Sera's POV
You played her perfectly, Lyra giggles between kisses, her voice bright with cruel delight. Did you see her face when you announced it? I thought she might actually die right there.
My hand flies to my mouth, pressing hard to stop the sob threatening to tear free. No. No, this can't be real.
Damien laughs. Actually laughs. The sound is nothing like the warm chuckles I've treasured for ten years. This is cold. Mocking. Cruel. She actually thought I cared about her. The pathetic wolfless freak.
The words hit like physical blows. Each one a knife to the chest. Each syllable proof that everything I believed was a lie.
How long were you stringing her along? Lyra asks, pulling back to look at him with admiration. Mother said it was important to keep her hopeful, keep her compliant, but I didn't think you'd commit to the act so thoroughly.
Years, Damien admits without shame, without regret. Your mother's brilliant, you know. She understood that hope was the perfect leash. Give Sera just enough kindness to keep her desperate for more, and she'll never fight back. She'll do anything for a kind word. Pathetic, really, how easy it was.
Tears stream down my face, hot and endless. Ten years. Ten years of friendship. Ten years of stolen conversations and secret smiles and moments I thought meant something. All of it was a lie. A game. A cruel manipulation orchestrated by my stepmother and executed perfectly by the boy I loved.
Did she ever suspect you were mine this whole time? Lyra asks, trailing her fingers down his chest possessively.
Never. Damien's voice is full of satisfaction, pride even. She's too stupid to see what's right in front of her. Too desperate for scraps of affection. I mean, come on did she really think someone like me could want someone like her? She's nothing. Not even a real wolf. Just a broken little human girl playing dress up in a shifter's world.
The words cut deeper than any physical wound. They confirm every horrible thing I've ever thought about myself, every insecurity Victoria has carefully cultivated over the years.
You deserve an award for that performance, Lyra says, kissing him again. Ten years is a long time to pretend.
It had its moments. Sometimes she'd look at me with those big, hopeful eyes, and I'd have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Like a puppy begging for treats.
They both laugh together, the sound echoing through the trees like mockery made manifest.
I back away from the tree, my vision blurring with tears that won't stop falling. A branch snaps under my foot a sound like a gunshot in the quiet forest. I freeze, terror gripping my chest.
But they don't hear. They're too wrapped up in each other, too busy celebrating their victory over the stupid girl who believed in fairy tales.
I run deeper into the forest, their laughter echoing behind me like ghosts chasing my heels. My chest heaves. My vision swims. Everything I thought I knew, everything I believed in, crumbles to dust and blows away on the night wind.
Damien never cared. It was always an act. Always a game. Ten years of my life, ten years of hope and love and trust, all built on lies.
Victoria planned it all. Used her daughter and Damien like chess pieces to keep me broken and controllable. And it worked. It worked perfectly.
And I fell for it. Every. Single. Time.
Eventually, I make my way back to the mansion, moving on autopilot, my body functioning while my mind screams. The party continuesmusic and laughter and celebration. No one notices me slip back inside. No one ever notices me unless they need something cleaned or served or dealt with.
I go through the motions like a ghost haunting my own life. Serve drinks with shaking hands. Clear plates I can barely see through the tears. Smile when required, the expression feeling like broken glass on my face. Inside, I'm screaming. Inside, I'm dying.
The festival reaches its peak around midnight. The full moon hangs heavy and bright in the sky, and I can feel its pull even though I have no wolf to respond to it. My father calls for attention again, and the room falls silent faster this time. Damien and Lyra stand at his side now, the perfect couple, holding hands and glowing with happiness that makes me want to vomit.
Then Victoria steps forward, taking the microphone with a smile that makes my blood run cold. I've seen that smile before. It's the one she wears right before something terrible happens.
Before we continue our celebration, she says, her voice smooth as silk and twice as deadly, I have a confession to make. About my stepdaughter, Sera.
The crowd turns to stare at me. Hundreds of eyes. All judging. All finding me lacking. All wondering what new humiliation awaits the pack's greatest disappointment.
My stomach drops. Whatever's coming, it's going to be bad. Victoria doesn't make public announcements unless she's sure of her audience, sure of her victory.
