The first thing I remember is the way my mother’s blood steamed on the snow.
It was supposed to be a simple Winter Moon Run. The whole pack had been excited—thick snow on the ground, the sky clear and hard and glittering, the full moon heavy above the treeline. Even the older omegas had been laughing as they handed out blankets and hot cider, their fingers red from the cold, their eyes bright.
I’d been eight and bursting with the kind of wild joy only a pup can have. I’d darted between legs, nearly tripping a warrior as he laced his boots.
“Kaia,” my mother scolded, her voice low but warm. “You’re going to get yourself stepped on.”
I spun around to grin at her. She was in partial shift—her eyes already glowing amber, claws peeking from her fingers. Her hair, the same dark bronze as mine, was pulled back into a messy braid that brushed the worn leather of her jacket.
“I won’t,” I said, bouncing on my toes. “I’m fast.”
“You’re reckless,” my father corrected as he came up behind me, scooping me effortlessly into his arms. “There’s a difference, little spark.”
I giggled and wrapped my arms around his neck. “You’re just slow, Papa.”
He made a scandalized sound. “Did you hear that, Mira? Our daughter thinks I’m slow.”
My mother rolled her eyes, but the curve of her mouth was soft. “Only because you let her win every race.”
“It builds confidence,” he said.
“She has too much confidence.”
They bantered like that all the time, sharp and playful, both of them quick-tongued and laughing. I’d thought they would live forever.
I remember the Luna passing by, her long silver hair braided with tiny white pearls, her aura cool and bright even in human form. The crowd parted for her and for Alpha Rhys, his presence like a heavy hand on the back of your neck. Even as a pup, I’d felt it—the way everyone straightened, shoulders back, conversations dropping to respectful murmurs.
My mother’s hand tightened on my father’s arm as the Alpha and Luna drew near. My father hitched me a little higher against his chest, his muscles going just a bit tense around me.
“Darin. Mira,” Luna Elyra greeted them. Her voice was soft but carried, like bell chimes on ice. “Thank you both for taking extra patrols tonight.”
“Always, my Luna,” my mother said, bowing her head.
Alpha Rhys didn’t speak to them. He barely glanced at us, his gaze scanning over the gathered wolves as if counting heads. His eyes slid right past me, like I was nothing.
I remember that more clearly than anything—that sense of being invisible to him, to the man my parents would die for.
“Stay close to the omegas’ circle, Kaia,” my mother murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Her fingers were shaking. “Do you hear me?”
My smile faded. “Mama? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied. “Just—listen to me, pup. No wandering. No running into the trees. You stay where I can see you.”
“But I wanted to watch you shift—”
“You’ve seen us shift a thousand times,” my father cut in gently, but his eyes were on the treeline, his jaw tight. “Tonight you stay with Nana Lysa, understand?”
I wriggled, suddenly uneasy. “Are rogues coming?”
“Maybe,” my mother said quietly. “Probably not. But we don’t take chances.”
“Hey.” My father tipped my chin up so I had to meet his dark eyes. “You trust us, little spark?”
I hated when he called me that in front of people. But this time I just nodded.
“Then do as your mother says,” he told me. “And I’ll race you tomorrow, from the river to the east cliff. You can prove how slow I am.”
I bit my lip. “Promise?”
His smile flashed, white and sharp. “On my wolf.”
He set me down as the first wolves began to strip and shift, clothing tossed in neat piles, laughter ringing under the cold white moon. Bones cracked and reformed, fur bursting from skin, eyes igniting with that unnatural, beautiful glow.
My parents’ wolves were magnificent.
My mother’s—slender and deep bronze, black-tipped ears pricked, her coat catching the moonlight like burnished metal. My father’s—broad and almost black, with narrow threads of copper along his spine. They circled me once, pressing their cold noses to my hands, my face, breathing me in like they were memorizing me.
“Go,” I whispered, even though they could no longer understand my human words. My heart beat too fast, something hot and sour rising in my throat.
They threw back their heads and howled instead, their voices weaving with the others into one rising, shivering sound that made my skin pebble.
Then they ran.
***
The Winter Moon Run began as all runs did—our pack, the Redwood Shadow Pack, streaming through the snow-silent forest, paws drumming, breath steamy and white. I sat with the omegas as ordered, under the temporary shelters near the clearing’s edge, wrapped in a thick wool blanket that smelled faintly of lavender and woodsmoke.
Nana Lysa, the oldest omega, fussed with my scarf. “Too thin. Your mother should’ve dressed you warmer.”
“I’m fine,” I said, even though my fingers burned with cold. “I like watching.”
Her wrinkled hand smoothed my hair. “Of course you do, little one.”
We watched the wolves vanish between the dark pines, snowflakes spinning lazily in the air. The sky was a black bowl of stars. Somewhere a crow called.
I should have heard the change in the wind. Smelled the wrongness.
The first sign was the way the Luna stiffened.
She’d remained in human form near the edge of the clearing, escorted by two elite warriors, her eyes distant as if tracking her bond with Alpha Rhys wherever he ran. Suddenly she gasped, one hand clutching at her chest.
