched.

“Where are you? Are you hurt? I’m coming for you.

I swear I’m Stop.

” Margaret interrupted, opening her eyes to make sure Dolores hadn’t noticed anything.

The witch was still focused on her ritual, oblivious.

You can’t come here.

It’s too dangerous.

Dolores has this place warded and she’s planning something.

I don’t care about the danger.

Tell me where you are.

I don’t know.

Somewhere far from the territory.

A tower.

Margaret struggled to send more details through the bond.

Preston.

She’s going to use my connection to the pack to drain all of you to harvest your collective magic.

If you come here, you’ll just make it easier for her.

Silence.

Then then we sever the bond.

What if the bond is what she needs? We break it.

Cut the connection between us before she can use it.

Preston’s mental voice was rough with pain.

It will hurt might kill us both, but it’s better than letting her succeed.

No.

Margaret whispered aloud, then caught herself.

She glanced at Dolores, but the witch was still engrossed in her work.

“We’re not severing the bond,” Margaret sent firmly.

“That’s not a solution.

That’s surrender.

And I didn’t survive 23 years of Dolores’s cruelty just to give up now.

Then what do you suggest?” Preston’s frustration bled through the bond.

“Because from where I’m standing, every option ends with you dead.

” Margaret looked around the tower, her mind racing.

Dolores had made one crucial mistake.

She chained Margaret with ordinary iron, not cursed chains, which meant Margaret’s magic was still accessible, dormant, yes, and untrained for combat, but present.

And Millie had taught her something important over those two days of training.

Healing magic was the opposite of destruction magic.

Light versus void, life versus death.

But what if healing magic could be weaponized? Preston, I need you to trust me, Margaret sent.

And I need you to keep the pack calm.

No rescue attempts.

No heroics.

Just wait and be ready.

Ready for what? For me to turn the tables on Dolores Before Preston could respond, Dolores looked up sharply.

You’re very quiet over there.

Not plotting anything foolish, I hope.

Would it matter if I was? Margaret asked, keeping her voice neutral.

You said yourself.

I’m just a vessel.

My thoughts are irrelevant.

Dolores studied her for a long moment, suspicion flickering across her face.

Then she smiled cold and knowing.

You’re thinking about that little trick you learned from Millie Yates, aren’t you? Thinking you can use your healing magic against me somehow? She laughed.

I’ve been practicing dark magic for two centuries, child.

I know every counter to healing magic ever devised.

Whatever you’re planning won’t work, probably not.

Margaret agreed.

But I have to try because that’s what I do.

I try to fix broken things.

Even when it’s hopeless, even when it costs me everything.

She met Dolores’s eyes.

You taught me that actually.

Years of watching you scheme and plot and manipulate.

Years of seeing how cruel people win through patience and preparation.

Her smile was sharp.

So, thank you, stepmother.

For the education, Dolores’s expression darkened.

Careful, Margaret.

That almost sounded like a threat.

Not a threat.

A promise.

Margaret leaned back against the wall, chains clinking.

You’re going to lose.

Maybe not today.

Maybe not even this week, but eventually you’re going to lose because you made one fatal mistake.

And what’s that? You made me angry.

Margaret’s voice was soft but absolute.

And angry healers are the most dangerous creatures in the world.

Because we know exactly how bodies work, exactly where to hurt people, exactly how to break them beyond repair.

She tilted her head.

So go ahead with your ritual, Dolores.

Drain my magic.

Use the pack bond.

Do whatever you think will make you powerful.

Margaret smiled.

and it was a terrible thing.

All teeth and fury and promises of violence.

But know that if I survive even a minute past your ritual, I’m going to use everything you taught me, every lesson in cruelty, every demonstration of ruthlessness, and I’m going to turn it back on you.

I’m going to heal you just enough to keep you alive, and then I’m going to break you.

Peace.

Bye.

Peace.

Silence filled the tower.

Dolores stared at her stepdaughter, and for the first time in their long, twisted relationship, something flickered across her face.

That might have been fear.

“Well,” the witch said finally, her voice carefully controlled.

“Perhaps you’re not as soft as I thought.

I was never soft,” Margaret corrected.

“I was just kind.

” “And you spent 23 years confusing the two.

” She leaned forward as far as her chains allowed.

But kindness and weakness aren’t the same thing, stepmother.

Something you’re about to learn the hard way.

Dolores turned back to her ritual preparations.

But Margaret saw the tension in her shoulders, saw the way her hands move just a fraction faster, less certain.

Good.

Let her be afraid.

Because Margaret Jordan had spent her entire life being underestimated, being dismissed as weak, forgettable, worthless.

But she’d broken an impossible curse.

Become Luna to the most powerful pack in the realm.

Awakened magic that had slept for generations.

And she was done being anyone’s victim.

Through the pack bond, she felt Preston’s fierce pride mixing with his fear.

Felt the warriors readying themselves for battle despite her orders to wait.

Felt the entire northern territory holding its breath, hoping their Luna would survive.

I will, Margaret promised them silently.

I’ll survive this and then I’m coming home.

The blood moon began to rise outside the tower windows, painting the world in shades of crimson.

And in that tower, two women prepared for war.

One with centuries of dark magic and ruthless ambition.

The other with newly awakened power and a fury that had been building for 23 years.

Only one would walk away.

And Margaret Jordan intended to make damn sure it was her.

Chapter 8.

The blood moon ritual.

The blood moon reached its zenith and Dolores began the ritual.

Margaret watched as her stepmother moved through the tower with deliberate precision, lighting candles one by one.

Each flame sparked to life with unnatural red light, casting dancing shadows across the chalk symbols drawn on the floor.

The air grew thick with magic, dark and oily, pressing against Margaret’s skin like a physical weight.

The blood moon occurs only once every seven years, Dolores explained as she worked.

her voice taking on the tone of a teacher lecturing a particularly slow student.

It’s the one night when the barrier between life and death grows thin.

When magic that should be impossible becomes merely difficult, she lit the final candle, completing a circle around Margaret.

And when harvesting life force from bonded creatures becomes exponentially more efficient, Margaret tested the chains again, pulling against them experimentally.

The iron held firm, biting deeper into her wrists.

She needed to time this perfectly.

Wait until Dolores was committed to the ritual, distracted by her own magic, before making her move.

You’re wasting your energy, Dolores said without looking at her.

Those chains are reinforced with binding spells.

Even if you break free, you won’t make it out of this tower alive.

I have wards on every window, every door, every every escape route.

Margaret finished.

I know.

You’re thorough.

You always were.

She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Remember when I was 12? When I tried to run away after you locked me in the cellar for 3 days? Dolores paused in her preparations, a small smile crossing her lips.

