I always knew when the moon was full without needing to look at the night sky.
My body would tell me.
A dull ache in my bones, a heaviness in my chest, and a hollow emptiness that no amount of food could fill.
Tonight was no different.
The familiar pain crawled beneath my skin as I scrubbed the wooden floors of the packhouse kitchen.
My knees raw against the rough planks, my fingers red and cracked from the lie soap.
The sounds of celebration echoed from the great hall.
laughter, music, the clinking of glasses, and the rhythmic stomping of dancing feet.
The Autumn Moon Festival was the most important gathering of the year, when alphas from neighboring packs came to form alliances, negotiate territories, and most importantly, when young unmated omegas would be presented to potential suitors.
I would never forget the day three years ago when I stood among them, trembling in a blue dress my mother had sewn, waiting for my turn to be scented.
One by one, the eligible omegas walked the length of the hall, heads bowed in perfect submission, while alphas inhaled deeply, searching for the distinctive sweetness that would indicate compatibility.
When my turn came, I walked with my heart hammering against my ribs, hopeful despite my plain appearance.
But as I passed, alphas turned away, some wrinkling their noses, others simply looking through me as if I were invisible.
Defective, the alpha’s mate had pronounced afterward, her voice carrying through the suddenly silent hall.
No scent, barren, most likely.
The shame of that moment lived in my marrow now.
A defective omega, barely an omega at all, not worth claiming, not worth mating, useful only for menial tasks that betas considered beneath them.
My grandmother’s pendant hung heavy against my chest, hidden beneath my worn gray dress.
It was a simple thing, a small amber stone wrapped in silver wire, hanging from a leather cord.
“This will protect you when I cannot,” she had whispered on her deathbed, pressing it into my palm.
Grandmother had been different, too.
Odd, the pack called her.
A healer who spoke to plants and seemed to know things before they happened.
The only one who never looked at me with pity or disgust.
I sat back on my heels, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.
The kitchen was empty now, the cooks and servers all attending to the festival feast.
Through the small window, I could see torch light illuminating the courtyard, casting long shadows across the packed earth.
And then I saw them arrive.
The northern pack, the most feared, the most powerful, and the most mysterious of all the werewolf packs.
They moved like shadows themselves.
Tall figures wrapped in furs despite the mild autumn evening.
Their reputation preceded them, fierce warriors, savage hunters, descendants of the original werewolves who had made packs with ancient gods.
And at their center walked their alpha king, even from a distance, he commanded attention.
Taller than the others by nearly a head, broader through the shoulders, with long dark hair that gleamed in the torch light.
Unlike the other alphas who swaggered and postered, he moved with quiet, lethal grace.
Something about him made my breath catch.
A strange tingling sensation spreading through my chest.
I leaned closer to the window, forgetting myself for a moment.
And then, as if sensing my gaze, he stopped.
His head turned, and even across the distance, I felt the weight of his stare.
My heart lurched painfully against my ribs, and I stumbled backward, knocking over my bucket of soapy water.
“Aar, what have you done, you clumsy girl?” The head cook burst through the door, her face flushed from the heat of the feast and too much mead.
Clean this up immediately.
Then take these trays to the private council chamber.
The alpha is meeting with the northern king after the introductions.
I scrambled to mop up the spilled water, my hands shaking.
Something had happened in that brief moment of eye contact, something I couldn’t explain.
It was as if a thread had been pulled taut between us, vibrating with an energy I had never felt before.
By the time I carried the heavy silver trays laden with meats, cheeses, and fruits to the council chamber, my arms achd, and my nerves were frayed.
I had been instructed to set the table and leave without being seen or heard.
A simple task for someone who had perfected the art of invisibility.
The council chamber was empty when I arrived.
Its stone walls adorned with the mounted heads of great beasts and faded tapestries depicting the ancient wars.
A massive oak table dominated the center, surrounded by 12 intricately carved chairs.
I moved quietly, arranging the food and filling the silver goblets with rich red wine.
I was placing the last goblet when the door swung open.
Instinctively, I stepped back into the shadows, pressing myself against the wall behind a heavy curtain.
Our alpha entered first, all Alaric, strong jawed and goldenhaired, the perfect image of werewolf nobility.
Behind him came two of his senior bettas.
Then a trio of warriors from the northern pack, their faces marked with ritual scars.
And then he entered the northern king.
Up close, he was even more imposing.
His face was all sharp angles and plains, his jaw covered with a neatly trimmed beard.
His eyes, gods, his eyes, they were the silver gray of storm clouds, rimmed with a circle of gold that seemed to glow in the fire light.
A scar ran from his left temple to his jaw, cutting through his eyebrow.
Unlike the other alphas who dressed to impress in fine leathers and gold, he wore simple black clothing under a cloak of silver gray fur.
“King Thorne,” Allaric said, gesturing to the head of the table.
“We are honored by your presence after so many years of absence.
” The northern king Thorne didn’t immediately sit.
His gaze swept the room, and I could have sworn it lingered on my hiding place for a heartbeat too long.
“Let us dispense with the pleasantries,” Allaric, he said, his voice deep and rough, like stones grinding together.
“You know why I’m here? The curse,” all Alaric replied, lowering his voice.
“The rumors have reached even our territory.
