The moon was full.
No—bloated, heavy with some ancient omen, hanging low over the Bloodmoon Pack territory like a silver eye watching, waiting.
Evelyn Thorn stood at the edge of the trees, her arms wrapped tightly around her ribs. The forest whispered her name tonight. The wind, always biting, had grown still. Even the wolves back at the packhouse, drunk on the ceremonial hunt, had gone quiet for a heartbeat.
She should've been celebrating too. Laughing, shifting. Joining the others.
But she wasn't like them.
She was an omega.
A servant. A stray.
Or so they said.
"Stay out of sight," Beta Marco had sneered earlier that day. "You'll curse the sacred hunt with your pathetic presence."
So she had fled—barefoot, shawl tugged over her shoulders—into the woods where no one dared walk alone. A girl like her didn't belong at rituals.
But the heat rising under her skin told a different story.
It started in her spine. A strange, fiery pulse like a second heartbeat. Evelyn staggered, gasping, clutching at her stomach as her legs gave out beneath her. Her forehead struck the mossy ground, and she groaned as her bones began to burn.
This wasn't sickness. It wasn't the flu.
It was the shift.
"No," she whispered. "This can't be—"
Her body convulsed. Pain lanced through every nerve. Her breath caught in her throat, coming out in ragged gasps. Something ancient, something wild, roared within her like a beast rattling the bars of a prison.
And then she screamed.
It echoed through the trees, sharp enough to silence birds, to halt the wind. Her limbs twisted, her skin tore. Silver fur burst across her arms, her back arched as claws replaced her fingers. Her jaw elongated, her scream melting into a growl.
She wasn't dying.
She was becoming.
A wolf—a real wolf—larger than any omega had a right to be, sleek and radiant under the moonlight. Her coat shimmered like stardust, and her eyes—when she caught her reflection in the stream—were not brown but a glowing amethyst shot through with gold.
She stumbled back from the water, heart pounding.
And then... she felt them.
Three pulls. Three threads.
Three hearts, burning across the distance.
One in the west—strong, steady, like stone and iron.
One in the north—cold, calculating, with the bite of silver.
One in the shadows—quiet, ancient, filled with magic.
Her knees buckled. Her breath caught in her throat as the bond snapped into place.
One mate.
Then—another.
Then—a third.
"No," she whispered. But the word meant nothing. The magic didn't care. The moon had already decided.
The forest shivered with power. Her head fell back, her body shifting again, snapping painfully as she returned to her human form. She lay in the moss, sweat-slick and trembling, moonlight on her bare skin, the night impossibly silent.
And then, in the distance—three howls.
Not from the pack.
Not from any wolf she'd ever heard.
They were answering her.
Calling her.
Claiming her.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
She wasn't an omega.
She was something else.
Something dangerous.
And the world would never be the same again.
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