“You made it almost 5 miles before I found you.

I was impressed, actually.

Most children would have given up after one.

You dragged me back and broke my arm, Margaret said quietly.

Told the village doctor I’d fallen from a tree.

A necessary lesson.

Dolores selected a ceremonial dagger from her workbench, its blade gleaming with runes.

You needed to understand that running was futile.

That I would always find you, always bring you back.

She turned to face Margaret fully.

And here we are years later, and the lesson still holds true.

You ran to the wolves and I brought you back just like always.

The difference is I’m not 12 anymore, Margaret said.

I’m not helpless and I’m definitely not afraid of you.

You should be.

Dolores moved to stand before her, dagger in hand, because in approximately 10 minutes, I’m going to cut your palm open and use your blood to activate the harvesting spell.

The pack bond will flare to life, connecting me directly to every wolf in the Northern Territory.

And then I’m going to drain them all slowly, painfully, and completely.

Her smile widened.

And you’re going to feel every second of it.

Every wolf that dies, every scream, every moment of agony.

You’ll feel it through the bond like it’s happening to you.

Margaret’s hands clenched into fists.

Preston will stop you.

Preston is 50 mi away with no idea where to find you.

By the time he even begins searching, it will be over.

Dolores knelt beside Margaret, bringing the dagger close to her face.

I’ve won stepdaughter.

Accept it.

Through the pack bond, Margaret felt Preston’s fury spike.

Felt him trying to send strength, comfort, anything to help her.

But the distance and Dolores’s wards muted the connection, turning it into barely a whisper.

I love you, Preston sent.

The words heavy with grief.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

Don’t apologize, Margaret sent back.

And don’t count me out yet.

I’m full of surprises.

She hoped that was true.

Dolores grabbed Margaret’s chained hand, pulling it forward.

The ritual requires fresh blood drawn under the blood moon.

Three drops for the bond, seven for the binding, 13 for the harvest.

She pressed the dagger’s tip against Margaret’s palm.

Try not to struggle.

It will only make this hurt more.

The blade bit into Margaret’s skin.

Pain flared sharp and immediate as blood welled up.

Dark red in the crimson moonlight.

Dolores held Margaret’s hand over a silver bowl, letting the blood drip in a steady rhythm.

One drop.

Two drops.

Three.

The pack bond exploded to life.

Margaret screamed as the connection magnified a hundfold.

No longer muted by distance or wards, but amplified by Dolores’s magic.

She could feel every single wolf in the Northern Territory as if they were standing beside her.

Their confusion, their fear, their sudden awareness that something was terribly wrong.

“Excellent,” Dolores murmured, watching the blood drip.

“The bond is active.

Now for the binding.

Four drops.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Dark magic wrapped around the pack bond like chains, and Margaret felt Dolores’s presence force its way into the connection.

The witch was hijacking the bond, using Margaret as a conduit to reach every wolf.

Through the bond, Margaret felt the packs terror spike, felt mothers grabbing their children, felt warriors scrambling for weapons, felt Preston’s roar of fury as he realized what was happening, and then the harvesting began.

Dolores started chanting in that ancient language.

her voice rising and falling in a rhythm that made Margaret’s bones ache.

The magic in the tower intensified, swirling around them both like a vortex, and through the bond, Margaret felt the first wolf begin to weaken.

An elderly male named Gustavo Bean, who’d been resting by his fire.

His life force began to drain away, pulled through the pack bond, through Margaret, into Dolores’s waiting magic.

He collapsed, his strength failing, his heart slowing.

No!” Margaret sent desperately through the bond.

“Hold on, Gustavo.

Please hold on.

” But he was already dying.

“Stop!” Margaret shouted at Dolores.

“You said you’d spare them.

You promised.

I said I’d spare them if you cooperated.

” Dolores corrected, not pausing in her chanting.

“This is cooperation.

” She smiled.

“Unless you’d prefer I drain them all at once.

Kill the entire pack in minutes instead of hours.

because I can certainly arrange that.

More wolves began to weaken, children crying as their parents stumbled, warriors dropping their weapons as their strength failed.

The pack was dying.

And Margaret could feel every second of it through the bond.

She had to stop this.

Had to do something.

But what could she do? She was chained, powerless, and Dolores controlled the ritual completely.

Unless an idea sparked in Margaret’s mind, terrible and desperate and possibly suicidal.

But it was the only chance she had.

Millie had taught her that healing magic was the opposite of void magic.

That creation countered destruction.

But what if that principle worked in reverse? What if destruction targeted controlled destruction could counter Dolores’s harvesting spell? Margaret closed her eyes and reached for her magic.

Not the gentle, nurturing healing power she’d used to mend wounds and restore plants, but something darker, sharper, the destructive potential that existed in every healer because healers knew exactly how bodies worked, knew which organs were vital and which were redundant, knew where to cut to cause maximum pain, knew how to keep someone alive while systematically breaking them down.

Dolores had been right about one thing.

Margaret had learned from her stepmother had absorbed 23 years of lessons in cruelty and ruthlessness.

Now she was going to use them.

Margaret pulled power from the pack bond not to heal but to weaponize.

She shaped that power into something sharp and precise, then sent it racing back through the connection between her and Dolores.

The witch had hijacked the bond to drain the pack, which meant she was connected to Margaret in ways she might not have anticipated.

The magic struck Dolores like a hammer.

The witch gasped, stumbling backward.

Her chanting broke and the harvesting spell flickered through the pack bond.

Margaret felt the pressure on the wolves ease slightly.

“What?” Dolores started, then screamed as Margaret hit her again.

This time, Margaret targeted something specific.

The blood vessels in Dolores’s brain.

Not enough to kill, but enough to cause blinding pain.

Enough to disrupt her concentration.

You wanted cooperation? Margaret said, her voice cold.

Here’s my cooperation.

She pulled more power from the bond, ignoring Preston’s mental shout of warning.

Ignoring the strain on her own body, she shaped the magic into a blade and drove it into Dolores’s nervous system, lighting up every pain receptor simultaneously.

Dolores collapsed to her knees, the ceremonial dagger clattering from her hand.

“Impossible,” she gasped.

You can’t.

Healers can’t.

Healers can’t weaponize their magic.

Margaret pulled against her chains, feeling them bite deeper.

You’re right.

Traditional healers can’t.

But I’m not a traditional healer.

Stepmother.

I’m the girl you spent 23 years tormenting.

The girl who learned that kindness and mercy are choices, not weaknesses.

She pulled more power.

And Dolores screamed.

And right now, I’m choosing not to be kind.

Through the bond, Margaret felt Preston’s shock mixing with fierce approval.

Felt the pack’s collective hope as they realized their Luna was fighting back.