“Elyra?” one of the warriors said sharply. “Luna?”
“Rogues,” she whispered. Then louder, her voice slicing through the murmurs, “Rogues! Coming from the north ridge!”
Chaos exploded.
Wolves wheeled in the distance, snow spraying. Howls shifted from playful to battle-sharp. The scents changed—fear, blood, rage, and something else, something feral and sickly, riding the air like rot.
“Inside!” Nana Lysa barked, shoving me toward the sheltered building at the clearing’s edge. “Inside, all pups!”
“But my parents,” I choked. “They’re out there—”
“Inside, Kaia!” she snapped, and I’d never heard her harsh before. “Now.”
My heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted out. I stumbled toward the low stone structure the omegas used during runs, where younger pups slept if they couldn’t handle staying out in the cold. My boots slipped on packed snow.
A rogue burst from the treeline before I reached the door.
It was larger than any wolf I’d ever seen, its gray fur matted and dark with old blood. Its eyes were wrong—no color, just milky white, and its muzzle was frothing. It barreled into the clearing with a guttural snarl.
Screams ripped the night.
Wolves changed course, racing to intercept. An omega dropped the ladle she’d been using to stir soup, her face going white. “Goddess,” she whispered.
More rogues thundered from the trees, a whole pack of them, too many, far too many.
“Inside!” Nana Lysa shrieked.
Hands pushed at my back, at my shoulders. Pups cried, clung to each other. I stumbled over someone’s boot and hit my knees, snow soaking through my tights. The world fractured into snapshots: claws raking, blood spraying hot and bright on the white ground, a warrior’s howl cut short in a choking gurgle.
And then I saw them.
My mother’s bronze wolf slammed into the flanks of a rogue that had broken through toward the Luna. She hit him with such force they both went down in a tumbling, snarling heap. My father’s dark wolf was there a heartbeat later, teeth flashing as he ripped into another rogue’s throat.
“Darin!” the Luna screamed. “Mira!”
Alpha Rhys was still in his black wolf form across the clearing, fighting three rogues at once. He didn’t look toward us. His massive body was a whirlwind of power and brutality, his jaws snapping, his claws turning fur and flesh into pulp.
The Luna wasn’t guarded anymore.
Two rogues lunged for her from opposite sides.
My parents moved as one.
My father launched himself between the Luna and the larger rogue, his body taking the full impact. They went down, a tangle of fur and blood and snow. The second rogue veered toward the Luna’s unprotected back—
—and my mother was there, intercepting, bronze fur streaked red, eyes blazing. She hit the rogue mid-air, her jaws closing over its neck.
The Luna fell backward in the snow, eyes wide.
For one suspended second, my mother’s gaze met mine across the chaos.
I don’t know how I knew she was looking at me. I just did. Her wolf’s eyes—amber, familiar—locked on mine. Her ears were flattened, her chest heaving, her fur torn in several places.
She held that gaze and then, slowly, she inclined her head.
*Run.*
I couldn’t hear the word. But I felt it.
A rogue slammed into her side.
My mother’s body twisted. There was a terrible crack. Her hind leg bent at an angle no leg should bend. Her jaws loosened from the rogue’s throat and they both went down, disappearing in a spray of snow.
“Mama!” I screamed.
A hand clamped over my mouth.
Nana Lysa hauled me backward, her old strength suddenly iron. “Don’t look.”
I fought her, teeth sinking into her palm. She hissed in pain but didn’t let go, just dragged me bodily toward the stone building.
Over her shoulder, I saw my father fall.
He was already half-shifted back, his body torn open, blood pouring from his side. He was still moving, still dragging himself between the Luna and the rogues, his fingers clawed, his eyes burning with stubborn, stupid, furious light.
“Get her *inside*,” he snarled, voice bubbling with blood. “Lysa—Kaia—”
Then a rogue hit him from behind, ripping his throat out.
The world went quiet.
I didn’t hear my own scream. I didn’t hear the Luna’s ragged sob, or the warriors shouting, or the continued guttural snarls around us. It all turned into a thick, muffled roar in my ears.
Blood hit the snow in an arc, bright as spilled paint.
“Papa,” I whispered behind Nana Lysa’s hand. The word scraped my throat raw. “Papa, no, please—”
He didn’t move again.
The next thing I remember is being inside, the heavy wooden door slamming shut, muffling the battle cries. Pups wailed around me. Omegas hurried back and forth, counting heads, their faces gray.
Nana Lysa held my trembling body against hers on one of the narrow bunks. Her hand stroked my hair.
“They’ll be all right,” she lied, voice hoarse. “They’re strong, your parents. Stronger than any rogue.”
“I saw,” I choked. “Nana, I saw—”
“Don’t,” she said, just that one word, rough and strangled. “Don’t, little bird.”
I pressed my face into her chest as howls rose and rose and rose outside, the sound warping into something anguished and broken.
Later, after the rogues were driven back, after the healers ran out of their little vials and their herbs, after the Luna fainted from blood loss and shock, Nana Lysa tried to keep me inside.