” “Is it true? The winter grows longer in your lands with each passing year.
” Thorne’s jaw tightened.
3 months of sunlight is all we have now.
The rest is darkness and ice.
My people suffer.
One of all Alaric’s betas leaned forward.
And you believe our old legends that an Omega’s kiss will break the curse.
Forgive me, your majesty, but that sounds like a nursery tale.
I pressed my hand to my mouth to stifle a gasp.
Everyone knew the story of the northern curse.
how centuries ago a spurned witch had cursed the northern pack’s alpha bloodline, condemning their lands to endless winter unless a true mate was found.
But no one believed it was real.
“Mock all you want,” Thorne growled.
“But my grandmother saw the truth in her visions before she died.
Only when the forgotten one is remembered, when the scentless carries the sweetest perfume, will the ice retreat and the sun return.
I’ve visited every pack across the continent.
I’ve met every eligible Omega.
None have broken the curse.
Well, Allaric said with a tight smile, you’re welcome to scent the Omegas we presented tonight, though I doubt you’ll find anything different than at the other packs.
Thorne’s expression darkened.
I scented them already.
Nothing.
He paused, his nostrils flaring.
But there’s something else here.
Something hidden.
My heart began to pound so loudly.
I was certain everyone in the room could hear it.
The pendant against my chest grew warm, almost hot.
Hidden.
I assure you, all eligible omegas were presented, Allaric said.
But there was a flicker of something.
Guilt, fear in his eyes.
Not all, Thorne said, rising suddenly from his chair.
There’s another scent here.
Faint, but like nothing I’ve ever encountered.
He began to move around the table, his steps deliberate, his head slightly tilted as if listening to something only he could hear.
The others watched in confusion as he approached the heavy curtain behind which I cowered.
I should have run.
I should have found another exit, but I stood frozen, trapped between terror and a strange, inexplicable anticipation.
The curtain was yanked aside, silver gold eyes locked with mine, widening in surprise and then narrowing with an intensity that made my knees weak.
For a long moment, we simply stared at each other.
The room, the others, the entire world seemed to fall away, leaving only this connection.
This pull that made my chest ache and my skin prickle with awareness.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.
Before I could answer, Allaric stepped forward.
No one of consequence, he said dismissively.
Just a kitchen girl, a defective omega with no scent.
She’s nothing.
Thorne didn’t look away from me.
Didn’t even acknowledge All Alaric’s words.
“Your name,” he said again, softer this time, almost gentle.
I swallowed hard, finding my voice etera, I whispered.
He inhaled deeply, his pupils dilating until the gold nearly swallowed the gray.
Impossible, he murmured.
And then he did something that made everyone in the room gasp.
“The northern king, the most feared alpha in all the territories, dropped to one knee before me and bowed his head.
” “Found you,” he said in a voice so low I barely heard it.
The pendant against my chest flared with heat.
And for the first time in my life, I felt a strange warmth spreading through my body.
A tingling sensation that started in my core and radiated outward.
The air around us seemed to shimmer, and I caught the faintest scent of pine and snow and something wild.
All Alaric stepped forward, his face twisted with anger and confusion.
What is the meaning of this? She’s nothing, a servant.
She has no scent, no value as an omega.
Thorne rose slowly, turning to face all Alaric with a look that could have frozen fire.
You’re wrong, he said, his voice deadly quiet.
She has a scent, the most powerful I’ve ever encountered.
His eyes flicked back to me, intense and searching.
She just hasn’t awakened to it yet.
I stood trembling, caught between fear and a strange budding hope that threatened to crack the protective shell I’d built around my heart over years of rejection and shame.
Who was I to be noticed by such a man? What could he possibly see in me that no one else had ever seen? As if reading my thoughts, Thorne reached out slowly, his large hand hovering near my cheek without touching.
The forgotten one, he murmured.
It’s you.
The silence in the council chamber pressed against my ears like water.
Every eye was fixed on us, the mighty northern king and the nobody kitchen girl, as if witnessing something forbidden or impossible.
My cheeks burned with the unwanted attention.
But I couldn’t look away from Thorne’s face, from the intensity in those strange silver gold eyes.
“This is absurd,” Allaric finally sputtered, breaking the spell.
She can’t be the one you seek.
Ara has been scented by dozens of alphas over the years.
None found anything of value.
Thorne’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the skin.
Without looking away from me, he addressed our alpha in a voice like ice.
Then they were blind.
Or perhaps, his eyes narrowed slightly.
Something has been masking her true nature.
My hand unconsciously moved to my grandmother’s pendant, still warm against my skin.
Thorne’s gaze followed the movement, understanding flickering across his features.
That pendant, he said quietly.
May I see it? Before I could respond, Allaric stepped between us.
This has gone on long enough.
The girl will return to her duties.
If you wish to continue our negotiations, “I did not ask you.
” Thorne cut him off, his voice deceptively soft, but carrying an unmistakable threat.
The air thickened with his power, pressing down on the room like a physical weight.
The other alphas and betas shifted uncomfortably, some lowering their eyes in instinctive submission.
He turned back to me, and his expression softened just slightly.
Ara, the pendant, please.
My fingers trembled as I pulled the leather cord over my head.
The simple amber stone seemed to pulse with its own inner light as I hesitantly extended my hand toward him.