But she also felt her own body beginning to fail.

The strain of channeling this much power of fighting Dolores while simultaneously trying to protect the pack was too much.

Her vision blurred, her hands shook, blood dripped from her nose, and she tasted copper in her mouth.

She was dying, burning herself out like a candle with both ends lit.

But if she could take Dolores down with her, if she could end this threat permanently, maybe it would be worth it.

Margaret pulled every scrap of power she could access and shaped it into one final attack.

Not aimed at Dolores’s body, but at her magic.

At the core of dark power that sustained the witch’s immortality.

This ends now, Margaret said, and drove the healing turned weapon straight into Dolores’s magical core.

The tower exploded with light.

Dolores shrieked a sound of pure agony that shattered windows and cracked stone.

Her body convulsed.

Dark magic pouring from her in waves as Margaret’s attack tore through her defenses.

The harvesting spell collapsed completely.

The connection to the pack bond severing with a snap that made Margaret’s ears ring.

But Dolores wasn’t finished.

With a snarl of rage, the witch lunged for the ceremonial dagger.

Her hand closed around the hilt and she spun toward Margaret with murder in her eyes.

If I can’t have your magic, Dolores hissed, blood streaming from her nose and ears.

Then no one will.

She raised the dagger, preparing to drive it into Margaret’s heart.

The tower door exploded inward.

A massive black wolf burst through the opening, moving with a speed that defied physics.

It crashed into Dolores, sending her flying across the room.

The dagger skittered away, disappearing under the workbench.

Preston, Margaret sent, relief flooding through her.

“You found me,” the wolf Preston shifted mid-stride, his human form emerging without breaking momentum.

“He was on Dolores in seconds, his hand wrapped around her throat, lifting her off the ground.

“You took my mate,” Preston growled, his voice barely human.

“You tortured her.

You tried to kill my pack.

” His eyes blazed gold.

More wolf than man.

Give me one reason not to tear out your throat right now.

Dolores choked, clawing at his hand.

The wards, how did you? Your wards were designed to keep out magic.

Gerard’s voice came from the doorway.

The head warrior strode in followed by a dozen more wolves in human form.

But we didn’t use magic.

We used something better.

He smiled grimly.

We used 300 years of Preston tracking prey across entire continents.

Once he had Margaret sent through the bond, no ward in existence could hide her.

More wolves poured into the tower warriors surrounding Dolores.

Healers rushing to Margaret’s side.

Someone worked on her chains while another pressed a cloth to her bleeding palm.

But Margaret only had eyes for Preston.

Their gazes locked across the room, and she felt everything he was feeling through their bond relief so intense it was painful.

love so fierce it burned and a possessiveness that promised he would never let her go again.

“Kill her,” Preston said to Gerard, his eyes never leaving Margaret’s.

“Make it quick.

We don’t torture even enemies like her.

” “Wait,” Margaret said, her voice.

“Don’t kill her yet,” Preston’s eyes narrowed.

“Why not?” “Because she has information about other dark witches, about plots we don’t know about, about threats to other packs.

” Margaret stood on shaking legs as her chains finally fell away.

And because killing her quickly is too merciful.

She deserves to face justice, real justice, to answer for every life she’s destroyed.

Dolores laughed weakly.

“Foolish girl! Still trying to be noble? Still believing justice matters?” She coughed, blood staining her lips.

“You could have killed me when you had the chance.

Now you’ll regret your mercy.

” No, Margaret said quietly, moving to stand beside Preston.

I’ll regret nothing because unlike you, I don’t have to live with the knowledge that I’ve become a monster.

She looked at Gerard.

Take her to the stronghold, lock her in the deepest cell you have, and make sure she can’t access any magic, not even a spark.

Gerard nodded, gesturing to his warriors.

They bound Dolores with iron chains, real ones, heavy and complete.

The witch struggled, but she was too weakened by Margaret’s attack to resist effectively.

As they dragged her toward the door, Dolores looked back at Margaret one last time.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed.

“You think you’ve won, but you’ve only delayed the inevitable.

I have allies, powerful allies, who will come for you.

Who will finish what I started? Let them come,” Preston said, his arm wrapping around Margaret’s waist, pulling her close.

They’ll face the same fate you did.

Because no one threatens my mate.

No one threatens my pack.

And anyone foolish enough to try will learn why I’m called the Alpha King.

Dolores was dragged away, still spitting threats and curses.

The other wolves dispersed, giving Preston and Margaret a moment of privacy in the destroyed tower.

“You came for me,” Margaret whispered, leaning into Preston’s warmth.

“Always,” he said roughly, pressing his face into her hair.

I will always come for you.

No distance is too far.

No enemy too powerful.

You’re mine, Margaret.

And I protect what’s mine.

I thought I was going to die, Margaret admitted, feeling tears finally spill down her cheeks.

I thought I’d never see you again.

Never get to tell you, Preston kissed her.

Hard and desperate and claiming, he poured everything into that kiss.

his fear, his love, his absolute devotion.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard.

“You’re not allowed to die,” Preston said, his forehead pressed to hers.

“That’s an order from your alpha king.

You stay alive.

You stay with me forever.

Forever sounds good,” Margaret said, smiling through her tears.

Around them, the tower began to collapse.

Dolores’s magic had been holding the ancient structure together and without her presence.

It was finally succumbing to centuries of decay.

“We should go,” Gerard called from the doorway.

“Before this whole place comes down on our heads,” Preston swept Margaret into his arms, carrying her like she weighed nothing.

“Hold on,” he murmured.

And then he was running out of the tower, through the dark forest, toward home, towards safety, toward the northern territory in the pack that waited for their Luna’s return.

Margaret wrapped her arms around Preston’s neck and let herself be carried.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t have to be strong, didn’t have to fight, didn’t have to survive on her own.

She had a mate, a pack, a home, and no one, not Dolores, not her allies, not anyone, would ever take that away from her again.

Chapter nine.

Shadows of the Coven.

The Northern Territory erupted in celebration when Preston carried Margaret through the gates.

Wolves lined the pathways, hundreds of them, all howling their joy and relief.

Through the pack bond, Margaret felt their emotions wash over her like a wave.

Love, gratitude, fierce pride in their Luna, who’d fought a dark witch and survived.

Children threw flowers in their path.

Elders bowed their heads in respect.

Warriors saluted with fists over their hearts.

And everywhere, everywhere, there was joy.

They thought they’d lost you, Preston murmured against her ear as he carried her through the crowd.

We all did.

when I felt you fighting through the bond.

Felt you burning yourself out to protect the pack.

His arms tightened around her.

I’ve never been so terrified in 300 years.

But you found me, Margaret said, resting her head against his shoulder.

You saved me.

