Chapter 1 — Bound by Moonlight

Emilia

The moon hung low in the sky, impossibly large and luminous, bathing Moonveil Glade in silver light. Emilia Lysarion stood at the edge of the sacred clearing, her golden-amber eyes fixed on the circle of glowing lunar flowers that marked the ritual’s center. Her breath rose in faint clouds in the cool night air, but her palms were hot and damp inside her leather gloves. She hated how her body betrayed her nerves, even when her expression remained a mask of detached authority.

The hum of magic in the air was almost deafening, a low thrum that vibrated through her bones and set her teeth on edge. Around her, the elders chanted in the old tongue, their voices weaving a melody that pulled at something deep within her, something primal. She clenched her fists tighter, nails digging into the scars on her forearms, a grounding point against the pull of the ritual. No time for weakness—no time for doubt.

The glade was crowded yet unnervingly silent apart from the chanting. Members of her clan stood on one side of the clearing, their faces solemn and expectant. She could feel their weighty gazes pressing against her, a reminder of her duty, her responsibility. Across from them, Ryden Veyrath’s clan loomed like a wall of shadows, their dark clothing making them seem like specters rising from the forest itself.

Her gaze found Ryden, his ice-blue eyes catching hers from the opposite side. Sharp, unyielding, and cold as a winter moon. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders taut as though braced for battle. Emilia could almost see the disdain radiating from him, palpable and venomous.

He didn’t want to be here any more than she did.

“Alpha Lysarion, step forward,” intoned the eldest priest, a frail man whose voice carried the weight of centuries. His words, spoken in the old tongue, echoed like a distant howl, steeped in reverence and finality.

Emilia took a steadying breath and obeyed, her boots crunching softly on the moss and leaves as she entered the circle. The moment she stepped into the moonlight’s embrace, it felt as though a thousand unseen eyes turned to her, unblinking and all-encompassing. Her pulse quickened, but she kept her chin high, her face impassive.

The priest turned to the other side. “Alpha Veyrath, step forward.”

Ryden moved into the circle without hesitation, his movements deliberate, predatory. When he crossed the boundary of moonlight, his presence seemed to deepen the shadows. The faint rustle of the crowd stirred at his approach—a collective intake of breath, a ripple of unease. Emilia resisted the urge to flinch as his shadow fell across the glowing flowers. She wouldn’t let him see her falter.

As they faced each other, mere feet apart, the tension in the air became suffocating. His piercing gaze locked onto hers, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

“You look thrilled,” Emilia said, her voice low, laced with sarcasm. The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but they were a necessary shield against the suffocating weight of the ritual.

Ryden’s lips twitched into what might have been a smirk, had it not been sharpened by disdain. “You’re positively radiant with enthusiasm yourself.” His voice was deep and gravelly, each syllable cutting through the air like a blade.

“Enough,” the priest said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He raised his arms, and the chanting grew louder, swirling around them like a gathering storm. The light of the moon seemed to grow brighter, the silver glow intensifying until the glade was bathed in an almost blinding radiance.

Emilia’s heart pounded as the first tendrils of magic coiled around her, sinking into her skin like icy threads. For a split second, she wanted to run, to escape the invisible chains tightening around her. But she stood firm, her jaw clenched and her breath shallow.

The priest’s voice rose above the chanting, resonating with the power of the ritual. “Under the gaze of the eternal moon, we call upon its power to unite what has been divided. Let the bond be forged, unbreakable and true, binding two alphas in strength and purpose...”

The magic intensified, its presence a living, breathing force wrapping around her. Emilia’s chest felt tight as heat surged through her, spreading outward in waves that made her legs waver. She stumbled, knees threatening to buckle, but forced herself to stay upright. Across from her, she saw Ryden tense, his shoulders shaking as if under the same unbearable pressure.

Then it hit her—a presence. It wasn’t just the magic or the moon’s power. It was him. Ryden. Somehow, some part of him had wormed its way into her mind, brushing against her thoughts like a cold wind. It was faint, like a flicker at the edge of her consciousness, but unmistakable.

No. No.

She tried to push it away, to block it out. But the bond was relentless, burrowing deeper. Her breathing grew ragged as emotions that weren’t hers began to seep in—anger, frustration, a bitterness so deep it felt like it could drown her. But beneath it all, there was something else. Something darker. Fear.

A flash of an image—not hers—flickered in her mind: a jagged silhouette against a blood-red moon, a shadow that promised pain. She gasped, the vision dissolving as quickly as it had come.

She blinked, startled, and saw Ryden staring at her with the same stunned expression she knew she wore. He felt it too. This was real.

The chanting reached its crescendo, and the priest’s voice boomed with finality. “By the moon’s will, the bond is forged!”

A brilliant flash of light exploded from the circle, forcing Emilia to shield her eyes. When it faded, the glade was silent once more, the chanting replaced by a heavy, expectant stillness.

Emilia’s hands trembled at her sides, and she could feel the bond pulsing faintly in the back of her mind, like a second heartbeat. She didn’t want it. She didn’t ask for it. Yet there it was, undeniable and unrelenting.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. Her clan’s elders exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions ranging from shock to dismay. On the other side of the glade, Ryden’s people looked no less disturbed. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on everyone like a shroud of frost.

Ryden was the first to break the silence. “This... this is a mistake.” His voice was low, but the venom in it was unmistakable. His hands were clenched into fists, his ice-blue eyes burning with barely controlled rage.

Emilia’s own anger surged, fueled by the invasive connection forcing her to feel his emotions as well as her own. “You think I wanted this?” she snapped, stepping closer to him. “You think I asked for any of this?”

“Don’t act like you’re the only one suffering,” he snarled, his tone cutting like a blade. “This isn’t just an insult—it’s a death sentence.”

Her temper flared at his words, and she took another step forward, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “A death sentence? You arrogant—” She stopped herself, taking a sharp, steadying breath. She couldn’t lose control now. Not in front of her clan.

Straightening, she forced her voice to be cold and cutting. “You don’t have to like it, Veyrath, but the bond is done. We’ll deal with it... separately.”

The priest stepped between them, his expression grave. “The moon’s will is not to be denied. The bond exists for a reason. You must—”

“I don’t care about the moon’s will,” Emilia interrupted sharply, though a flicker of guilt twisted in her chest. Her golden-amber eyes blazed as she added, “This bond doesn’t change anything. My clan comes first, and I won’t let this... this farce get in the way of that.”

Ryden stepped back, his face now a mask of cold indifference. “On that, at least, we agree.”

The priest looked between them, his disappointment palpable, but he said nothing more. The ceremony was over, and the glade slowly began to empty as the spectators murmured among themselves. The tension lingering in the air was electric, buzzing with barely restrained outrage and unease.

Emilia stood frozen in place for a moment, watching Ryden walk away without a backward glance. Her clan surrounded her, their faces a mixture of confusion, anger, and concern, but she barely noticed.

The bond whispered faintly in her mind, an unwelcome reminder of the connection she now shared with her enemy. She hated it. She hated him. Yet, as she turned to leave the glade, the memory of that shadow in her mind—jagged and foreboding—made her pause.

This was only the beginning.