Rain's POV

It was winter again this year. I watched the snowflakes fall beautifully on my windowpane; so unique yet so beautiful together. One after the other, they drifted down like feathers from the sky, dancing in the cold air. My thoughts, as always, drifted to one person—my mom. The snowflakes reminded me of her pale skin. She used to tell me how she named me after the gentle morning rain and how my wavy long hair reminded her of the gentle fall of snow—how it cascaded down my shoulders and ran along my back to my waist.

She loved those two seasons—rain and snow—so much that she named her only child after them, even though she couldn't experience much of either. But little did she know, the two things she adored most about me were no blessing—they were a curse.

I wish she had never named me.

"Rain! Where the hell is that darned girl when there's so much work to be done?" The Luna’s voice shrieked through the halls of the packhouse. It bounced off the stone walls, echoing down into the basement where I lay. No wonder we didn’t have mice; her voice alone could drive them to extinction. Even I, a supposed human girl, was petrified of her. Normally, I'd be shaking in my underwear at the mere sound of her click of her heels—but today, I couldn’t even bring myself to move.

It was snowing outside, but everything around me felt hot. The air was thick and heavy. I was naked under the thin covers, sweat clinging to my skin, with only my long hair draped over me like a fragile curtain. The window was wide open, letting the icy wind drift in, but still, it wasn’t enough. I could swear I saw steam rise from my skin, only to condense as it collided with the cold.

Why today of all days?

I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow, dreading the punishments that surely awaited me. Today was no ordinary day. The alphas from the most powerful pack known to the realm were visiting to sign a peace treaty with ours. After years of bloodshed, death, and betrayal—including the so-called loss of my parents—today marked the end of the war.

But how was I supposed to welcome them with a smile?

The same people whose hands—or perhaps claws—shredded my parents to unrecognizable pieces?

Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

"Pitiful," I muttered, laughing without mirth.

Oh, I forgot. I don’t even have a choice. I’m just a maid—a nameless servant stuck in the basement of the packhouse. What could I possibly do to alphas?

Especially *those* alphas.

The rumors about them were endless—cruel, powerful, merciless. Not the kind of men you’d ever want to cross. And if someone like me dared to, they’d have me buried six feet under before I could blink. I’d be lucky if they even remembered my name afterward.

Wasn’t that pitiful?

I shifted uncomfortably on my small bed, the burning sensation in my chest intensifying. My entire body was drenched in sweat. The pain, however, was something else. Something unnatural. It wasn’t the flu or a fever. It felt like something deep inside me—something ancient—was awakening. My skin burned. My veins sizzled with heat.

My heart—it felt like it was being scorched from within.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But my body refused to move. My limbs were paralyzed. My throat was dry and tight. My vision swam.

And then—

"Don’t worry, darling. They are on their way."

A voice. A gentle, ethereal voice rang in my head. It wasn’t loud—it didn’t need to be. It echoed across my soul like a soft lullaby, both familiar and foreign. I wanted to ask who it was, what they meant—but before I could form a single thought, everything turned hazy.

My fingers went numb. The pain began to blur into numbness. My senses faded.

"What now? I can't even die without drama? Argh..."

Then everything went black.

Silent.

Did I die?

Maybe.

But something deep inside whispered no.

Because the real story was just beginning.

What no one knew—what even I didn't fully understand—was that I wasn’t just some forgotten orphan maid. I wasn’t just a girl named Rain.

I was the product of something forbidden.

Born of a witch with moon-blessed blood and a cursed alpha whose rage once tore through kingdoms.

There was a prophecy whispered at my birth, hidden in runes only the stars could read.

My blood was beginning to wake up—and with it, so was everything they thought they had buried.

The mighty alphas, the ancient bat sentinels that hid in the shadows of forgotten mountains, the whispers of the cursed blood—I was the storm that connected them all.

And soon, they'd remember.

Because the last witch of the pack had just begun to born.

"One... Two..."

