The sealed message chamber beneath the fortress. No windows. The air inside was cold and heavy, smelling of pine mixed with an approaching storm. On the ceiling, old chains from a messenger system.
In the center, a stone pedestal where only birds carrying messages from the Alphas would land.
The world was silent, but Kiera's heart was pounding.
She descended alone into the old message vault, carrying a rage she couldn't name.
Each step down felt like the air was tightening.
The lights in the corridor flickered, as if the torches didn't want to witness the news that was coming.
When she arrived at the chamber, someone was already there.
A raven.
Large.
Black.
Its feathers were wet, as if it had come from the rain.
But there was no rain.
It hadn't rained yet.
It landed on the pedestal engraved with the Navarro seal—a wolf's eye with a lightning bolt.
In its beak was a letter, wrapped in dark paper, and sealed with silver wax, shaped like a wolf's eye.
This was no ordinary message.
This was no invitation.
This was a judgment.
Kiera approached, unmindful of the cold breeze that met her.
She took the letter from the raven's beak, and it immediately flew away
a departure like a warning.
A farewell from a creature that didn't want to be involved in the impending danger.
In her palm, the letter felt heavy.
Literally.
As if it was shaping a curse.
She placed it on the table.
Observed it.
And slowly opened it.
As soon as she broke the wax seal, a scent of dark pine and storm wafted up.
The smell was intoxicating.
Like a forest drenched in blood.
The letter unfolded.
No flowery language.
No pleasantries.
Direct.
Cold.
No emotion but power.
To Alpha Kiera of the Northern Pack.
I signed the pact.
I didn't read your name.
Because I wasn't choosing a mate.
I was securing control.
Love is fragile.
But loyalty sealed in fear?
Unbreakable.
You will arrive before dawn.
Or I'll bury your entire bloodline beneath the next full moon
Asher Navarro
Alpha of the 13th District
Commander of the Veil
Kiera's world stopped.
Not because of fear, but because of the cruel indifference she felt in every line.
"He didn't even read the name..."
That's what hit her.
Not because she wasn't known.
But because she was worthless.
She wasn't a woman.
She wasn't an Alpha.
She wasn't a person.
She was just a signature on a cursed pact.
A "yes" that should be given without question.
She approached the enchanted mirror in the corner of the room—it was also in the chamber, silent and observant.
And in it, she saw herself.
Not angry.
Not afraid.
Burning.
Full of fire.
She looked again at the letter.
She looked at those words that seemed not etched on paper, but on her very skin.
He doesn't need a mate; all he wanted was her obedience.
The memory of her pack ached again.
Their faces.
The children unaware of politics.
The elders looking at her as if she were the only answer.
If she didn't obey they would suffer.
But if she obeyed.
Where would she end up?
In the arms of a man who didn't care who she was as long as he had power?
In the company of an Alpha who used marriage as a weapon?
No.
She didn't know how, when, or at what cost.
But only one thing was clear.
She wouldn't walk into a cage with a red carpet.
She wouldn't be the wolf that would bite.
Cliffside den above the forest canopy. The moon sits full and pale above the mountains. Wind howls through pine and stone. Below, the Northern Pack celebrates in drunken joy around massive fires, unaware their Alpha is preparing not for marriage but for battle.
Kiera stood at the entrance of her den, the cold wind whipping her hair like a whirlwind of memories.
The light of the fire from below danced on the trees.
Laughter.
Singing.
The clang of metal and wood.
The whole pack was celebrating, thinking it was a night of victory.
That tomorrow's agreement would bring peace.
Unity.
They didn't know.
That this was the last night.
The last night that she was the Alpha choosing for herself.
Behind her, the room of her den was simple.
An altar of bone and wood.
A table of herbs and old scrolls.
And in the center, on a blood red cloth, was the ceremonial blade of her clan.
Hollowfang.
A knife born not for sacrifice but for liberation.
She took it.
Heavy.
Hot even though the night was cold.
As if the steel was asking for a promise again.
Outside, there were footsteps.
When she turned, it was Freya, her Beta, her sister in war, who had guarded her since childhood.
Freya's hair was damp with dew, and on her face was fear hidden in anger.
"You don't have to do this," she whispered. Almost a plea. Almost a scream. "It's not too late. We can still escape."