Our fingers brushed as he took it, and a jolt of something electric shot up my arm.
Thorne examined the pendant, turning it over in his large, scarred hands.
Protection magic, he murmured.
Old magic.
He looked up at me with newfound wonder.
Who gave this to you? My grandmother, I whispered, finding my voice at last before she died.
Something passed across his face.
Recognition perhaps, or confirmation of a suspicion.
Your grandmother’s name? Lyra, I said.
Lyra Blackthornne.
One of the northern warriors behind Thorne inhaled sharply.
Thorne himself went very still, his eyes widening slightly before he composed himself again.
Blackthornne,” he repeated, the name seemingly heavy on his tongue.
“Of course.
” He held the pendant out to me.
“Keep this safe.
It’s more valuable than you know.
” As I took it back, his fingers closed gently around mine for just a moment.
“You’ve been hidden,” he said softly.
“For my ears alone.
But not anymore.
” Allar cleared his throat loudly.
“This is all very dramatic, King Thorne.
But surely you don’t believe this.
This serving girl is somehow connected to your curse.
She’s been with our pack her entire life.
There’s nothing special about her.
Every word was another small cut.
Reopening wounds I thought had long scarred over.
Nothing special, just a serving girl.
Defective, I stared at the floor, shame washing over me in a familiar wave.
“Look at me,” Thorne commanded but gently.
I forced myself to raise my eyes to his.
Do you believe that? He asked.
That there’s nothing special about you.
The question caught me off guard.
No one had ever asked what I believed about myself.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, uncertain.
I I’m just I gestured helplessly at myself, my worn gray dress, my calloused hands, my entire unremarkable existence.
Something like anger flashed in his eyes, but it wasn’t directed at me.
You are not just anything, he said with quiet conviction.
Then he turned to Allaric.
She comes with me tonight to the Northern Territories.
The room erupted.
All Alaric’s Bas protested loudly.
The Northern warriors stepped forward to flank their king, and I stood frozen between them all, trying to make sense of what was happening.
“You can’t just take one of our pack members,” Allaric said, his alpha voice reverberating through the chamber.
Especially not on the night of the autumn moon festival.
There are protocols, negotiations.
Then name your price, Thorne interrupted coldly.
Gold, land, military alliance, name it.
I flinched.
He was treating this like a transaction, like I was livestock to be bartered.
The brief spark of hope that had kindled in my chest began to sputter and die.
Of course, I was just a means to an end for him, a possible solution to his curse.
Nothing more.
I’m not a thing to be bought, I said, surprising myself with my own boldness.
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Thorne turned to me, surprise evident on his face, followed quickly by what might have been respect.
“No,” he agreed.
“You’re not.
” He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
But I need you to come with me.
Ura, my people are dying.
Our children are born into darkness and know nothing of spring.
The raw pain in his voice reached something deep inside me.
I thought of my own life here.
The endless days of scrubbing floors and being invisible.
The nights spent alone in my tiny room in the servant’s quarters, crying silently into my pillow.
What was I clinging to? If I go with you, I said carefully.
I want your word that I’ll be treated with dignity, not as a a tool or an experiment.
A shadow of a smile touched his lips.
“You have my word as Alpha King.
No harm will come to you in my lands.
You will be honored as my guest.
” “This is ridiculous,” Allaric interrupted.
“She’s not going anywhere.
She belongs to our pack.
” Thorne’s expression hardened as he turned back to our alpha.
“When was the last time you treated her as pack, all Alaric? When was the last time she was protected, valued, included? His voice dripped with contempt.
I can smell the loneliness on her, the years of neglect.
All Alaric flushed, guilt flashing briefly across his face before he masked it with anger.
You overstep, northern king.
Our pack dynamics are none of your concern.
They became my concern the moment I found her, Thorne replied.
He turned to me again.
Ara, the choice is yours.
Stay here or come with me to the north.
The weight of the decision pressed down on me.
Leave everything I’d ever known or remain in a place where I’d never belonged.
Risk my life on the word of a stranger.
Or continue my halfexistence here.
My fingers closed around my grandmother’s pendant.
It pulsed with warmth against my palm as if offering an answer.
I thought of her final words to me.
Your path leads away from here, little one.
When the time comes, be brave enough to follow it.
I’ll go, I said, my voice stronger than I expected.
I’ll go with you, Thorne nodded once, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
Get whatever belongings you wish to bring.
We leave within the hour.
This is not settled, Alaric growled, stepping toward me.
You are still under my authority, Ara, and I forbid.
The change happened so quickly, I barely saw it.
One moment, Thorne was standing calmly before me.
The next, he was between Allaric and myself, his hand at our alpha’s throat, his eyes burning gold, fangs partially descended.
The transformation wasn’t complete.
He maintained his human form.
But the wolf was there, just beneath the surface.
She has made her choice, Thorne said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
Challenge me on this and you will not live to regret it.
The council chamber went deathly silent.
No one moved to help Allaric, not even his own bettas.
After a tense moment, Allaric tilted his head slightly, exposing his neck in the universal sign of werewolf submission.
Thorne released him and stepped back.
Wise decision.
He turned to his warriors.
Prepare the horses.
We ride as soon as she’s ready.
One of them, a tall, stern-faced woman with intricate braids, nodded and left the room.
