Damien wasn't born a monster.
He was raised into one.
From the moment he took his first breath beneath a blood-red moon, Damien was marked by a legacy shaped by power, fear, and fire.
The son of Alpha Alaric Blackthorn known as the Wolf King Damien inherited not only the Blackthorn name, but the curse that came with it.
Where others were taught compassion, Damien was taught dominance.
Where most children were cradled in warmth, Damien was forged in brutal winters and battlefield scars.
Alaric taught him that weakness was a disease.
That love made you vulnerable.
That trust was the sharpest blade your enemy could ever wield against you.
And Damien listened.
Alaric Blackthorn had once loved. Her name was Anora Damien's mother.
Gentle-hearted. Sharp-minded. Strong in a way that made even Alphas pause.
For a time, she softened the edges of the tyrant.
For a time, she made him vulnerable.
And he hated her for it.
To Alaric, love was rot.
Affection, a poison.
So the Wolf King chose legacy over loyalty.
Power over family.
He slit Anora's throat beneath the silver light of the moon, a sacrifice, he said, to rid himself of the weakness love had planted in his bones.
Damien saw everything.
He watched his mother fall, crimson spilling across white snow, while his father's hands trembled not from guilt, but from rage at his own moment of softness.
That night, something inside Damien shattered.
And something far colder took its place.
Alaric raised him like a weapon.
"Trust no one. Love no one. Rule with fear, or die like a fool."
And Damien listened.
He grew tall and broad-shouldered, with a gaze so cold it made warriors flinch.
His wolf jet-black with silver eyes was feared across packs.
Not because he was merciless in battle, but because he never flinched.
Not when bones snapped.
Not when blood soaked the earth.
Not when he bled.
Not even when he's at the stage of dying.
He ruled the Midnight Howl Pack with iron law.
No one questioned him not the council, not his soldiers, not even the Elders.
He had no need for a Luna.
No interest in fated mates.
And no tolerance for disobedience.
His heart was a fortress no one had ever breached and he liked it that way.
He was feared.
Respected.
Untouchable.
Until her scent crashed into him like a storm on a calm sea.
Until the Moon Goddess dared to tie his soul to someone soft, someone warm… someone wrong.
Freya.
The name tasted like betrayal on his tongue.
He didn't want her.
Wouldn't want her.
Would never want her.
Because Damien had made a vow long ago, one etched into him by a father who died with blood on his hands and a smirk on his lips:
"To rule without love is to rule without weakness."
And Damien Blackthorn never intended to be weak.
Yes, he had always been eager to discover who the Moon Goddess had fated for him.
But not because he wanted to be loved.
Not because he believed in mates or destiny.
He was eager because he had a plan.
A plan forged in darkness, sharpened by grief, and soaked in vengeance.
Just like his father had a plan for his mother…
Damien had a plan for her.
But he was not one to wait patiently.
He didn't trust the stars or the will of a divine being.
So he took matters into his own hands.
He summoned every seer he knew of every oracle, every prophet, every mystic.
And when none could reveal what the Moon Goddess had written in the threads of fate…
Damien stopped asking.
He started killing.
He challenged the moon goddess.
One by one, he silenced the seers who failed him, until finally, one dared whisper the name that would change everything.
Freya.
Damien never believed in mercy.
And he sure as hell never believed in fate.
As a child, he'd sat in silence while the Elders spoke of the Moon Goddess how she was divine, how she guided the threads of destiny, how every wolf was blessed with a fated mate.
They called it a gift.
A sacred bond.
A miracle written in the stars.
But to Damien Blackthorn, it was a curse.
What kind of goddess would bind a warrior's soul to another?
What kind of deity would force a man to feel, to need, to love?
He'd seen what the so-called gift of a mate did to the strongest Alpha he'd ever known.
It broke Alaric his father.
Weakened him.
And ultimately, destroyed Anora.
To Damien, the Moon Goddess was no benevolent being.
She was a manipulator.
A puppeteer of hearts.
And he hated her.
Hated the way she made wolves crave what would make them vulnerable.
Hated the bond she wove without permission, without warning.
Hated that no matter how cold a heart was, one touch one scent could reduce it to ashes.
He had sworn long ago that if the Moon Goddess ever dared to match him with a mate, he would not accept her.
He would not be tethered like a dog to someone just because the stars said so.
He would spit in the face of fate as his father had.
So while other wolves waited with hope in their hearts for their mates, Damien waited with loathing.
Not for her.
But for the opportunity to reject what the Moon Goddess had written in his blood.
He didn't want love.
He wanted leverage.
And if the Goddess dared to give him a mate, he would use her, produce a heir for himself someone that would someday take his place just like he has succeeded his father.
Not love her.
Not cherish her.
Just break her—like his mother was broken.
Because Damien Blackthorn was not a wolf who believed in destiny, fate or bond.
He was a King.
And Kings don't bow to gods not even to the moon goddess.
Even when it is Divine!