POV: Soraya
The journey to Saren felt endless, a blur of dunes, dusk, and dread. When the storm finally died, the caravan pushed hard across the desert, Zarek’s assassins tense in a way that made my wolf restless. Not because they feared me—because they feared delaying.
Zarek wanted me delivered quickly.
The palace rose from the sands like a monstrous jewel—white stone towers carved with serpent motifs, gold arches that glistened under the blistering sun, and long banners bearing Zarek’s crest: a coiled black serpent around a moon.
My throat tightened.
This place… this was where I lived as a child.
Where my mother raised me in whispers and secrecy.
Where my father pretended I was invisible.
Returning now felt like stepping into a grave I barely climbed out of.
The caravan halted at the gates. Guards greeted the assassins and bowed, eyes widening when they saw me bound between them.
One guard stuttered, “The moon-mark… it’s real.”
The leader shoved me forward. “Zarek will be pleased.”
My stomach turned.
The gates opened.
As I stepped inside, memories hit like sandstorms—my mother’s laughter, her warnings, the day her blood soaked the marble. My legs trembled, but I didn’t fall. My wolf kept me upright, pacing inside me, wary and wild.
Zarek’s throne room was exactly as I remembered and somehow worse.
Tall pillars twisted like snakes. Silk cushions lined the floors. Incense burned sweetly, cloying and heavy. The throne itself was made of black stone, polished to mirror-like sheen.
Zarek sat on it—draped in gold and obsidian, handsome in a sharp, cold way. His dark hair fell around his shoulders, and when he lifted his eyes to me, a chill crawled up my spine.
He stood slowly, like he wanted to savor the moment.
“My desert moon,” he said softly, voice dripping like honey poured over a blade. “You’ve come home.”
Home.
The word hit me like a slap.
I stayed silent.
He descended the steps with deliberate grace, stopping mere inches from me. His fingers, adorned in gold rings, lifted my chin. I stiffened but didn’t pull away—my instincts warned me not to show fear.
He smiled, a gentle curve that didn’t reach his eyes. “Still stubborn. Still fierce. Just as I remember.”
“You kidnapped me,” I whispered.
He laughed, soft and pleased. “Kidnapped? No, Soraya. I rescued you. From Raevan. From the Ashra savages who used you. From the world that fears what they don’t understand.”
I jerked my chin from his grasp. “You don’t care about me. You care about what I am.”
His smile faltered—not anger, but something darker, hungrier. “You are the last true Zehrael. The moon-marked. The one destined to walk beside me.”
“I’m not yours.”
“You’ve always been mine,” he murmured. His hand brushed a strand of hair from my cheek with horrifying tenderness. “Since the day the mark flared on your skin. You were chosen for greatness, and I for you.”
The more gentle he acted, the more terrified I became.
Because Zarek didn’t frighten people with violence.
He frightened them by convincing them he loved them while breaking everything they were.
He motioned to the guards. “Remove her bindings. She is not a prisoner.”
My hands were freed. I rubbed my wrists, refusing to thank him.
He watched the movement with unsettling softness. “Does it still hurt?”
“No.”
“I can change that,” he said. “I can heal everything that wounded you in Ashra.”
I tensed. “What did you do to the scouts?”
He sighed as if I’d asked about something trivial. “They are alive. For now.”
“For now?” My voice cracked.
He lifted a hand. “If you stay. If you accept your place at my side. If you embrace what you are meant to become—they live. If you fight me…” He shrugged. “War requires sacrifices.”
Rage surged through me so violently I saw stars. “You monster.”
He stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper that brushed the shell of my ear. “No, Soraya. I’m your future.”
I flinched, stepping back. He allowed it, watching me with a strange, fascinated hunger.
“You must be tired,” he said softly. “Your chambers have been prepared. I had them restored exactly how they were before your mother’s… mistake.”
My heart stopped.
“Don’t you dare speak about her—”
Zarek’s expression cooled instantly, a mask slipping into place. “Your mother was naïve. She feared your power. She hid you from me. That is the only reason she died.”
My breath faltered. “You blame her for your own cruelty?”
“I blame fate,” he said calmly. “And I do not repeat fate’s mistakes.”
He snapped his fingers. Guards stepped forward and bowed.
“Escort her to her rooms. Treat her with respect. Anyone who harms her answers to me.”
The guards nodded, nervous under his sharp gaze.
Zarek approached me one last time, lifting my chin again—gentler than anyone had the right to be.
“You are my destiny, Soraya,” he whispered. “And I always claim what is mine.”
I jerked my head away, heart pounding. “I will never belong to you.”
He didn’t get angry.
He smiled.
A slow, serene smile that chilled my blood.
“You will,” he murmured. “Even the moon cannot save you now.”
He turned away as if the matter were settled, as if I were a question already answered.
The guards led me out, their footsteps echoing through the marble hallways. My wolf pressed against my bones, restless, sensing danger in every shadow.
Zarek’s palace felt like a gilded trap, every corner designed to remind me I was prey dressed in silk.
But deep inside, beneath the fear, something else flickered—determination.
I might be in his hands now. But I would not stay.