But I slipped out.
I was small and fast and knew the omega passages, the narrow back doors and storage sheds. No one noticed me with so many injured, too many dead. I followed the scent of blood and smoke and grief to the center of the clearing.
My parents lay side by side on the snow, already covered with thin white sheets.
I pressed a hand to my mouth, my breath shuddering.
“Don’t,” someone murmured behind me, but their voice was tired and distant, like mine. “Pup, you shouldn’t—”
I ignored them. I went to my knees between the two still shapes and curled over my mother’s covered face, my fingers clenching in the brittle fabric.
“I’m here,” I whispered, as if she could hear. “I’m here, Mama. I did what you said. I ran.”
My tears soaked into the sheet. My chest hurt like something hot and sharp was lodged under my ribs.
“I did what you said,” I repeated, louder, anger beginning to build under the grief, raw and wild. “You said we’d race tomorrow. You both said—”
A shadow fell over me.
I twisted, glaring up through tears.
Luna Elyra stood there, pale and impossibly composed in a clean white coat, her silver hair loose around her shoulders. Only her eyes betrayed her—red-rimmed, haunted.
“Kaia,” she said softly. “Come.”
I stared at her.
“They died for you,” I whispered.
Pain flickered across her perfect features. “They died for their Luna,” she said. “For the pack. For you. For all of us.”
“It was *you* the rogues were after.”
“Yes.”
“And it was *them* who died.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Kaia—”
“It should’ve been you,” I said, because eight-year-olds don’t know how to be polite in the face of grief. “Not them.”
Gasps rippled through the few wolves close enough to hear. A warrior took a step forward, snarling, but the Luna lifted one hand and he halted.
“You are grieving,” she said quietly, her voice steady though her hands trembled. “I will not hold your words against you.”
I hated her in that moment for her composure, for her grace, for the way she managed to sound sad and kind and *above* it all while my world was in bloody pieces.
The Alpha appeared at her side, his face still smeared with dried blood, his black hair damp with melted snow. His eyes were flat, hard as obsidian.
“Take her to the omegas’ quarters,” he ordered someone behind me. “They’ll look after her until we decide.”
“Decide what?” I rasped.
“Where to place you,” he said. “You’re an orphan now.”
The word hit like a blow.
I stared at him. “I’m pack,” I said. “My parents died for you.”
He regarded me as if I were something unpleasant on his boot. “And the pack will not abandon you. But you are eight, wolfless, with no living ranked relatives. The omegas will be responsible for you until you are of age. That is my decision.”
“The omegas?” My voice cracked. “We’re not omegas. We’re hunters. Warriors. My mother—”
“Your mother was a warrior,” he corrected coldly. “Your father was a tracker. You are a pup with no wolf. The pack has no use for dead weight.”
“Rhys,” the Luna murmured, a warning in her tone.
He didn’t look at her. He looked at me. And in his eyes, I saw my future, laid out stark and bare.
Not as a warrior.
Not as a tracker.
As an omega.
As less.
Heat rushed to my face, a sick, helpless fury. I wanted to leap at him, claw at his eyes, *make* him see me.
But I was just an eight-year-old girl kneeling in the snow, my hands numb, my parents covered in white sheets.
I pressed my palms to the ground instead and bowed my head so low my forehead touched the icy crust.
“Thank you, Alpha,” I forced out, because even in grief, pack law was carved into my bones. “For your mercy.”
“Come, child.” That was Nana Lysa’s voice, gentler than any I’d ever heard. Her hands, warm and shaking, tried to lift me. “Let them rest now.”
I let her pull me up. I let her guide me away. I didn’t look back.
As we crossed the clearing, I heard the Luna’s voice, very soft, very raw.
“Rhys,” she whispered. “We owe them more than that.”
“We owe this pack survival,” he replied, just as soft. “Not sentiment.”
The words slid between my ribs like a knife. I never forgot them.
That night, in a narrow omega bunk that smelled of pine soap and boiled vegetables, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I waited for my wolf’s voice, for the comforting warmth of the bond everyone talked about, the sense of not being alone inside your own head.
Nothing came.
I was empty.
I was eight.
I was alone.
And the Moon Goddess was silent.
***
Years later, I would look back at that moment and understand something I couldn’t then: that my story didn’t end in the snow beside my parents’ bodies.
It began there.
Under the cold gaze of the Alpha who’d labeled me worthless.
Under the haunted eyes of the Luna who let him.
Under the watching, distant moon that had not yet revealed what she’d woven into my blood.
But at eight, pressed between two snoring omegas, the taste of salt and iron still in my mouth, all I knew was this:
I would never forgive them.
Not the rogues who tore my family apart.
Not the Alpha who reduced their sacrifice to practicality.
And not the Moon Goddess who let it all happen.
I whispered it into my thin pillow, a promise, a curse, a prayer.
“I’ll never need any of you,” I said into the dark.
Somewhere above the pine roof, the Winter Moon slid behind a cloud.
And in the depths of me, something…listened.
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