The others followed, leaving me alone with Thorne and the still shaken all Alaric.
“You have 15 minutes,” Thorne told me gently.
“Take only what matters most.
The rest can be replaced.
” I nodded, still stunned by the rapid turn of events, and slipped out of the council chamber.
As the door closed behind me, I heard Allaric’s angry whisper.
“You have no idea what you’re taking.
the legends about her grandmother.
Thorne’s reply was too low to hear, but something in his tone made me shiver.
I hurried through the pack house, ignoring the curious stares of servants and guests alike.
News traveled fast, and already I could hear the whispers.
The northern king claimed the defective Omega, taking her north, the curse.
My room in the servants’s quarters was little more than a closet, a narrow bed, a small trunk for my few possessions, a cracked mirror hanging on the wall.
I changed quickly out of my serving dress into the warmest clothes I owned.
Woolen leggings, a long tunic, sturdy boots.
I grabbed my winter cloak, threadbear, but better than nothing.
Into a small sack, I placed my most precious possessions.
My mother’s silver hairbrush, a book of legends my grandmother had illustrated, a small wooden wolf my father had carved for me before the fever took both my parents when I was seven.
Everything I valued in the world fit into a bag smaller than a loaf of bread.
As I turned to leave, I caught sight of myself in the mirror.
The same face that had looked back at me for 22 years.
ordinary brown eyes, a smattering of freckles across my nose, brown hair that refused to be tamed.
But something was different.
There was color in my cheeks, a light in my eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“Who are you?” I whispered to my reflection.
“What are you?” A knock at my door made me jump.
I expected Thorne, but instead it was Meera, the head cook’s daughter, and the closest thing I had to a friend in the pack.
Is it true? She asked, her eyes wide.
You’re going north with him? I nodded, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
They say he thinks you’re his true mate, she whispered.
That you’ll break the curse.
I don’t know what I am to him, I admitted.
But I have to go, Meera.
There’s nothing for me here.
She threw her arms around me in a rare display of affection.
Be careful, she whispered.
The north is dangerous.
They say the wolves there are different.
Wilder, closer to the old gods, I hugged her back, suddenly aware of how few embraces I’d known in my life.
I’ll be careful.
You should go, she said, pulling away.
They’re waiting in the courtyard.
Everyone’s watching.
My stomach nodded with anxiety.
But I nodded and squared my shoulders.
Whatever awaited me in the north, whether death or destiny, it had to be better than the half-life I’d been living.
The entire pack had gathered in the courtyard, forming a path from the pack house steps to where seven massive horses stomped and snorted, their breath fogging in the cool night air.
Thorne stood at the center, his warriors arranged around him, all eyes on the door from which I emerged.
I walked down the steps, clutching my small bag, feeling the weight of hundreds of stairs.
These people who had ignored or pied or despised me for years now looked at me with confusion and resentment, and from some a strange new respect.
As I approached Thorne, the crowd parted.
He extended his hand to me, and after only a moment’s hesitation, I took it.
His skin was surprisingly warm against mine, his grip gentle but secure.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He led me to his horse, a massive black stallion that towered over me.
Without warning, his hands circled my waist, and he lifted me effortlessly onto the saddle.
The casual display of strength sent a strange flutter through my stomach.
He mounted behind me in one fluid movement, his chest solid against my back, his arms coming around me to take the res.
“Hold tight,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
As we turned to leave, Allaric stepped forward, his face a mask of barely controlled fury.
Remember your place, Ara, he called out.
When his interest in you fades, don’t expect to find welcome here.
The words were meant to wound, to plant seeds of doubt.
Once they would have devastated me, but with thorn’s warmth at my back, and the northern mountains calling in the distance, I found I no longer cared what all Alaric thought.
Thorne tensed behind me.
Your alpha has spoken, Ara, he said loud enough for all to hear.
Remember it well when the time comes to choose your true allegiance.
He clicked his tongue and the horse lurched forward.
As we rode through the gates and into the darkness beyond, I didn’t look back.
For the first time in my life, I was looking forward instead.
We rode through the night, a silent procession winding its way northward through forests that grew denser and wilder with each passing mile.
The moon hung full and heavy above us, casting silver light through the canopy of leaves.
I had never ventured far from the packlands before, and everything, the sounds, the smells, the shifting shadows, was strange and new.
Thorne remained silent behind me.
His body a steady presence at my back.
Occasionally, his arms would tighten around me when the path grew treacherous or when I began to slip into exhaustion, my head nodding forward only to snap back up again.
Each time I would stiffen, unus to such proximity, especially with an alpha.
Each time he would loosen his hold slightly, but never completely let go.
“Rest,” he finally murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest against my back.
“I won’t let you fall.
I’m fine, I insisted, though my eyelids felt weighted with lead, I felt rather than heard his soft chuckle.
Stubborn, he observed, but there was something like approval in his tone.
I’m not used to, I hesitated, unsure how to explain being touched, he finished for me.
I nodded, grateful he couldn’t see my face in the darkness.
Your pack failed you,” he said after a moment, his voice hardening.
“Touch is as essential to wolves as breath.
To deny it is a form of cruelty.
” His words stirred something painful inside me.
Memories of watching other pack members embrace, scent mark each other, casually brush hands or shoulders in passing.