No, Preston’s voice was firm.

You saved yourself.

I just showed up in time to keep Dolores from finishing what you’d started.

He pressed a kiss to her temple.

You were magnificent, Margaret.

terrifying and magnificent, they reached the stronghold, and Preston finally set Margaret down reluctantly, as if letting her go physically pained him.

Immediately, Millie shuffled forward, her clouded eyes somehow seeing everything.

“Let me look at you, child.

” The ancient witch commanded, her weathered hands reaching for Margaret.

She examined the bandages around Margaret’s wrists where the chains had cut deep, checked her pulse, peered into her eyes.

You channeled too much power, burned through your reserves, and then some.

You’re lucky to be alive.

I didn’t feel lucky, Margaret admitted.

I felt desperate.

Desperation makes us do impossible things.

Milliey’s expression softened.

What you did weaponizing healing magic, it should have killed you.

The strain alone should have stopped your heart.

She touched Margaret’s chest right over her heart.

But you have something most healers don’t.

The pack bond.

They were feeding you strength even as you tried to protect them.

A beautiful cycle.

You giving everything to save them.

Them giving everything to save you.

She smiled.

That’s what family does.

Margaret felt tears prick her eyes.

Family.

She’d spent so long believing she had none that her father’s death had left her alone in the world.

But she’d been wrong.

She had an entire pack, hundreds of wolves who’d poured their strength into her when she’d needed it most.

“Thank you,” Margaret said, addressing not just Millie, but all the wolves gathered around.

“All of you.

You gave me your strength when I had none left.

You trusted me to protect you, and you protected me in return.

” “I don’t,” her voice broke.

“I don’t have words for what that means to me.

You don’t need words,” Gerard said, stepping forward from the crowd.

The massive warriors expression was unusually gentle.

Your pack, Luna, that’s all that matters.

When one of us hurts, we all hurt.

When one of us fights, we all fight.

He dropped to one knee.

And when our Luna faces down a dark witch to save us, we would burn the world to bring her home.

One by one, every wolf in the courtyard knelt.

Hundreds of them, bowing before their Luna.

Margaret’s tears finally spilled over, and she didn’t try to stop them.

These were good tears, healing tears, the kind that washed away years of feeling unwanted and replaced them with belongings so profound it hurt.

Preston’s hand found hers, squeezing gently.

“Come,” he said quietly.

“You need rest.

Actual rest.

Not just sitting around worrying.

” He led her back to their chambers, shoeing away well-wishers with the authority of an alpha who would not be questioned.

Once inside, with the door firmly closed, Preston finally allowed himself to break.

He pulled Margaret into his arms and held her so tightly she could barely breathe.

“She felt him shaking, felt moisture against her neck where his face was pressed.

” “Preston,” she whispered.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said roughly, his voice thick with emotion.

When the bond grew dim when I felt you fading, I thought.

He pulled back just enough to cup her face with both hands.

300 years I waited to find my mate.

And I had you for less than a week before Dolores took you.

Less than a week, Margaret.

It wasn’t enough.

It will never be enough.

Margaret covered his hands with her own.

Then it’s a good thing we have forever now.

Forever.

Preston repeated as if testing the word.

Is forever long enough? Itll have to be.

Margaret smiled through her tears.

Because I’m not going anywhere.

You’re stuck with me, Alpha King.

For better or worse? Definitely for better, Preston murmured, leaning down to kiss her.

This kiss was different from the desperate claiming in the tower.

Softer, sweeter, full of promise instead of fear.

When they finally broke apart, both were smiling.

“You should clean up,” Preston said, gesturing to the bathing chamber.

“And eat something,” Millie said.

“You need to rebuild your strength.

Will you stay?” Margaret asked, suddenly afraid to let him out of her sight.

I know it’s foolish, but I’m not leaving you alone, Preston interrupted firmly.

Not for a second.

Not until I’m absolutely certain you’re safe.

His eyes gleamed.

Actually, I’m not sure I’ll ever leave you alone again.

You might have to get used to having a very protective mate.

I think I can manage that, Margaret said, warmth blooming in her chest.

She bathed while Preston sat on the edge of the large tub, watching her with an intensity that should have been uncomfortable, but somehow wasn’t.

They talked about everything and nothing, the pack, the territory.

What to do about Dolores’s warning about allies? Do you think she was telling the truth? Margaret asked, sinking deeper into the hot water, about having powerful allies who would come for us? Preston’s expression darkened.

Probably.

Dark witches rarely work alone.

They form covens, alliances, networks of mutual benefit.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, which means Dolores’s capture might draw attention we don’t want.

Other witches wondering what happened to their associate.

What she might have told us before we imprisoned her.

So, we’re not safe yet, Margaret said quietly.

We’re never completely safe.

That’s the nature of power.

It attracts enemies.

Preston reached out, trailing his fingers through the water near Margaret’s shoulder.

But we’re safer than we were.

Dolores is locked up.

Her harvesting spell is broken.

And you? His eyes softened.

You’re alive and whole in mine.

That’s all that matters right now.

After her bath, Margaret dressed in soft clothes and joined Preston in the main chamber where servants had laid out a feast.

She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she saw the food.

Fresh bread, roasted meat, fruit, cheese, and pastries that made her mouth water.

“Eat,” Preston commanded, piling food onto her plate with single-minded determination.

“Everything you burned through more energy than anyone should survive.

“You need to rebuild,” Margaret ate obediently, surprised by how good everything tasted.

Or maybe she was just grateful to be alive to taste anything at all.

They were finishing their meal when someone knocked on the door.

Three sharp wraps.

Enter.

Preston called.

Rogelio stepped inside, bowing slightly.

My apologies for the interruption, Alpha Luna.

But the council has requested an audience.

There are decisions that need to be made regarding the witch.

Preston’s jaw clenched.

Tell them to wait with respect.

My lord, they believe this is urgent.

The witch has been attempting to communicate with something or someone.

The guards reported strange lights in her cell and her chains grew hot enough to burn.

They’ve doubled the wards, but Regelio’s expression was grim.

The elders fear she’s calling for help.

Margaret’s stomach dropped.

Her allies.

She’s trying to contact them.

We need to question her.

Preston said standing now before she can give away our location or our defenses.

He looked at Margaret you should rest.

I’m coming with you.

Margaret interrupted standing as well.

Dolores is my responsibility.

My stepmother.

If she’s going to talk to anyone, it should be me.

Preston looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Margaret’s expression stopped him.

Fine, but you stay behind me.

If she tries anything, she’s chained and warded.

What could she possibly try with dark witches? Gerard’s voice came from the doorway where the head warrior had appeared.

Everything.

They’re creative with their cruelty, especially when cornered.

