Rowan woke with Kaida's name on his tongue.
It took him a long moment to remember why saying it felt like a wound.
The den was quiet—wrongly so. No restless presence tugged at the edge of his awareness. No familiar pull in his chest. The bond was gone, and yet his body still reacted as if it might flare back to life if he just breathed deeply enough.
It didn't.
He sat up slowly, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His wolf stirred beneath the surface, agitated and unhappy, pacing in tight circles.
You let her go, it accused.
"I had no choice," Rowan whispered, though the words felt thin even to his own ears.
That was the lie he had clung to since the rejection. Alpha duty. Pack stability. Tradition. He had recited it until it sounded solid.
But in the quiet, stripped of ceremony and witnesses, the truth pressed in.
He loved her.
The admission settled heavy in his chest, undeniable now that there was nothing left to protect. He loved Kaida's sharp honesty, the way she never softened herself to be more acceptable. Loved the fire in her eyes when she challenged elders twice her rank. Loved how she stood at his side without ever asking permission.
His wolf had known it first.
And still, he had rejected her.
Shame coiled in his gut—not the fleeting kind born of difficult decisions, but the deeper kind that came from knowing you had chosen wrong. He had watched her kneel beneath the moonstone dais. Felt the bond tear. Heard her cry out.
And done nothing.
For nights, he told himself she would recover. That Kaida was strong. Resilient. That exile—because that was what it had become—would not destroy her.
But guilt seeped through the cracks.
He felt it every time he crossed the training grounds she once dominated. Every time a patrol moved out without her sharp eyes scanning the tree line. Every time Lena reached for him and his wolf remained rigid, unresponsive.
Lena deserved better than his divided heart.
Kaida deserved better than his cowardice.
Rowan stood abruptly and stepped outside, the cool night air biting at his skin. The pack slept peacefully, unaware of the fracture running through its Alpha. This was what he had protected. This calm. This order.
Something shifted.
The air felt sharper, charged with something he couldn't name. His wolf stilled, attention snapping outward. Rowan lifted his head as moonlight deepened across the clearing, silver brightening almost imperceptibly.
He looked up.
The moon was brighter—still fractured, still scarred, but its seams of light clearer, more defined. It pulsed once, slow and steady, then held.
Unease tightened in Rowan's chest. He told himself there were explanations. Lunar variance. Old cycles. Things the elders spoke of but never fully understood.
And yet.
Across the pack grounds, wolves stirred. Betas woke with racing hearts. Warriors paused mid-step, scanning the dark. Pups whimpered softly, not afraid—alert.
Rowan stared skyward, a strange weight settling in his chest. Love. Guilt. Shame. All of it tangled together, unresolved.
Whatever this was, it was larger than him.
The forest breathed differently where Kaida stood.
She felt it as pressure rather than sound, a quiet awareness settling into the land around her. The ravine stretched out before her, ancient stone worn smooth by time and water. This place had existed long before packs, before titles, before Alphas decided who was worthy of power.
Her wolf stood with her now—vast, steady, silver-eyed. Not pushing. Not demanding.
Waiting.
Kaida closed her eyes and drew a slow breath. This was the moment where reaction ended and choice began. She could keep moving. Disappear. Become a story told in whispers—the mad female beta who vanished into the wilds.
She was tired of shrinking.
"I choose myself," she said aloud, voice steady.
"I will not beg for belonging. I will not bow for safety. I will not let what they feared decide what I become."
Her wolf rose to meet her, not in frenzy but in alignment. Power unfurled through her body, deliberate and controlled, threading through muscle and bone like something long restrained finally allowed to rest where it belonged.
She drew her knife and sliced her palm without hesitation. Blood welled bright and warm. She pressed it to the stone at her feet, letting it soak into the earth.
"I claim no crown but my own," she said quietly. "And I will not be small."
The ground thrummed faintly beneath her hand—not violently, not possessively. Simply present.
The wind shifted. Leaves stirred. The forest exhaled, vast and indifferent, yet strangely aware. Above her, the moon shone on—fractured, silver, inscrutable.
Kaida straightened, blood drying on her palm, silver light reflected in her eyes. Her wolf lifted its head and howled—not in grief or rage, but in declaration.
The sound carried.
Far beyond ravines and borders and names.
Kaida stood alone beneath the moon, still hurt, still altered, still bearing the weight of everything she had lost.
But she was no longer waiting.
She had chosen.
And whatever came next would meet her on her feet.