Simple gestures of belonging that had never been extended to me.
I survived, I said more defensively than I intended.
Surviving isn’t living, he replied quietly.
Before I could respond, he raised his hand, signaling the party to halt.
We had reached the edge of a vast clearing bathed in moonlight.
At its center stood an ancient oak tree, its massive trunk gnarled and twisted with age, its branches reaching toward the star scattered sky.
“We’ll rest here until dawn,” Thorne announced.
“Make camp!” His warriors dismounted in coordinated movements, already falling into what was clearly a familiar routine.
Thorne slid from the horse first, then reached up to help me down.
My legs buckled as they hit the ground, stiff and sore from hours in the saddle.
His hands remained at my waist until I was steady, then reluctantly withdrew.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
I nodded, suddenly aware of the hollow ache in my stomach.
I hadn’t eaten since early morning, too busy with preparations for the festival.
One of the warriors, the stern-faced woman with the intricate braids, approached us, carrying two bowls of something steaming.
“My king,” she said, handing one to Thorne.
She turned to me, her expression unreadable as she offered the second bowl.
“Lady.
” The title startled me.
No one had ever called me lady before.
Thank you, I said, taking the bowl.
But I’m not.
You are what my king says you are, she interrupted, her tone matter of fact rather than unkind.
She gave a short nod and walked away.
That’s Freya, Thorne said, watching her go.
My first warrior and cousin.
She doesn’t waste words, but her loyalty is absolute.
I looked down at the bowl in my hands.
A thick stew that smelled of unfamiliar spices.
My stomach growled loudly and without further hesitation I began to eat.
The flavor exploded on my tongue, rich and complex, unlike anything in our pack simpler cuisine.
“Good,” Thorne asked, watching me with that same intensity that made my skin tingle.
I nodded, too focused on eating to respond properly.
When I finally looked up, having scraped the bowl clean, I found him still watching me, his own food barely touched.
Why are you looking at me like that? I asked.
Discomfort and something else, something warmer twisting in my stomach.
He seemed to consider his answer carefully.
You’re not what I expected, he said finally.
What did you expect? Someone beautiful, powerful? I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice.
Sorry to disappoint.
His expression hardened slightly.
Do not put words in my mouth, and do not assume you know my thoughts.
He set his bowl aside and leaned forward.
I expected someone broken by years of mistreatment, someone beaten down, diminished.
Instead, I find steel beneath the surface.
Dignity fire.
I looked away, uncomfortable with his assessment.
You’ve known me less than a day.
You don’t know what I am.
Perhaps not everything, he conceded.
But more than you think.
A chill that had nothing to do with the night air ran through me.
What do you mean? Before he could answer, Freya approached again.
The perimeter is secure, my king, but there are signs of gray walkers in these woods.
Thorne’s expression darkened.
How fresh.
Two days, perhaps three.
Should I double the watch? He nodded.
Wake me at the first sign of trouble.
After Freya left, I asked quietly.
What are grey walkers? Thorne’s jaw tightened.
rogues, werewolves who’ve rejected packlaw, who live wild and hunt humans and wolves alike.
They’re drawn to power and to omegas.
His eyes fixed on me.
We should sleep.
Tomorrow’s journey will be harder.
The northern warriors had erected a small tent for Thorne, and to my surprise, he gestured for me to enter it.
“You’ll be safer with me,” he said, noting my hesitation.
I gave my word you would not be harmed.
“That includes preserving your honor.
Too exhausted to argue, I ducked into the tent.
It was simple but comfortable with thick furs spread across the ground.
I sank onto them gratefully, my body aching from the long ride.
Thorne entered after me, keeping a careful distance as he settled on the opposite side.
Sleep, he said.
We leave at first light.
Despite my exhaustion, sleep eluded me.
I was acutely aware of Thorne’s presence just a few feet away, of his steady breathing, of the subtle shift of his body when he moved.
Questions crowded my mind, fighting for precedence.
“Why me?” I finally whispered into the darkness.
“Of all the omegas you’ve met, why do you think I’m the one who can break your curse?” For a long moment, I thought he might have fallen asleep.
Then his deep voice rumbled through the tent.
The prophecy spoke of the forgotten one, the scentless who carries the sweetest perfume.
For centuries, we believed it referred to some rare omega condition.
Now I know better.
What do you mean? I heard him shift, turning toward me.
Your pendant doesn’t just protect you, Ara.
It hides you.
Masks your true nature, your true scent.
But magic that powerful can’t completely erase what you are.
It leaves, traces, echoes.
That’s what I sensed in the council chamber.
My hand went to the pendant, still warm against my skin.
My grandmother never said perhaps she didn’t know the full extent of its power.
Or perhaps she did, and that’s exactly why she gave it to you.
” He paused.
“The name Blackthornne means something in the north.
Your grandmother wasn’t just any wolf.
” A chill ran through me.
What was she? A seer.
One of the last true seers among our kind.
They’re born only to certain bloodlines, and the black thorns were one of the most powerful.
It was believed the line had died out decades ago.
My mind reeled with this information.
My quiet, gentle grandmother, who spoke to plants and knew things before they happened.
A powerful sear from an ancient bloodline.
It seemed impossible.
Yet something deep inside me resonated with the truth of it.