He nodded to Margaret.

But the Luna is right.

If anyone can get information from that witch, it’s the girl she tried to break for 23 years.

They descended into the depths of the stronghold, down stone stairs that seemed to go on forever.

The air grew colder, damper, heavy with the weight of earth and old magic.

Finally, they reached the cells.

A series of iron doors set into solid rock.

Dolores’s cell was the furthest from the entrance.

Behind three separate locked doors and layers of wards that made Margaret’s skin prickle.

Two guards stood watch, both looking relieved when Preston appeared.

“Alpha,” one said, bowing quickly.

The witch has been active, chanting in that old language, making the chains glow.

“We’ve done everything we can to suppress her magic, but open it,” Preston commanded.

The guards exchanged glances, but obeyed, working through the locks with careful precision.

The final door swung open with a groan, revealing a small cell lit by a single oil lamp.

Dolores sat in the center, chained hand and foot to the stone floor.

She looked worse than when they’d captured her.

Her golden hair matted and dull, her beautiful face gaunt, but her green eyes still blazed with intelligence and fury.

“Come to gloat?” Dolores asked, her voice.

“Come to see the mighty witch reduced to a prisoner? We came for information?” Preston said, stepping into the cell.

Margaret followed, staying close to his side.

Gerard took up position in the doorway, blocking any escape.

“Information!” Dolores laughed, the sound harsh and broken.

And why would I give you anything? Because your allies are coming, Margaret said quietly.

And when they arrive, we need to know what we’re facing.

How many? What kind of magic they wield? What they want.

She crouched down, meeting Dolores’s eyes at her level.

You’re going to tell us everything.

Because if you don’t, if you let your pride kill innocent people who had nothing to do with your schemes, then you’re not just evil.

You’re a coward.

” Dolores’s eyes narrowed.

“Careful stepdaughter.

That almost sounded like a threat, not a threat, a truth.

” Margaret’s voice was steady.

You spent 23 years teaching me that the world is cruel, that only the strong survive, that mercy is weakness.

She leaned closer.

Well, congratulations.

I learned those lessons.

And now I’m giving you a choice.

Help us prepare for what’s coming.

And maybe, maybe we’ll show you the mercy you never showed me or refuse.

And when your allies arrive, I’ll make sure they know exactly who gave them up, who betrayed their secrets to save herself.

I’m not afraid of you, Dolores hissed.

You should be, Preston said, his voice cold.

Because right now, my mate is the only thing standing between you and Gerard’s very creative ideas about enhanced interrogation.

She’s arguing for mercy, for justice, for doing this the right way, his eyes blazed gold.

But if you force my hand, if you threaten my pack again, I will let Gerard do whatever he wants to you.

And I promise you will beg for death long before he’s finished.

Dolores stared at them both, calculation flickering across her face.

Finally, she sagged back against the wall.

There are three others in my coven.

Alicia Long, Tanya Giles, and Jeannie Saunders.

We’ve been working together for 50 years, pulling our power for larger spells.

She looked at Margaret.

They knew about my plan to harvest your magic.

They were waiting for their share a portion of the pack’s life force to fuel their own immortality.

And when you don’t deliver, Gerard asked, they’ll come looking for answers for me.

for you.

Dolores’s smile was bitter.

You think I’m dangerous? Alicia has been practicing dark magic for four centuries.

Tanya can strip the life from an entire village with a gesture.

And Jeanie, she shuddered.

Jeanie specializes in curses that break minds, that turn people into living puppets, aware but unable to control their own bodies.

Horror washed through Margaret.

Why would you ally with monsters like that? Because I’m a monster, too, stepdaughter.

I just hit it better.

Dolores closed her eyes.

They’ll come within a week.

Maybe sooner if they felt the disruption when you broke my harvesting spell.

And when they arrive, they won’t just want information.

They’ll want revenge.

They’ll want blood.

Let them come, Preston said his voice hard.

We faced dark magic before.

Well face it again.

Not like this.

Dolores opened her eyes.

And for the first time, Margaret saw genuine fear in them.

These aren’t individual witches working alone.

This is a coven of the most powerful dark practitioners in the realm.

Together, they’re nearly unstoppable.

She looked at Margaret.

Your little trick with weaponized healing magic won’t work on them.

They’ve seen it before, countered it before.

They’ll eat you alive, little Luna, and then they’ll feast on your pack.

Margaret stood, her legs unsteady, but her resolve firm.

then we’ll have to find a way to stop them anyway because that’s what we do.

We face impossible odds and survive.

She looked down at her stepmother.

Thank you for the information.

It’s more than you deserve to give.

Don’t thank me yet, Dolores said quietly.

You’re all going to die.

The only question is how painful it will be.

Preston guided Margaret out of the cell.

Gerard following close behind the guard sealed the doors.

Layer after layer of locks and wards clicking into place.

She’s trying to scare us, Gerard said as they climbed back toward the main levels, exaggerating the threat to make herself seem more important.

Maybe, Preston agreed.

But we can’t take that chance.

If even half of what she said is true, we need to prepare for war.

He looked at Margaret.

Which means we need to make you stronger.

Train your magic to do more than just heal and defend.

We need weapons, Margaret.

And right now, you’re our best chance at creating them.

Margaret thought about Dolores’s fear.

About three powerful witches who would come seeking revenge.

About the pack her pack who trusted her to protect them.

Then let’s get to work, she said.

Because I’m done being afraid.

Done letting people like Dolores and her coven dictate what I can or can’t do.

She looked at Preston, then at Gerard, seeing the determination reflected in their faces.

We have a week to prepare.

Let’s make it count.

They emerged from the depths of the stronghold into afternoon sunlight.

Across the valley, wolves went about their daily lives, training, playing, living.

They had no idea what was coming, what storm was gathering on the horizon.

But they would be ready because they had a Luna who’d faced down death itself and survived.

Who’d weaponized mercy and turned it into a blade? And because they had an Alpha King who would burn the world to protect his mate.

Three dark witches thought they could destroy the northern territory.

They were about to learn what happened when you threatened a pack that had already survived the impossible.

They were about to face Margaret Jordan, healer, Luna, and the most dangerous kind of weapon.

The kind that had nothing left to lose.

Chapter 10.

The coven’s reckoning.

6 days.

That’s how long they had to prepare before Dolores’s coven arrived.

Margaret spent every waking hour training with Millie, pushing her magic further than she’d thought possible.

The ancient witch was a merciless teacher, forcing Margaret to channel power until her nose bled, until her hands shook, until she collapsed from exhaustion and then demanding she do it again.

“Magic is like muscle,” Millie explained on the third day, watching Margaret struggle to purify a pool of water Millie had deliberately poisoned.