Kiera turned fully.
Her face was calm, but her eyes were like fire ready to devour the world.
"Even if it goes against my will, I have to do this because I have no other choice," she replied, calmly but leaving no room for argument. "Not for them, but for the safety of everyone."
Freya fell silent.
Kiera walked past her, each step heavy not because of fear, but because of the weight of responsibility.
Inside her, each decision felt like a stone in her chest.
But she knew freedom wasn't given.
It was taken.
She tied the ceremonial blade to her hip.
Not in the bodice of a bride's dress but in the belt of a warrior.
She stood at the edge of the cliff.
She looked up at the sky.
The stars twinkled, but seemed hesitant.
As if they knew something was coming.
And to her left, something moved in the branch of a dry tree.
A raven.
Silent.
Large.
Black as if made from shadow.
It watched her.
It didn't move.
It didn't retreat.
Like a witness to an unwritten pact.
There was a gnawing in her chest.
Not hunger.
Not thirst.
Just the slow burn of anticipation.
The night was ready. The blood was ready.
It was too late for fear.
It was too late to back down.
This wasn't a sacrifice.
This was a declaration.
And as the last breath of night caressed her cheek, her voice joined the wind, whispering but sharp.
Let them think I'm walking into a cage.
Let them whisper that I've bowed.
Let them believe I've surrendered
The 13th District's Obsidian Hall.
A throne room carved deep into the heart of a dormant volcano. The floor glistens like cooled magma. The walls hum with ancient power, and above, iron chandeliers swing slightly from unseen drafts, each candle burning a slow, eerie blue. The scent of ash, leather, and fire cloaked magic coils through the air like smoke that never settles.
Silent.
Too silent.
Not the peaceful kind of silence—but the kind of silence you hear before a body hits the ground.
Kiera walked into the hall of her enemies.
Wearing full war Alpha regalia, a long black coat lined with fangs from her first kill, steel toed boots stained with dried blood, and a blood blade strapped to her back.
The guards lined up on either side of the hall said nothing.
They didn't move.
They might as well have been statues, if they weren't so intensely watchful.
Their armor gleamed darkly, black like a void that eats light.
All eyes on her, but not a single voice.
With each step Kiera took, the stone beneath her feet seemed to resonate, as if the earth was acknowledging her, or perhaps warning her.
And at the end of the hall, under the dim light, was the throne made of molten obsidian and bone.
Not imitation.
Not decoration.
Real bone.
Large.
Like the ribcage of a monster long dead.
And there, on the throne of shadows, sat Asher Navarro.
He didn't smile.
He didn't immediately stand.
The man simply watched Kiera like a creature unsure whether she was a visitor or a threat.
Kiera remained unmoved.
She didn't come here to humble herself.
She didn't come to kneel.
She came armed.
When she was close enough to feel the heat of the obsidian floor, Asher stood.
Slowly.
Gradually.
But all his movements were like commands.
As if the whole hall waited for his movement before breathing again.
Their eyes met.
A clash in a few moments of silence.
"So you're the wildfire the Council sent me?" Asher asked, his voice cold, but with a hint of testing.
Kiera didn't flinch.
Her eyes were like knives slashing through the skin of the wind.
"And you must be the storm that couldn't kill it."
They exchanged glances like swords.
They walked, circling each other, slowly, but each step was like the beginning of a war.
Between their gazes was electricity.
Not attraction, but tension that could explode.
The kind of stare where if you blink, you die, it pierces the soul.
This was a game of power.
And they were both skilled at winning.
At first glance, no one spoke.
But inside Kiera, she heard her wolf, not yearning.
Observing.
And inside the man in front of her, something was also silent and fierce.
Asher was the first to approach.
Not suddenly.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He stopped just inches from Kiera's face.
She didn't move.
Not an inch.
Asher moved closer.
Closer.
Close enough for Kiera to see the strange flicker in his eyes almost forced, hesitant.
He inhaled.
Deeply.
No spark.
No heat.
No response between their blood.
Asher leaned closer.
His voice dropped into something dark.
Intimate.
Cold.
"I feel nothing. Maybe you're not my mate after all."
"Then let me be the wildfire that reminds you what it means to burn."