Before Zach could say three, the double doors of the Alpha's office exploded open with a bang, wood splintering at the hinges. A deep, jagged crack ran across the polished surface, the aftermath of yet another one of Zeke's legendary tempers.

Zeke Easton Ashmore.

Zach didn't flinch. He didn't even look up. He simply leaned back in his chair, the expensive leather creaking slightly as he twirled the sleek foundation pen between his fingers. The office was cloaked in rich mahogany and obsidian tones—bookshelves lined one wall, filled with ledgers and strategy books, and a large map of the werewolf territories hung behind Zach’s chair. The scent of pinewood and leather lingered in the air, the room a direct reflection of Zach himself—calculated, composed, powerful.

"Right on cue," Zach murmured to no one, voice calm, face unreadable.

Zeke stormed into the office like a tempest in wolf's clothing. Hazel eyes burned with raw rage, golden flecks dancing in the irises like embers barely restrained. His dark, shoulder-length wavy hair whipped behind him, tousled from what had to be a furious run straight from the training field. His chest rose and fell like a beast fighting its own skin, his black thermal clinging to taut muscles that vibrated with tension. The collar was askew. He hadn’t even bothered to fix himself before barging in.

"Zeke, calm down," came the low, firm voice from behind—Owen, their Gamma, trying to play peacemaker despite the fear that gripped his heart.

Who wouldn't be scared?

Everyone knew what happened when this legendary god of anger starts his rain of terror. It wasn't always pretty.

Zeke turned his fury onto him. "Fucking stay out of it. I won’t hesitate to kill you if you try to stop me."

His voice was thunder and venom. His glare could ignite a lesser man. Owen stopped in his tracks, jaw tight, weighing whether challenging the Alpha’s twin was worth it. Clearly, it wasn’t.

Zeke’s boots hit the floor like hammer strikes as he closed the space between him and Zach. Without a word, he grabbed his brother by the collar of his deep navy shirt, yanking him halfway out of the chair. Papers fluttered off the desk.

"Are you fucking insane?" Zeke growled, his teeth gritted so tight it looked painful. "Why the hell are we going to their pack? After everything? After the blood they spilled?"

Zach’s silver-blue eyes met his brother's without blinking. There was no fear in them, only ice. He didn’t lift a hand, didn’t push back. He just stared.

"Let go of my shirt, brother," Zach said calmly. "You’re wrinkling it."

Zeke’s nostrils flared.

"Do you think this is a joke? Do you think I’ll just smile and wag my tail for those bastards?"

Owen tried again. “Zeke, you need to—”

Zeke moved like lightning. He spun and kicked Owen clean across the office. The Gamma slammed into the far wall with a grunt, crumpling against a bookshelf. Books tumbled down over him.

Zach sighed. “I just reorganized those.”

Zeke’s hands were still clenched into his shirt. “Why, Zach? Tell me why we’re crawling to them. Tell me why I have to sit in a room with the people who destroyed our scouts, who burned our border outposts. Why are we shaking hands with the enemy?”

Zach slowly reached up and uncurled Zeke’s fingers from his collar. “Because I don’t have the luxury of reacting with emotion, Zeke. I have to think like a leader.”

Zeke's jaw ticked. “Bullshit. You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”

Zach stood now, adjusting his collar. Even standing, he was relaxed—too relaxed for the fury brewing in the room.

“Peace is strategic. War costs us blood, warriors, resources. We’ve proven our strength. Now, we show our control.”

Zeke scoffed. “I’d rather die than sit at a table with those cowards.”

Zach’s tone dipped, quiet but sharp. “That’s your wolf talking. Not your brain.”

Zeke sneered, stepping back. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel, Zach. You didn’t see the bodies. You didn’t hear the way they screamed."

There was a beat of silence. Zach’s expression darkened.

“I did,” he said. “Every single one. Don’t mistake silence for ignorance.”

The tension wrapped around them like a noose, thick and choking. Owen groaned from the floor.

Zeke spat out a curse under his breath and turned his back.