“The more you use it, the stronger it becomes.

But unlike muscle, magic has no limits except the ones you place on yourself.

She tapped her staff against the ground.

Your stepmother was right about one thing.

Weaponized healing magic won’t work on experienced dark witches.

They’ve seen it.

They know how to counter it.

Then what do I do? Margaret asked, sweat dripping down her face as she finally cleared the last of the poison from the water.

You evolve.

Milliey’s smile was sharp.

You stop thinking like a healer and start thinking like a creator.

Healing is passive.

It responds to damage.

But creation, she gestured at the clear water.

Creation shapes reality itself.

Build something from nothing.

And if you can create, her eyes gleamed.

You can also unmake.

Understanding dawned slowly.

You want me to learn destruction magic, not destruction, deconstruction.

Milliey’s distinction was precise.

Destruction is crude.

It obliterates without thought.

But deconstruction is surgical.

It takes things apart at their fundamental level.

Unweaves spells, dissolves curses, breaks down magic itself into its component pieces.

She leaned forward.

That’s what you need to fight a coven child.

The ability to unravel their magic faster than they can cast it.

For the next 3 days, Margaret learned to deconstruct.

She started with simple objects, turning a stone back into sand and minerals, unweaving a piece of cloth back into thread, breaking down a flower into seeds and nutrients.

Each exercise was exhausting, requiring her to understand the fundamental nature of what she was deconstructing before she could take it apart.

But slowly, painfully, she improved.

By the sixth day, she could deconstruct complex magical constructs, wards, binding spells, even the beginnings of curses.

Millie would cast something, and Margaret would tear it apart, finding the threads of magic that held it together and pulling until the whole thing unraveled.

“Good,” Millie said, satisfaction thick in her voice.

“Now do it faster.

” While Margaret trained her magic, Preston prepared the pack for war.

Warriors drilled from dawn until dusk, practicing formations and tactics.

Scouts were sent to every border, watching for the covens approach.

Mothers and children were moved to the heart of the stronghold behind layers of stone and steel, and every wolf who could hold a weapon was armed and ready.

“We’re as prepared as we can be,” Gerard reported on the evening of the sixth day.

“They’d gathered in Preston’s chambers, the Alpha King, his Luna, the head warrior, and Millie.

A war council for an impossible battle.

300 warriors ready to fight.

Every entrance to the stronghold fortified.

Wards layered so thick even a master witch would struggle to break through.

It won’t be enough, Millie said bluntly.

Wards can be broken.

Warriors can be overwhelmed.

If this coven is as powerful as Dolores claims, they’ll tear through your defenses like paper.

Then what do you suggest? Preston’s voice was tight with frustration.

We can’t evacuate the entire pack.

We can’t run.

This is our home.

We don’t run, Margaret said quietly.

She’d been standing at the window watching the sunset over the valley.

Now she turned to face them all.

We make a stand, but not here.

Not in the stronghold where they expect us to be.

Preston’s eyes narrowed.

What are you thinking? Dolores said her coven would come for revenge, for blood.

They’ll expect to find a terrified pack cowering behind walls, hoping to survive.

Margaret moved to the table where a map of the territory was spread out.

What if we give them something else? What if we draw them out to a place of our choosing, where we have the advantage? Gerard leaned over the map, his expression thoughtful.

An ambush.

Lure them to a location where their magic is weakened and our numbers matter.

The old grove, Millie said suddenly, tapping a location on the map.

3 mi north of here.

It’s where the territo’s magic is strongest, where the pack bond is clearest.

Dark magic has always struggled there because the land itself resists corruption.

She looked at Margaret.

If you’re going to deconstruct their spells, that’s the best place to do it.

The land will amplify your magic while suppressing theirs.

But how do we lure them there? Preston asked.

They’re not fools.

They’ll see a trap.

Margaret met his eyes and he saw the determination in her expression.

We use bait.

Me.

I’m what they want.

The Luna with healer’s blood who can access the entire pack’s life force.

I send them a message.

Tell them I want to negotiate.

That I’ll trade myself for the pack’s safety.

Absolutely not.

Preston said immediately, his voice hard.

You’re not using yourself as bait.

It’s the only way.

I said no.

Preston moved around the table to stand before her.

I just got you back, Margaret.

I’m not letting you walk into danger again.

And I’m not letting the pack die because I was too afraid to take a risk.

Margaret countered, her voice equally firm.

This is my choice, Preston.

My decision is Luna.

She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heart race beneath her palm.

Trust me.

Trust that I know what I’m doing.

Preston stared at her for a long moment, emotions waring across his face.

Finally, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“If we do this, if I agree to this insane plan, you don’t go alone.

I stay with you every second.

I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Margaret said softly.

“And we surround the grove with every warrior we have,” Gerard added.

“Hidden, waiting.

The moment the coven reveals themselves, we attack from all sides.

It could work.

Millie mused.

“Risky, but possible.

The coven will be focused on Margaret, expecting an easy target.

They won’t be watching for an ambush.

” She looked at Margaret seriously.

“But you understand what this means? You’ll be standing in the open facing three of the most powerful dark witches alive.

If your deconstruction magic fails, if you can’t unmake their spells fast enough, you’ll die.

and not quickly.

I know, Margaret said.

But I have something they don’t.

I have a pack, a mate, a reason to survive that goes beyond power or immortality.

She straightened her shoulders.

And I have six days of training from the most terrifying teacher I’ve ever met.

Milliey’s laugh was dry as autumn leaves.

Flattery won’t save you if you fail, girl.

But it’s nice to hear anyway.

They spent the rest of the evening planning every detail.

where the warriors would hide, how Margaret would contact the coven, what signals would trigger the ambush.

By the time they finished, the moon had risen high and bright, and Margaret’s head achd from all the strategy.

“Get some rest,” Preston said, dismissing Gerard and Millie.

“Tomorrow, we put this plan into motion.

And tomorrow night, he didn’t finish the sentence.

But he didn’t have to.

Tomorrow night, they would face the coven.

Tomorrow night would decide everything.

The message was simple.

Written in blood on parchment and sent through magical means Millie arranged to the coven of Dolores Culie.

Your ally is imprisoned but alive.

I propose a trade information about her fate in exchange for safe passage for my pack.

Meet me at the old grove tomorrow at sunset.

Come alone and we talk.

Bring an army.

And Dolores dies.

Margaret Jordan, Luna of the Northern Pack.

The response came within hours, appearing as burning letters in the air above the stronghold.

We accept your terms.

Sunset tomorrow, the old grove.

Come alone, little Luna, and we might let you die quickly.

The coven charming, Gerard muttered, watching the letters fade.

Real friendly types.