Many of you have wondered why Sera never shifted, Victoria continues, playing the concerned stepmother perfectly. Her voice carries just the right note of regret, of maternal worry. Why she's wolfless. Why she's so... different from the rest of us.
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Speculation. Gossip. The pack loves nothing more than a scandal, especially one involving the Alpha's family.
Victoria lets the tension build, savoring the moment like fine wine. It's because I cursed her at birth.
Gasps. Shouts. Confusion spreading like wildfire through the assembled wolves.
The world tilts sideways. My vision tunnels. What? The word escapes before I can stop it, before I can remember that speaking out of turn only makes things worse.
Victoria turns to look at me, fake sympathy painted perfectly on her face. She should win an award for this performance. I'm so sorry, dear. But there was a prophecy, you see. An ancient warning passed down through my family for generations. An Omega with silver eyes would one day rise and destroy the pack order as we know it. Chaos. War. Devastation. The end of everything we've built. When you were born with those strange eyes
My eyes are brown, I interrupt, confusion mixing with horror and disbelief.
They are now, Victoria says, her smile sharpening like a blade. But when you were born, they were silver. Pure silver, like moonlight captured in crystal. The mark of the prophecy. Your mother begged me to protect you, to keep you safe from those who would seek to kill you for what you represented. So I blocked your wolf. Sealed it away where no one could sense it, where you could live a normal, safe life.
My mind reels, unable to process what I'm hearing. Cursed? Prophecy? Silver eyes? None of this makes sense. My mother the mother I never knew, the woman who died bringing me into this world asked for this? Wanted me powerless?
I've carried this burden for twenty-three years, Victoria continues, and tears actual tears form in her eyes. The performance is flawless. Oscar worthy. Watching you suffer, knowing I was the cause of your pain. But I did it to protect you. To protect the pack from the prophecy. To give you a chance at life, even if it meant you could never be whole. I hope someday you can forgive me.
The crowd buys it. Of course, they do. Why wouldn't they? Victoria is the Luna. Why would she lie? What possible reason would she have to hurt an innocent child?
I want to scream that it's all lies. That she's manipulated everyone. That she's enjoyed every moment of my suffering. But who would believe me? The wolfless girl against the respected Luna?
My father steps forward, his face hard as stone, unreadable as always. Sera Blackwood, he says, his Alpha command making the air itself vibrate with power. By pack law and in light of this revelation, I hereby demote you to official Omega rank. You will serve this pack until death. Submit now.
The entire room watches. Waiting. Expecting obedience. Expecting me to drop to my knees and bare my throat like a good little victim.
Omegas are the lowest rank in any pack. Servants. Property. Less than human in the eyes of many wolves. They have no rights, no voice, no hope of anything better. To be officially designated Omega means a lifetime of servitude. A lifetime of being even less than I already am.
Father's eyes bore into mine. He's never looked directly at me this long. Never acknowledged me so completely. And in his gaze, I see the truth: he wants this. He wants me to submit. To disappear into the role that proves I'm nothing like my mother, nothing worth keeping, nothing worth loving.
Something inside me something I didn't know existed, something that's been sleeping beneath years of abuse and manipulation wakes up.
It's not my wolf. I still don't have that. But it's something else. Something fierce and angry and completely done with being beaten down, with being told I'm worthless, with accepting cruelty as my due.
Something that refuses to die quietly.
No.
The word drops into the silence like a stone into still water. Ripples spread. Shock registers on every face. Wolves don't refuse their Alphas. Daughters don't defy their fathers. The weak don't challenge the strong.
But I just did.
What did you say? Father's voice is deadly quiet, the calm before a storm that could level buildings.
I lift my chin. Meet his eyes. Don't look away even though every instinct, every learned behavior, every survival mechanism I've developed screams at me to submit, to apologize, to beg for mercy.
I said no. My voice is steadier than I expected. Clearer. Stronger. I refuse.
Chaos erupts. Wolves shouting. Victoria's carefully controlled expression cracking to show rage beneath. Damien and Lyra looking shocked and almost... afraid? Like they're seeing something they didn't expect, something dangerous.
