The snowstorm that day was brutal. But I strapped Ayla to my back, tucked her frozen hands under my coat, and walked. One step at a time. One breath at a time. Toward a mate who had left us in the dirt.
By the time we reached the Black gates, my lips were split from the cold. My feet bled in my boots. Ayla barely stirred.
The guards looked at us like we were something foul left on their doorstep.
“You dare show your face here?” the Beta snarled, voice thick with contempt. “Alpha Damien doesn’t acknowledge rogues.”
I blinked, disoriented. “He’s my mate. I… I bore his daughter—”
“He has a Luna now,” the Beta spat. “And she doesn’t like strays.”
They dragged us. My knees scraped over stone and ice. My arms locked around Ayla’s tiny body as fists and claws rained down on me. I tasted blood, warm and thick.
And then I saw her.
Elara.
Wrapped in white furs stitched with silver. The Nightfang crest shimmered over her heart like a taunt. Her pups stood beside her, unflinching. Already marked as pack royalty.
She smiled when she saw me—serene, satisfied. Her eyes gleamed like a predator’s.
“Oh Selene,” she said sweetly. “You made it.”