If she was so special, why was she living in our pack? Why was I treated as as nothing? Thorne was quiet for a moment.
That, he said finally, is something I intend to discover.
Rest now.
You’ll need your strength.
Despite my whirling thoughts, exhaustion eventually claimed me.
I dreamed of snow and darkness, of running through endless forests, pursued by shadows with gleaming eyes.
And through it all, a voice called my name, drawing me deeper into the cold.
I woke with a gasp, my heart hammering.
The tent was empty, thorns furs neatly arranged.
Sunlight filtered through the canvas, indicating it was well past dawn.
I scrambled up, embarrassed to have overslept.
Outside, the camp was already being dismantled.
Thorne stood a short distance away, deep in conversation with Freya and another warrior.
He looked up as I emerged, something like relief crossing his face.
You slept deeply, he observed as I approached.
No dreams.
The question seemed odd.
Why do you ask? A shadow passed over his features.
The curse affects more than just our lands.
As we draw closer to the Northern Territory, its influence grows stronger.
Dreams are often the first sign, I hesitated, then admitted.
I dreamed of snow and darkness.
Something was chasing me, Thorne exchanged a glance with Freya.
“It’s beginning already,” she murmured.
“Beginning? What’s beginning?” Alarm rose in my chest.
“You said I wouldn’t be harmed.
” “And you won’t be,” Thorne said firmly.
“But the curse, it resists attempts to break it.
It will try to frighten you, to turn you away.
” His eyes held mine.
Be prepared for worse dreams tonight.
We’ll cross into the cursed lands before sunset.
We rode hard throughout the day, stopping only briefly to rest the horses and eat a simple meal of dried meat and hard bread.
The landscape changed gradually around us, the lush forest giving way to sparser woods, the air growing cooler with each mile northward.
By mid-after afternoon, I noticed the first patches of snow on the ground, despite it being early autumn.
The curse, Thorne explained, noting my confusion.
The closer we get to my territory, the deeper the winter.
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, we crested a hill, and I saw it for the first time, the Northern Territory.
A vast expanse of mountains and valleys stretched before us.
everything blanketed in snow that gleamed pink and gold in the fading light.
At the center, nestled between two mountain peaks, rose a massive stone fortress, its towers and walls seeming to grow from the very rock of the mountain.
Black frost keep, Thorne said, a note of pride in his voice.
My home.
Despite its forbidding appearance, there was something breathtaking about the fortress, something that called to something deep inside me.
I found myself leaning forward in the saddle, eager to draw closer.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“You’re the first outsider to think so,” he said with a hint of surprise.
“Most see only the cold, the isolation.
” “I see strength,” I said honestly.
“Endurance.
” His arms tightened briefly around me, and I felt rather than heard his deep inhale near my hair.
“We should continue.
It’s not safe to be outside the walls after dark.
As we descended into the valley, the temperature dropped dramatically.
My breath fogged in front of my face, and I shivered despite my cloak.
Thorne pulled me closer against his chest.
His body heat a welcome shield against the biting cold.
“We’re crossing the boundary,” he murmured against my ear.
“The edge of the curse.
You may feel something.
” Before I could ask what he meant, we passed between two ancient standing stones covered in faded carvings.
Immediately, a wave of coldness washed over me.
Not physical cold, but something deeper.
Something that reached into my chest and squeezed.
For a terrible moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
My vision dimming at the edges.
Then warmth spread through me, starting at my chest where the pendant lay and radiating outward.
The cold receded and I gasped, drawing air back into my lungs.
Ara Thorne’s voice was tight with concern, his arms now holding me firmly against him.
Speak to me.
I’m I’m all right, I managed, though my voice shook.
What was that? The curse recognizing you, he said grimly, recognizing a threat.
The implications of his words sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the surrounding snow.
If the curse could sense me, could react to me, then it was more than just a spell.
It was something alive, something conscious.
You didn’t tell me,” I accused quietly.
“You didn’t tell me the curse could could touch me.
” “Would you have come if I had?” he asked equally quiet.
“I had no answer for that.
” As we drew closer to Black Frost Keep, I began to see signs of habitation.
Small stone houses with smoke rising from chimneys, fields lying dormant under the snow, the occasional figure bundled in furs, who would stop and stare as our procession passed.
Their faces were thin, their eyes hollow.
They looked like people who had endured too much for too long.
“Your people,” I said softly.
“They’re suffering.
Three months of sun each year is not enough to grow sufficient crops, Thorne replied, his voice heavy with the weight of responsibility.
We hunt, we trade, we survive, but barely.
Each year, the winter grows longer, the darkness deeper.
And you believe I can change that? One person against a curse powerful enough to do this? I gestured at the snow-covered landscape, the perpetual twilight that seemed to hang over everything despite the hour.
Not just any person, he said.
You.
His free hand came up to touch the pendant at my throat, his fingers brushing against my skin.
The forgotten one with blackthorn blood flowing in her veins.
I shivered.
And not from the cold.
And if I can’t, if I fail, his hand dropped away.
Then my people continue to suffer.
And eventually the darkness consumes us completely.
The weight of expectations settled over me, heavier than any snow.
These people’s lives, their very existence, now depended on me, on some power I didn’t understand and couldn’t control.
The unfairness of it burned in my throat.