“I swear to the Goddess, if this is some political game—”

“It’s survival,” Zach said, walking around his desk. “And I need you there, even if you’re pissed. Especially if you’re pissed. We walk into their territory like kings, not beggars.”

Zeke grumbled but didn’t argue further. His rage simmered, but somewhere beneath it, trust held like old iron. He’d follow his brother. He always did—even when it hurt.

Silence settled between them like fog—tense and suffocating.

Zeke’s fists trembled at his sides. For a moment, Zach wondered if he might punch a hole in the wall.

But instead, Zeke spun around, storming toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Zach asked coolly.

“To get dressed,” Zeke snapped over his shoulder. “If I have to sit through this shitshow, I’ll at least do it without blood on my shirt.”

Zach watched him leave, then turned to Owen, who was coughing as he sat among fallen books.

“Make sure he doesn’t torch anything on the way out,” Zach said.

Owen groaned. “That’s your brother, not a wild animal.”

Zach’s lips twitched. “Is there a difference?”

–––––

The ride to Crimson Fang territory was quiet—tense. Zeke sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw locked like stone. Every few minutes, he muttered curses under his breath—usually involving burning treaties, snapping necks, and shoving pens through eyeballs.

Zach didn’t respond. He focused on the road, expression unreadable.

The Ashmore twins hadn’t stepped foot on enemy soil in over a decade. The last time they had, they’d walked away with ash on their hands and blood in their hearts. Peace felt like betrayal, even to him. But something deeper pulled him forward—something that tugged at his instincts with razor-sharp urgency.

As they reached the outskirts of the Crimson Fang pack, a silence fell.

Zeke leaned slightly forward. “Do you feel that?”

Zach inhaled.

And stopped breathing.

It hit them like a tidal wave.

A scent—rich, divine, intoxicating—flooded the car. Sweet like moonflower and warmed honey, yet sharp like wild cedar and something impossibly ancient. A scent that spoke to their bones, to the beasts beneath their skin.

Mate.

Zeke swore under his breath, his hand tightening on the door handle.

“No way…” he whispered.

The pull was primal. Overwhelming.

Zach’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. His heart pounded—not in fear, but in recognition. The prophecy. The dream. The whispers of the Moon Goddess they’d both ignored for years.

“She’s here,” he said quietly.

Zeke’s voice cracked. “You don’t think… they knew?”

“If they did…” Zach’s jaw clenched. “This changes everything.”

They stepped out of the car, the air thick with the scent that had haunted their dreams.

It wrapped around them, possessive and wild. As they approached the pack house doors, neither of them spoke.

Their mate was inside.

And she smelled like salvation dipped in sin.

ZEKE'S POV

I’m losing my mind.

Everything I ever dreamed of—her, my mate—is so damn close I can almost taste it, yet I can’t touch her. My fists clench at my sides as I stand frozen, the scent of my mate thick in the air like a drug I can’t reach. She’s somewhere in this cursed pack house. The whole place reeks of the people I hate most, and still, her fragrance cuts through it all—pure, delicate, maddening.

I want to run a truck straight through this hellhole and bury everyone in it. Every fake smile that greets us makes my blood boil. They act like we’re guests, like this isn’t the very place that tried to destroy everything we stand for.

I glance sideways at my brother. He wears his usual cool expression, but I know better. I grew up with him. We share blood, battles, secrets—and pain. Even before he could speak, I knew what he was thinking. His jaw ticks just slightly, fingers twitching at his side. The tension in him is a coiled spring. Yeah, he’s barely holding it together too.

"What are you still doing standing around?! My mate is somewhere in this blasted house and you’re here smiling away your time. What are you, crazy?! Switch with me!" Max, my wolf, thunders in my head.

He’s losing it. We both are.

Her scent isn’t just intoxicating—it’s tethered to every part of me. She’s the missing piece. The one we waited for, prayed for, bled for. And now she’s here, in the same building, yet still oceans apart.

Fate has a twisted sense of humor. This isn’t a fairytale—it’s a damn tragedy waiting to unfold.

Crazy bitch, she was dangling her in front of me like some sick joke.

