The blade came down with a whistling sound that seemed to last an eternity.
I didn’t scream.
I wouldn’t give them that symphony.
The cold hit first.
Not the cold of the blade, but the cold of the world leaving me.
Snow swallowed my knees as my body was kicked forward off the block, the iron chains rattling like a funeral dirge.
The execution square was a tomb of silence, broken only by the whistling wind and the distant, mournful howl of a wolf who still remembered what loyalty meant.
My blood spilled onto the pristine white snow.
It bloomed like a grotesque rose, steaming in the sub-zero air.
Red.
So much red.
And then I felt it.
The tearing.
It wasn’t the skin or the bone.
It was the bond.
Deep inside my womb, that tiny, flickering light—the heartbeat that had been my only comfort in the dark—went suddenly, terrifyingly still.
No, my soul shrieked.
Not him.
Take me, but not him!
A soundless cry trapped itself in my shredded throat.
My mate bond screamed, a wild, feral thing reaching out across the void, begging Kael to feel the loss of his son.
I reached for him through the blood and the frost.
And found nothing.
Kael turned away.
He didn’t even watch the final moment.
He stood tall, the “righteous” Alpha, his jaw locked in a line of granite, hands clenched behind his back.
Snow gathered on his broad shoulders, melting against his dark cloak like tears he refused to shed.
He didn’t look back as my life soaked into the dirt.
Coward, my mind whispered, the thought fading like smoke.
Heartless, golden king.
The executioner, his hands trembling with a sudden, belated guilt, yanked my head up one last time to ensure the job was done.
“By order of the Alpha Council,” he shouted into the wind, his voice cracking, “Seraphina Vale, former Luna of Nightfang, is hereby executed for treason and carrying a bastard heir.”
Lies.
All of it, lies.
My vision tunneled.
The world narrowed down to three things: the scent of cedar, the heat of my own blood, and the unbearable, hollow silence where my baby’s heartbeat should have been.
Kael…
I tried to push one last image into his mind.
The day we met under the ancient oak.
The way he told me I was his soul.
The connection snapped.
The blade struck again, ensuring the “traitor” was gone.
My body convulsed, nerves screaming in a final, agonizing protest as the warmth drained out of me.
Snow soaked into my dress, heavy and frozen.
My strength faded in waves, each one pulling me further into the black tide.
This is it.
Death.
I welcomed the darkness.
At least in the dark, there were no Alphas to break their vows.
At least there, my baby was waiting for me.
My heart stuttered.
Once.
Twice.
Then, the clock of my life stopped.
The square exhaled.
Some wolves bowed their heads; others turned away, their tails tucked.
A few, like Elara and Silas, watched with a cold, jagged satisfaction.
“Dispose of the body in the Ravine of the Forgotten,” Silas commanded.
The words didn’t reach me.
I was falling.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
But it didn’t stay dark.
That was the first sign that the Goddess wasn’t finished with me.
Death was supposed to be a quiet meadow, a final rest.
Instead—CRACK.
A sharp, violent pressure slammed into my consciousness.
It felt like my soul was a sheet of glass being shattered by a hammer.
I felt myself falling, not into nothingness, but through time itself.
Layers of my life were peeling away, memories splintering and reforming like a kaleidoscope.
And then, I heard it.
My wolf.
Nyx.
She wasn’t dying.
She wasn’t fading.
She was coiled in the center of my spirit, a ball of white-hot, radioactive rage.
We are not done, she snarled, her voice vibrating in my very essence.
The Moon Mother demands blood for blood.
Pain surged—worse than the execution.
It was the feeling of a soul being stitched back together with threads of fire.
Symbols flared briefly beneath my skin—ancient, forbidden runes of the Old World, glowing a lethal silver before sinking into my bones.
I gasped.
Air tore into my lungs, cold and sharp as a knife.
I screamed, a raw, primal sound that echoed through a room that shouldn’t exist.
Far above the world, the moon didn’t just shine.
For one heartbeat, it turned the color of a fresh kill.
I jolted upright.
My body arched violently, my breath coming in ragged, terrified gulps.
Sweat drenched my skin, making my nightgown cling to my frame.
My heart was a drum, beating a frantic rhythm against my ribs—too loud, too fast, too alive.
I clawed at the sheets beneath me.
Sheets?
My eyes flew open, darting around the room.
Dark wood ceiling.
Carved beams.
The scent of lavender and expensive sage.
The heavy velvet curtains swaying in a gentle morning breeze.
My chambers.
Our home.
My hands shook as I held them up to the moonlight streaming through the window.
No chains.
No scars.
No blood.
I pressed my palms to my stomach.
It was flat.
Empty.
A sob tore free from my throat, jagged and agonizing.
“My baby…” I whispered, the grief hitting me like a physical avalanche.
I doubled over, clutching my midsection, the memory of the cold blade still burning in my phantom nerves.
This wasn’t heaven.
This was a nightmare.
The Goddess had sent me back to the start of my torture.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
I flinched so hard I nearly fell off the bed.
My heart leaped into my throat, tasted like copper.
“Luna?” a familiar, soft voice called.
“Are you awake? You’ll be late for the morning training.”
My blood turned to ice.
That voice.
“Mira?” I whispered, my voice a broken thread.
Mira.
My maid.
The girl who had been executed alongside me for trying to bring me water in the dungeons.
The door creaked open.
Mira peeked in, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes bright and full of a life I had seen extinguished.
“You slept through the dawn,” she teased, stepping inside with a basin of warm water.
I stared at her breathing chest.
At her living face.
I looked at the calendar on the wall.
The year was three years before my death.
Suddenly, my wrist burned.
I hissed, clutching it as a brand-new mark scorched itself into my skin.
It wasn’t a mate mark—it was something older.
A crescent moon dripping with blood.
My gaze snapped to the door.
Heavy, measured footsteps approached.
The scent of cedar and thunderstorms preceded him.
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.
Mira turned, bowing her head.
“Ah—Alpha Kael is here.”
Kael.
The man who watched me die.
The man who let our son be murdered.
The shadow fell across the doorway.
A single, firm knock.
“Seraphina,” Kael’s voice called.
It was calm.
Distant.
The voice of a man who hadn’t yet broken his wife, but was already preparing the cage.
“We need to speak.”
I curled my fingers into the silk sheets until they tore.
A cold, crystalline hatred settled in my chest, displacing the grief.
You killed me, I thought, staring at the door as the handle began to turn.
And this time, I’m the one holding the blade.