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Smoke curled from the ceremonial torches as dusk fell over the high mountain range. The clearing was hushed, ringed with the watchful eyes of the Black Blood Pack. Their alpha stood tall at the altar stone, his armor black as midnight, his expression carved from stone. Kaelen was every inch the warrior—broad-shouldered, scarred, revered—and tonight, he would take a mate.

But not just any mate. A boy from the Moonmist Pack.

It was a union whispered about in disbelief for weeks. No one could understand why their dominant, battle-hardened leader had chosen someone so… delicate. The Moonmist were known for their rituals, their songs, their ethereal beauty. Not for their strength. Not for survival.

Still, Kaelen had made his choice.

The forest hushed.

A chime rang softly through the trees—small bells, delicate and clear.

Then, through the shifting mist, Riven appeared.

He wore silver, sheer and fluid, trailing behind him like moonlight woven into cloth. His long black hair had been braided down his back in the traditional style of his people, with tiny charms hidden within the strands that tinkled with every step. His frame was lithe, his skin glowing under the last touch of sun, and his expression…

Calm.

Not nervous. Not afraid. Not even uncertain.

Riven walked with the elegance of a falling petal, and when he stepped into the circle, the Black Blood warriors stared in silence.

He knelt before Kaelen, bowing his head with grace and offering his neck—a silent symbol of trust, submission, and union.

Kaelen looked down at the boy who would become his, not with coldness but with something unreadable in his eyes. He stepped forward slowly, then bent, brushing his lips over Riven’s neck before letting his fangs pierce gently into his skin. Just enough to mark. Just enough to seal the bond.

Riven didn’t flinch. He exhaled softly, tilting his head further, letting Kaelen take what he needed.

Gasps spread through the crowd. The Moonmist boy hadn’t made a sound.

Kaelen withdrew and pressed his forehead to Riven’s, speaking low so only he could hear. “You’re mine now.”

Riven’s lips curled into the faintest smile.

“I was always going to be.”

The blood ritual complete, the pack was supposed to cheer—but the silence lingered, filled with a strange kind of awe.

Kaelen took Riven’s hand and raised him up. Their bond was official.

As the moon crested over the horizon, drums began to beat in the distance, and the pack finally roared approval. Wine flowed, firelight danced, and warriors howled into the night sky.

But Kaelen didn’t linger.

Just hours later, news of a northern invasion arrived. Kaelen gave Riven one last look before he mounted his horse. No promises, no soft goodbyes. Just a nod—as if to say, stay alive.

Riven stood at the edge of the stone steps as the warriors rode off, wind tugging at his hair, fire casting shadows across his face. He said nothing, but his hands curled tightly around the ends of his sleeves, long after Kaelen disappeared from sight.

He was alone in a pack that didn’t want him.

And still, he didn’t run.

He stayed.

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