They’re trying to intimidate her, Preston said, his arm wrapped protectively around Margaret’s waist.

make her too afraid to go through with it.

It’s working a little, Margaret admitted, but not enough to stop me.

The next day passed in a blur of final preparations.

Warriors took their positions around the old grove, concealing themselves in the forest with the skill of predators who’d hunted these woods for centuries.

Millie wo additional wards not to keep the coven out, but to prevent them from escaping once the battle began.

and Margaret stood in the center of the stronghold courtyard, eyes closed, drawing power from the pack bond.

Every wolf in the territory was feeding her their strength, their courage, their absolute faith that their Luna would protect them.

We believe in you, Preston sent through their mate Bond.

Every single one of us, don’t make me cry before a battle, Margaret sent back, but she was smiling.

That’s terrible strategy.

Then I’ll save the emotional declarations for after.

When you’ve won, when we’ve won, Margaret corrected.

This is Pack, remember? We do this together.

As the sun began to set, Preston and Margaret made their way to the old grove.

It was a beautiful place.

Ancient trees forming a natural cathedral, their branches intertwining overhead to create a canopy of green.

Flowers bloomed despite the approaching winter, and the air hummed with old magic.

The pack’s magic is strong here, Margaret said, feeling it pulse beneath her feet.

I can feel every wolf in the territory like they’re standing beside me.

That’s because we are.

Gerard’s voice came from somewhere in the trees.

He was hidden along with 300 other warriors, but Margaret felt his presence through the bond.

Ready when you are, Luna.

Margaret took her position in the center of the grove, Preston beside her.

They debated whether he should hide with the others, but Preston had refused absolutely.

Where his mate went, he went.

No exceptions.

The sun touched the horizon, painting the sky in shades of red and gold, and the coven arrived.

They didn’t walk in like normal people.

They materialized from shadows.

Three women who radiated power so intense it made the air shimmer.

Margaret recognized them immediately from Dolores’s descriptions.

Alicia Long was tall and elegant, with silver hair that floated as if underwater and eyes like chips of ice.

She wore robes of midnight blue, and frost gathered wherever she stepped.

Tanya Giles was smaller, more compact, with dark skin and darker eyes that seemed to swallow light.

Her power felt like suffocation, like all the air being sucked from the room.

She smiled and Margaret saw blackened teeth and Jeanie Saunders.

Jeanie looked almost normal, pleasant, even with kind features and warm brown eyes.

But there was something wrong about her smile.

Something that made Margaret’s skin crawl.

This was the one who specialized in breaking minds.

The Luna, Alicia said, her voice like wind through a crypt.

How disappointing.

I expected someone more impressive.

Dolores always did have poor taste, Tanya added, circling slowly.

wasting decades on this little thing.

Such a waste of time and resources.

Where is our sister? Jeanie asked, her voice still somehow warm despite the threat implicit in the question.

Where is Dolores? Imprisoned? Margaret said, keeping her voice steady.

In the stronghold, behind wards and chains.

She’s alive, but she won’t be practicing magic anytime soon.

And you thought we’d be grateful for this information? Alicia’s laugh was sharp.

thought we’d leave peacefully, perhaps even reward you.

” She raised her hand, and Frost began to spread across the ground toward Margaret.

“How delightfully naive.

I didn’t expect gratitude,” Margaret said.

“I expected exactly what you’re doing,” attacking immediately showing your true nature.

” She smiled.

“And it was all teeth.

Which is why I didn’t come alone,” Preston howled a signal that echoed across the grove.

300 wolves emerged from hiding.

They burst from the trees, from the undergrowth, from concealed positions that had been invisible moments before.

Warriors in both human and wolf form, surrounding the grove completely.

The coven stopped, looking around at the encircling pack with expressions that ranged from surprise to amusement.

An ambush, Tanya said, laughing.

How predictable.

Did you really think numbers would matter against us, little Luna? No, Margaret said, “But I thought they’d make excellent witnesses.

” She pulled power from the pack bond.

All of it.

Every scrap of strength her wolves could give.

Her body lit up with golden light, and her grandmother’s pendant blazed like a star.

Because I want them to see this.

Want them to watch while I tear your magic apart piece by piece.

She reached out with her deconstruction magic and grabbed the frost spreading toward her.

found the threads of magic woven through the ice and pulled.

The spell unraveled.

The frost melted back into nothing, leaving the ground unmarked.

Alicia’s eyes widened.

Impossible.

That spell was woven from death magic and winter wind.

Anchored in your life force and tied to the moon phase.

Margaret finished.

I can see it all.

Every thread, every connection, every weakness, she smiled.

and I can take it apart faster than you can rebuild it.

Then try this.

Tanya thrust her hands forward, and the suffocating magic poured out a wave of darkness that tried to steal the air from everyone’s lungs.

Margaret met it with deconstruction.

She tore into the spell, finding the core that sustained it and ripping it apart.

The darkness dissipated like smoke, and Tanya stumbled backward, gasping.

“Not possible,” the witch whispered.

“You’re just a healer.

Just a I’m a Luna, Margaret interrupted.

And I have 300 wolves feeding me their strength.

You’re powerful, but you’re alone.

And alone isn’t enough.

Jeanie moved then, faster than should have been possible.

Her magic lashed out, not at Margaret, but at Preston.

Mind-breaking magic designed to turn him into a puppet.

Preston roared as the spell hit him, his body convulsing.

And Margaret was there.

She intercepted the magic, pulling it into herself instead and began to deconstruct it.

But this spell was different, more complex, more insidious.

It tried to burrow into her thoughts to break her mind piece by piece.

“No!” Margaret sent through the pack bond, drawing on the collective willpower of 300 wolves.

“You don’t get to break me.

You don’t get to break anyone.

” She grabbed every thread of Jeanie’s mind magic and pulled.

The spell came apart, not gently, but explosively, and the backlash hit Jeanie like a physical blow.

The witch screamed, blood pouring from her nose and ears.

“Enough!” Alicia shrieked.

“You want war? Fine! We’ll give you war!” she, Tanya, and Jeanie joined hands, their power combining into something massive and terrible.

The air turned black, the ground cracked, and a curse began to form.

not targeted at Margaret, but at the entire grove, at every wolf present.

It was the same spell Dolores had used.

The death curse, the void magic that consumed everything it touched, and it was a hundred times more powerful than before.

“Everyone back!” Gerard shouted.

But it was too late.

The curse spread too fast, reaching for the warriors with hungry tendrils of darkness.

Margaret felt them dying.

Felt the void magic touch wolf after wolf beginning to drain their life force.

Felt mothers shielding their children.

Warriors standing firm even as the curse consumed them.

Felt her pack her family preparing to die rather than abandon their Luna.