I can’t take it anymore. Every second is a new level of hell. I can feel my logic slipping, my human mind fighting to stay afloat. But Max is stronger. My wolf has had enough.

I barely resist the urge to roar as I turn to my brother. His smug expression only infuriates me more.

"Don’t think with your wolf. Think with your brain," he says, calm as ever.

Too late.

My brain checked out ten minutes ago. All that remains is the searing ache of need and the echo of her scent in my lungs.

"Buddy, don’t let me down. Go. Take what you deserve," I whisper to myself.

And I let Max take over.

A surge of power rips through me as my wolf seizes control. The shift isn’t physical, but every part of me feels raw and alive.

I don’t wait. I run.

Behind me, chaos erupts. Shouts. Commands. Confusion.

"Catch him!!!"

Let them try.

I race down the hallway—past doors, past startled faces. None of it matters. Only the scent does. It leads me deeper, taunting, whispering, fading.

"Where the hell is she?!" Max growls.

We burst through another corridor. Empty. Still nothing. And then—

Gone.

"What’s going on?" Max’s voice is thick with desperation. "Her scent—it just vanished!"

A growl tears from my throat.

Then footsteps.

"Are you done?"

That voice.

I don’t need to look. My brother.

He walks toward me, hands in his pockets like he hasn’t a care in the world.

Sometimes, I seriously consider throwing him off a damn cliff. Now is definitely one of those times.

"Sometimes I wonder whether you’re just ignorant or stupid by choice. You never think," he says lazily.

I glare at him. Hard.

He sighs like he’s bored and strolls past me. With a swift kick, he blasts a wooden door at the end of the hallway into splinters.

But before we can step inside, a hand shoots out from the shadows and grabs him, yanking him back.

Wrong move.

I don’t hesitate.

I slam into the bastard who dared touch my brother. His grip breaks instantly, and I punch him—hard—again and again. Rage pours out of me like a flood.

How dare he?

Another punch.

He’s the Alpha’s son—Liam.

Doesn’t matter. He’s breathing, and that’s offense enough.

He tries to fight back, but I’m beyond mercy. My fists are a blur.

I hear people screaming in the background, footsteps rushing toward us. No one touches me. They know better.

"You think you can stop us from finding our mate?!" I roar.

My knuckles crack against his jaw. His blood splatters across the floor.

By the time I stand, he’s coughing on the ground, barely conscious.

"Don’t ever touch my brother again," I snarl.

My brother gives me a slow nod before we step past the shattered door.

And then—

Time stops.

We descend into the basement. The moment we reach the bottom step, it hits us.

Her scent.

Stronger than ever. Consuming. Overwhelming.

My knees nearly buckle.

There she is.

Lying on the cold stone floor, completely bare, her body trembling in the freezing air.

But around her—

Everything is scorched. Burned. As if fire had erupted from her soul. The walls are blackened. The floor cracked.

Yet her skin glows faintly. Her hair fans around her like a halo.

She’s breathtaking.

And broken.

I drop beside her, hands trembling as I remove my jacket and gently drape it over her.

She’s burning up.

But she’s shivering.

My chest tightens. Something ancient, primal, and protective rises inside me. I felt an urge to hold her in my arms and whisper into her ears that i loved and craved for her for some reason.

I lift her into my arms.

She feels so fragile. So light.

So light if not for her breathing on my chest and her intoxicating scent, i won't even notice i was carrying anything.

My heart cracks open. I can’t breathe.

"Zeke," my brother says quietly. "This… this wasn’t normal. Something is off."

I nod.

I don’t care if she’s fire or fury. She’s mine. But the prophecy echoes in the back of my mind like an alarm bell. No matter how much I try to ignore it, it’s still there.

I look down at her lips, slightly parted, her skin flushed with heat. Her scent surrounds me, cradles me, brands me.

I look up, eyes blazing.

"I swear," I growl, voice low and deadly, "no one will ever touch her again. No one will hurt her. I will protect her—until my last breath."

And I mean it.

With every broken, fiery piece of my soul.