You dare refuse your Alpha? Father's voice booms, his power pressing down on me like a physical weight. Lesser wolves would collapse under it. I feel my knees trying to buckle, my body trying to obey despite my mind's rebellion.
But I lock my knees. Stay standing. You're not my Alpha. The words feel both terrifying and liberating. Not anymore. I choose exile.
More gasps. More shock. Omegas don't refuse Alphas. Daughters don't reject fathers. Pack members don't choose exile it's the worst fate, almost certain death.
But I'm not really a pack member, am I? I've never been. I'm just the disappointment they've tolerated out of duty.
So be it. Father's face is stone. No emotion. No regret. No hint that he's sending his daughter to almost certain death. You have until sunrise to leave our territory. If you return, you'll be killed as a rogue. Do you understand?
I understand perfectly. I look at Victoria, at Lyra, at Damien, at every wolf who ever hurt me, who ever looked through me, who ever made me feel like I was nothing. I understand that all of you deserve each other. I understand that staying here was the mistake, not leaving.
I don't wait for permission. Don't give them the satisfaction of dragging me out or making a spectacle of my departure.
I walk out.
Through the ballroom filled with stunned faces. Past the decorations I hung with bleeding hands. Out the massive front doors into the cool night air that tastes like freedom and terror in equal measure.
I don't pack. I own nothing worth taking. The clothes on my back this servant's dress I've worn until it's threadbare are all I have. All I've ever had.
I walk to the boundary of pack lands, my bare feet finding the path by memory. The massive stone marker that says Silverclaw Territory Trespassers Will Be Killed looms in the darkness. Beyond it lies the Forbidden Forest, and beyond that, the unknown.
Everyone knows the stories. Rogues hunt in those woods wolves who've gone mad, who've lost their humanity, who kill for sport and feast on the weak. Other predators too, things darker than wolves, creatures that lurk in the shadows between trees where moonlight never reaches. Most exiled wolves die within days. Torn apart. Eaten. Lost to the darkness forever.
I should be terrified.
Instead, I feel nothing. Empty. Hollow. A vessel drained of everything that made it worth something. Maybe death would be easier than the life I'm leaving behind. Maybe the rogues would be doing me a favor.
Behind me, Father's voice carries through the night, loud enough for every wolf at the party to hear: If you return, you'll be killed as a rogue! This is your only warning!
I don't turn around. Don't acknowledge the threat. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch one last time.
Just keep walking.
One step. Two. Three.
Past the boundary marker.
Into the Forbidden Forest.
Into the unknown.
The trees swallow me instantly, their branches forming a canopy so thick barely any moonlight penetrates. But above, through gaps in the leaves, I see it.
The moon.
But it's not the silver white moon I've known all my life, the moon that was supposed to call to my wolf if I'd had one.
It's blood red.
A blood moon. The rarest eclipse. The last one happened three hundred years ago, according to pack legends I overheard during ceremonies I was never allowed to fully participate in. Some say it's an omen. Others say it's a blessing. Others say it's the Moon Goddess's way of marking significant change in the world.
No one really knows because no one alive has ever seen one.
Until tonight.
Until now.
The forest feels different under its crimson light. More alive. More aware. Like it's watching me with countless invisible eyes. Waiting for something. Expecting something.
Deep in the woods, something calls to me.
Not a sound. Not exactly. More like a pull in my chest. A whisper directly into my mind, bypassing my ears entirely.
Come, daughter.
The voice sounds like my mother. Elena. The woman I never knew. How can I remember a voice I never heard? How can I recognize someone who died when I was born?
The blood moon calls you home.
My feet move without conscious thought. One step. Two. Following the pull deeper into the forest, away from the life I've known, toward something ancient and powerful and completely unknown.
This is insane. I should turn back. Beg forgiveness. Accept being Omega if it means staying alive, if it means having shelter and food even if it comes with abuse.
But something tells me that going forward is the only choice that matters. That everything all the pain, all the suffering, all the betrayal has led to this moment. This forest. This blood moon. This pull.
So I walk on, guided by crimson light and a dead mother's voice I shouldn't be able to hear.
Toward destiny.
Or toward death.
Maybe they're the same thing.