I never asked for this, I whispered.
Neither did I, Thorne replied, his voice gentle but unyielding.
Neither did they.
But here we are.
We rode through massive iron gates into a courtyard bustling with activity despite the late hour.
Servants rushed forward to take the horses.
Warriors saluted their king.
And everywhere, curious eyes turned toward me.
I shrank back against Thorne, overwhelmed by the attention.
Stand tall, he murmured.
Show them your strength.
Easy for him to say.
He was their king, their alpha.
I was nobody.
A kitchen girl pretending to be something more.
As Thorne helped me dismount, an older woman approached us.
She wore simple but fine clothing, her silver hair braided elaborately around her head, her bearing regal despite her advanced years.
“You’ve returned early, my son,” she said, her sharp eyes moving from Thor to me, and with company I see.
“Mother,” Thorne acknowledged with a respectful inclination of his head.
“This is Blackthornne.
Ara, my mother, Queen Daager is olda.
” The old woman went very still at the name Blackthornne, her eyes widening slightly before her expression smoothed over.
Blackthornne, she repeated.
“Truly?” I curtsied awkwardly, unused to such formality.
“Your majesty?” she stepped closer, studying me intently.
“May I?” she asked, her hand hovering near my face.
Confused but unwilling to refuse, I nodded.
Her cool fingers touched my cheek, trailed down to my jaw, tilted my face toward the light.
Something like wonder crossed her features.
The eyes, she murmured.
Lyra’s eyes exactly, she turned to Thorne.
You were right to bring her here, but whether she’s the one, she shook her head.
That remains to be seen.
The pendant, Thorne said.
Show her.
Hesitantly, I pulled the amber pendant from beneath my tunic.
The queen daager inhaled sharply.
her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to touch it.
“Lyra’s talisman,” she whispered.
“After all these years,” she looked up at me, and to my shock, there were tears in her eyes.
“Child, do you know what this is? What it means?” I shook my head, feeling increasingly out of my depth.
The Queen Daager turned to her son.
She must be told everything tonight before the curse can work its influence on her dreams again.
She looked back at me with unexpected kindness.
You’ve been kept in ignorance far too long, child.
But now you’ve come home where you belong.
Home.
The word echoed strangely in my mind.
How could this frozen fortress be home when I’d never set foot here before? Yet something about it called to me.
some recognition deeper than memory.
As if reading my thoughts, the Queen Dowager took my cold hands in her warm ones.
Blood remembers, she said softly.
Even when the mind forgets, the Queen Dowager led us through black frost keeps winding corridors.
Up stone staircases worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.
Tapestries depicting wolves and ancient battles lined the walls, their colors muted in the flickering torch light.
Despite my exhaustion, I felt a strange familiarity with each turn we took, as if some part of me recognized this place.
We entered a circular chamber at the top of the highest tower.
A fire burned in a massive hearth, casting long shadows across the stone floor.
The walls were lined with books and scrolls, glass jars containing mysterious substances and strange artifacts I couldn’t identify.
At the center stood a table carved from a single slab of dark wood.
Its surface inlaid with silver symbols that seemed to shift when I wasn’t looking directly at them.
The seer’s chamber, Thorne explained quietly.
No one has used it since my grandmother died.
The queen daager gestured for me to sit in one of the highbacked chairs by the fire.
You must be exhausted, child.
Rest while I prepare the tea.
As she busied herself at a small side table, Thorne remained standing, his tall figure silhouetted against the flames.
The fire highlighted the sharp angles of his face, the silver in his eyes.
I was struck again by how beautiful he was in a wild, dangerous way that made my heart beat faster.
“Why did you really bring me here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Is it truly just to break the curse?” “He regarded me steadily.
Would that not be reason enough?” “It would, but I don’t think it’s the only reason.
” A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“Perceptive,” he murmured.
The curse is killing my people.
That alone would justify any action.
But no, it’s not the only reason.
Before he could elaborate, the queen daager returned with three steaming cups.
The liquid inside was dark red, smelling of herbs and something metallic that made my nose wrinkle.
Bloodroot tea, she explained, noting my hesitation.
It clears the mind and strengthens the spirit against influences.
The curse, she meant.
I took a careful sip.
The taste was bitter at first, then oddly sweet, warming me from the inside out.
As I drank, the queen daager settled across from me, her penetrating gaze never leaving my face.
“You want to know who you are?” she said.
“It wasn’t a question.
” I nodded, my fingers tightening around the warm cup.
“Your grandmother, Lyra Blackthornne, was my cousin and closest friend,” she began.
She was also the most powerful seer our people had known in generations.
The Blackthorns have always been seers.
It runs in the bloodline.
But Lyra’s gift was exceptional.
She could see not just possible futures, but the threads connecting them, the choices that would lead from one path to another.
I tried to reconcile this description with my memories of my quiet grandmother tending her herb garden, telling me stories by the fire.
If she was so important, why did she leave? Why was she living with our with all Alaric’s pack? The Queen Daajager and Thorne exchanged a glance heavy with meaning.
“She didn’t leave,” Thorne said quietly.
“She was taken 30 years ago,” the Queen Daager continued.
“A witch from the Western Territories came to us seeking the Northern Ps protection.
She had powerful enemies, she claimed.