No, no, Margaret pulled not just from the pack bond, but from the land itself, from the old magic that saturated this grove, accumulated over centuries.

from the trees and the flowers and the earth, from every living thing that had ever touched this place.

She pulled until her body was incandescent with power, until she was more magic than flesh, until she couldn’t see or hear or feel anything except the curse and the threads that held it together.

And then she tore it apart, not gradually, not carefully.

She grabbed the entire death curse and ripped it to shreds, unweaving years of careful spellwork in seconds.

The void magic scattered like ash.

disintegrating before it could consume anyone.

The backlash from breaking such a powerful spell hit Margaret like a mountain falling.

She felt her body begin to fail, felt her heart stutter, felt consciousness slipping away.

But before the darkness could take her, Preston was there.

His presence flooded through their mate bond, his life force flowing into her, sustaining her.

I’ve got you, he sent.

I’ll always have you.

And behind him, through the bond, came the pack.

300 wolves pouring their strength into their Luna, refusing to let her fall.

Margaret’s eyes snapped open, burning gold with borrowed power.

She faced the coven, still standing despite having just unmade a curse that should have been impossible to break.

“Your turn,” she said.

Before the witches could react, the pack attacked.

Warriors crashed into them from all sides, claws and teeth and steel and fury.

The coven tried to fight back, tried to cast spells, but Margaret was deconstructing their magic as fast as they could summon it.

Every curse, every attack, every defense, she tore them all apart.

Without their magic, the witches were just three women facing 300 wolves.

It was over in minutes.

Alicia fell first, overwhelmed by five warriors who dragged her to the ground and bound her with iron.

Tanya tried to flee, but Gerard tackled her mid-run, his massive weight crushing her to the earth.

And Jeanie, sweet, pleasant genie, who broke minds for entertainment, died when she tried one last spell, and Margaret deconstructed it so violently that the backlash stopped her heart.

Silence fell over the grove.

Margaret stood in the center, still glowing with power, surrounded by her pack.

Two witches captured, one dead.

The death curse broken, the coven defeated.

They’d won.

Preston shifted to human and pulled Margaret into his arms.

“You did it,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

“You brilliant, terrifying, magnificent woman.

You did it.

” Margaret sagged against him, finally allowing herself to feel the exhaustion.

“We did it, all of us.

” She looked around at the wolves, some injured, all exhausted, but alive.

The pack did it.

Gerard approached, dragging the bound Alicia behind him.

“What do we do with these two? Lock them up with Dolores,” Margaret said.

“Let them rot together.

Let them spend eternity knowing they lost to the disappointing little Luna.

” “She met Alicia’s hate-filled eyes.

Let them live with the knowledge that kindness and community defeated centuries of dark magic and cruelty.

And if more come.

Tanya spat, blood staining her teeth.

If other covens hear what happened here and come seeking revenge.

Margaret smiled.

And it was the smile of Aluna who’d faced impossible odds and survived.

Then well do this again and again and again for as long as it takes.

She looked at Preston, then at Gerard, then at all the wolves who’d fought beside her.

Because that’s what Pack does.

We protect our own.

We face down monsters, and we win.

The pack howled a sound of victory and joy and absolute unity.

The sound echoed across the valley, across the territory, a declaration to the world.

The northern pack stands, the Luna stands, and anyone who threatens them will fall.

3 months later, Margaret stood on the balcony of the stronghold, watching the sunrise paint the valley in shades of golden pink.

Spring had come to the northern territory, bringing new growth and new life.

The death curses damage had been healed.

The forest restored, and the pack had settled into a piece they hadn’t known in decades.

“You’re up early,” Preston said, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

“Again.

” “Couldn’t sleep,” Margaret admitted, leaning back against his chest.

Too much to think about.

Like what? Like how different everything is now.

3 months ago, I was Margaret Jordan Baker’s assistant.

Nobody special, just trying to survive.

She placed her hands over his where they rested on her stomach.

“And now I’m Luna of the most powerful pack in the realm, mate to an alpha king, a woman who defeated a coven of dark witches.

“You were always special,” Preston murmured against her hair.

You just didn’t know it yet.

Margaret smiled.

Maybe.

Or maybe I needed to find the right people, the right pack to become who I was meant to be.

She turned in his arms to face him.

Thank you for finding me, for claiming me, for giving me a home.

Thank you for freeing me from those chains, Preston countered.

For being brave enough to walk into a forbidden forest, for choosing to trust a cursed wolf.

He pressed his forehead to hers.

for loving me always,” Margaret whispered.

They stood together as the sun rose higher, washing the territory in warm light.

Below them, the pack began to stir, children running to training, mothers preparing breakfast, warriors changing shifts, life continuing, peaceful and beautiful.

Somewhere in the depths of the stronghold, three dark witches sat in their cells, powerless and defeated.

a reminder that evil could be conquered, that darkness could be driven back.

And in the grove where the final battle had been fought, flowers bloomed, not just normal flowers, but magical ones, golden blossoms that glowed softly at night, sustained by the residual power from Margaret’s deconstruction magic.

The pack had named them Luna’s blessing, a reminder that from destruction could come creation, that from battle could come beauty, that the broken could be healed.

Margaret Jordan had spent her life believing she was nothing special.

Just another forgotten girl trying to survive in a world that didn’t want her.

But she’d been wrong.

She was a healer who could weaponize mercy.

A Luna who would burn the world to protect her pack.

A woman who’d faced down death itself and emerged victorious.

She was special.

She was powerful.

She was exactly where she belonged.

and anyone who’d ever told her otherwise.

Dolores, Cindy, every cruel voice that had tried to break her could rot in their cells and regret every mistake they’d ever made.

Because Margaret Jordan wasn’t broken anymore.

She was whole.

She was home.

She was loved.

And she was never ever going back to being invisible again.

As Margaret’s story draws to a close, dear viewers, I’m left thinking about something profound.

She was told her entire life that she was nothing.

that kindness was foolishness, that helping the helpless would only lead to pain.

And you know what? Those people were partially right.

Kindness did bring her pain.

Helping that wolf did turn her life upside down.

Her compassion did nearly cost her everything, but it also gave her everything she’d ever truly wanted.

Love, belonging, purpose, and the chance to become who she was always meant to be.

So, here’s my question for you.

If you could go back and warn Margaret before she entered that forest, tell her about all the pain and danger ahead, do you think she should have still freed that wolf? Would you have? Knowing the cost, would you still choose kindness? Drop your honest answer below.

No judgment, just curiosity about how we see the world differently.

And if this story made you feel something, anything at all, please leave a like.

It’s the best way to ensure more stories like this find their way to people who need them.

Thank you for watching.

Thank you for caring.