The Orphan at Bloodfang Gate

The gates of the Bloodfang Pack stood tall and menacing—iron twisted with runes, dipped in ash, and etched with the blood of old enemies. They were meant to keep witches out.

Too bad they hadn't been built for her.

Aurelia stood at the edge of the boundary, shoulders slumped, dirt smeared across her cheek, the illusion of fragility clinging to her like a second skin. Her dark curls were tangled and her clothes were torn just enough to make her look like she'd been running for days. No one looking at her now would guess that she'd once walked these grounds as Luna. Or that her bones had been reduced to ash at the center of their sacred forest.

She stared at the gates—at the place where she'd died.

A ripple of heat unfurled beneath her skin, as if her magic remembered. She clenched her fists, shoving the sensation back. Not now. She needed to stay small. Powerless. Helpless. The orphan girl with no name, no memory, no threat.

The perfect lie.

A low growl cut through the silence.

"Stop right there," came a voice.

Three guards emerged from the trees. Two were wolves she didn't recognize. The third… her stomach twisted.

Cassian.

He'd once been her mate's Beta. Loyal. Fierce. Ruthless. He hadn't looked twice when they tied her to the stake.

She let her knees buckle, falling into the dirt with a soft whimper. "Please," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Don't hurt me…"

Cassian narrowed his eyes. "What's your name?"

"I—I don't know," she stammered. "I just… woke up in the woods. I don't remember anything, I swear. I'm hungry, and it's cold, and—"

"Bullshit," one of the younger guards muttered.

Cassian held up a hand. "She's just a kid," he said, though there was suspicion in his eyes. "She doesn't smell like a rogue."

No. She wouldn't. Aurelia had soaked herself in blessed herbs and buried herself in wildflower ash for three days to mask her scent. Even the Moon wouldn't recognize her now.

"She could be useful," Cassian added. "Alpha Kael has been looking for seers. Maybe this one's got something in her blood."

Her stomach twisted at the name.

Kael. Her mate's son. The boy born to the woman who replaced her. He would be seventeen now.

And if the Moon Goddess was as cruel as Aurelia suspected, then he would carry the same mark.

Cassian motioned for her to rise. "Come on, girl. You're going to see the Alpha."

She stumbled to her feet, feigning weakness. But as they led her through the gates and into the heart of the Bloodfang Pack, her mind was burning with every memory they thought they'd buried.

Every tree.

Every house.

Every face.

Ghosts greeted her with every step.

She passed the training yard where her mate had first kissed her under the stars. The herb garden where she had once healed pups with fever. The temple where she'd prayed for mercy. The pyre where they had burned her in the name of peace.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she smiled faintly, like a lost child too scared to ask questions.

"Wait here," Cassian ordered once they reached the pack house. The grand hall was colder than she remembered—stone floors, high ceilings, stained glass that filtered sunlight into colors that did nothing to warm her soul.

She didn't have to wait long.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the far corridor.

And then he appeared.

Alpha Kael.

He looked exactly like his father.

Tall. Sharp. Ice-blue eyes. Dark hair cut with ruthless precision. He walked like he owned the world and destroyed anyone who questioned it.

But there was something different about him. A hesitation in his gaze. A tension in his jaw. He was young, but there was already blood on his hands.

When his eyes met hers, the air changed.

Time stilled.

Aurelia felt it like a chain snapping tight around her soul. The pull. The matebond. But twisted, confused, unfamiliar.

His breath caught—just slightly—but enough.

"She's the one?" he asked Cassian, never looking away.

"She claims no memory. Found her near the gate. No rogue scent."

Kael stepped closer. His eyes scanned her face, searching for something she couldn't let him find.

"What's your name?" he asked.

She lowered her gaze. "I don't know."

He frowned. "You don't know your name?"

"No, Alpha," she whispered.

The silence between them thickened. Then, softly, he said, "You have the eyes of someone who's lived a hundred lives."

She flinched.

He noticed.

"We'll call her Ember," Kael said suddenly. "Until she remembers."

Ember. Like the fire that killed her.

She almost laughed.

Cassian nodded. "I'll get the omega quarters ready."

"No," Kael said. "She stays here. In the main house. I want to keep an eye on her."

Aurelia blinked, her mask nearly slipping. "Alpha, I—"

"I'll have food brought to your room. You'll be trained with the others. No questions. No lies." His voice was velvet and iron. "We protect our own. But betray me, and I'll show you what it means to burn."

She bowed her head. "Yes, Alpha."

He turned and left without another word.

Cassian stared at her for a moment too long before snapping his fingers. "Follow me."

She followed in silence, her heartbeat calm, measured, cold.

So. Kael did feel it.

The pull.

The bond.

The same bond that had once bound her to his father. The same one that had led to her betrayal, her execution, her rebirth.

The Moon Goddess had tied her to Bloodfang again—but this time, she would not be the girl who begged for love.

She would be the flame that turned their house to ash.

Cassian opened the door to a small but richly furnished bedroom. "Stay put. Don't touch anything. You'll be summoned."

The moment he left, Aurelia dropped the orphan act. Her shoulders straightened. Her eyes glowed faintly silver in the mirror across the room. She stared at her reflection—the same face, but colder. Sharper.

She didn't look like a Luna anymore.

She looked like a curse.

She opened the drawer beside the bed. Found a silver dagger inside. Left it untouched. She had better weapons—spells etched beneath her skin, magic soaked into her bones, and rage that had simmered for sixteen long years.

From her pocket, she pulled a tiny vial filled with ash.

The ash of her former body.

She sprinkled a pinch on the windowsill and whispered a chant in the tongue of the Old Witches.

The ash glowed faintly, then vanished.

She was marking the room. Claiming it.

Preparing for what came next.

Because this was no longer a game of survival.

It was war.