In exchange for sanctuary, she offered to strengthen our borders with her magic.
She paused, her mouth tightening.
My husband, the king, agreed, despite Lyra’s warnings.
She had seen darkness in the witch’s future, and in hours if we allied with her.
The witch, Thorne picked up the story, his voice hard, became obsessed with my father.
When he rejected her advances, her offer of protection revealed itself as the trap it was.
She cursed our bloodline and our lands.
Eternal winter until the alpha king finds his true mate.
A common enough curse in fairy tales, the queen daager said with a bitter smile.
But this one had teeth.
With each generation, the winter grows longer, the curse stronger.
And there was more.
A second part to the curse that targeted the blackthorn line directly.
What do you mean? I asked, a chill running through me despite the fire’s warmth.
The witch knew Lyra had foreseen her treachery.
So she ensured no Blackthorn seer would be able to help break the curse.
She bound their powers, made it so any Blackthornne who attempted to use their gifts against the curse would suffer terribly.
The Queen Daager’s eyes filled with sorrow.
Lyra tried anyway.
The backlash nearly killed her.
While she was weakened, Thorne continued.
Allaric’s father, who was visiting our territory at the time, abducted her.
He had always coveted the power of a sear for his pack.
With Lyra barely conscious and our forces dealing with the sudden onset of the curse, he managed to escape with her back to his territory.
My head spun with these revelations.
But my mother, my father, your mother was Lyra’s daughter, born here in the north before the curse.
The queen daager explained gently.
She was just a child when Lyra was taken.
We searched for years, but Allaric’s father had hidden them well.
By the time we discovered where they were, your mother had grown up and mated with a wolf from all Alaric’s pack.
The pendant, I said, touching it at my throat.
Grandmother gave it to me before she died.
She said it would protect me when she couldn’t.
Protection and concealment.
Thorne nodded.
She knew what you were, what you could be, and hid you in plain sight.
A blackthorn air with dormant sear abilities, potentially the key to breaking the curse.
But I’ve never had visions, I protested.
I’m not a seer.
The pendant suppressed your abilities along with your scent.
The Queen Daager said, “Necessary protection, but at a cost.
You’ve been cut off from half of your nature your entire life.
” I stared into the fire, trying to process everything.
My entire identity, everything I thought I knew about myself and my family was being rewritten with each word they spoke.
I wasn’t defective.
I wasn’t worthless.
I was hidden, protected, awaited.
The prophecy, I said finally.
The one about the forgotten one.
My grandmother made it, didn’t she? Before she died.
Thorne nodded.
Her last vision.
Only when the forgotten one is remembered.
When the scentless carries the sweetest perfume, will the ice retreat and the sun return.
And you believe that’s me.
I know it’s you, he said with quiet certainty.
From the moment I scented you, or rather didn’t scent you, in that council chamber, I knew something in me recognized something in you.
Curse or no curse? The intensity in his silver gold eyes made my breath catch.
There it was again.
That pull, that connection I’d felt from the first moment our eyes met.
What happens now? I asked, my voice unsteady.
The queen daager set down her cup.
Now my dear, you must make a choice.
The pendant has protected you, but it has also limited you to break the curse.
If indeed you are the one who can, you must embrace your true nature.
You must remove the pendant.
Fear gripped me at the thought.
And if I’m not the one, if I remove it and nothing happens.
Then you are still Lyra Blackthornne’s granddaughter, she said firmly.
Still of the Northern Pack by blood and birthright.
Still welcome here.
I looked to Thorne, searching his face for I wasn’t sure what.
Confirmation, reassurance.
He met my gaze steadily.
“The choice is yours,” he said.
“It has always been yours.
I brought you here, but I won’t force you to stay, to remove the pendant, to attempt to break a curse that has defeated generations before you.
” He stepped closer, kneeling before my chair so our eyes were level.
But know this, whether you break the curse or not, whether you stay or go, you have already changed something in me that I thought long frozen.
His hand came up slowly, giving me time to pull away.
When I didn’t, his fingers gently brushed my cheek.
The touch sent warmth spiraling through me, a sense of brightness so profound it nearly brought tears to my eyes.
“I think,” I said softly.
I’ve been cold my entire life without realizing it until now.
With trembling fingers, I reached for the leather cord around my neck.
The amber pendant pulsed once against my palm as if in farewell as I lifted it over my head.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then warmth flooded through me, spreading from my core to my fingertips, my vision sharpening, sense intensifying.
I gasped as sensations overwhelmed me.
The smoky tang of the fire, the herbal richness of the tea, the ancient stone of the keep, and underneath it all, thorns scent, pine and snow, and something wild that called to the deepest part of me.
His eyes widened, pupils dilating until they nearly swallowed the silver gold.
“Aara,” he breathed, his voice rough with wonder, and something else, something hungry.
Outside, the wind rose to a howl, rattling the tower windows.
The fire in the hearth flared suddenly, then died down to embers.
“The curse fights back,” the Queen Daager whispered, rising to her feet.
“It knows.
” Thorne stood, pulling me up with him, his hand warm and solid around mine.
“Then we fight harder,” he said.
In that moment, with his eyes on mine and his hand in mine, I believed we could.
The forgotten one remembered at last the scentless now carrying the sweetest perfume and between us the promise of Spring.
