The sound of clanging steel echoed through the palace halls, sending a jolt of alarm through Abigail’s chest. She had been organizing herbs in the infirmary when the shouting began, muffled but urgent.
“Rogues!” someone screamed. “The palace is under attack!”
Abigail froze for a moment, clutching a bundle of dried lavender. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her wolf stirred uneasily, urging her to move. She dropped the herbs and ran toward the commotion, her satchel bouncing against her side.
The hallways were chaos. Guards shouted orders, weapons drawn as rogue wolves—wild, feral, and vicious—fought their way through the palace. Abigail skidded to a stop at the edge of the courtyard, her breath catching at the scene before her.
There were at least a dozen rogues, their eyes bloodshot and their bodies scarred. They moved with deadly precision, overpowering some of the guards and sending others scattering.
“Get back, healer!” a guard shouted at Abigail, but she ignored him, her eyes scanning the scene. That’s when she saw him—a young palace wolf, barely more than a boy, pinned to the ground by a rogue’s massive paw. Blood stained the cobblestones beneath him.
Abigail’s instincts kicked in.
“No!” she yelled, darting forward despite the guard’s protests. She grabbed a fallen spear from the ground and thrust it into the rogue’s side with every ounce of strength she had.
The rogue howled in pain, releasing the boy, and Abigail quickly pulled him to his feet. “Come on, you’re okay,” she said urgently, her voice steady despite the fear gripping her. “You’re not dying today.”
The boy whimpered but nodded, leaning on her as she dragged him out of the fray.
“Behind you!” someone yelled.
Abigail turned just in time to see another rogue lunging at her, its claws gleaming. She braced herself, her wolf ready to shift, but before it could strike, a massive black wolf barreled into it, sending it flying into a stone pillar.
Callan.
His wolf was a blur of power and fury as he tore through the rogues with ruthless efficiency. One after another, they fell beneath his claws and teeth, their feral howls silenced.
The remaining rogues began to retreat, dragging their injured away as Callan shifted back into his human form, blood splattered across his chest.
“Don’t let them escape!” he barked, his voice like thunder. The guards scrambled to obey, chasing the fleeing rogues into the forest.
Abigail barely had time to catch her breath before a voice rang out from the shadows.
“You think killing us will solve your problems, Alpha King?”
Everyone turned as a rogue, older and more composed than the others, stepped forward, his hands raised in mock surrender. His eyes glinted with malice, a cruel smile spreading across his face.
“What do you want?” Callan growled, his golden eyes blazing.
The rogue chuckled. “I came to deliver a message.”
Callan’s muscles tensed, his wolf barely restrained. “Speak. Before I tear your throat out.”
The rogue smirked, unbothered by the threat. “The bond. You’ve rejected your mate, haven’t you? Thought you could fight fate?” His gaze flicked to Abigail, and she stiffened, feeling the weight of his words.
Callan’s growl deepened. “That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, but it is,” the rogue said, his tone mocking. “Your rejection has upset the balance, Alpha. The Moon Goddess doesn’t take kindly to arrogance. The chaos you’re feeling in your lands—the unrest, the sickness—it’s only the beginning.”
Abigail’s heart sank. She looked at Callan, whose expression was stone, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt.
“Fix it,” the rogue continued, his voice taking on a dark edge. “Claim your mate, or watch your pack crumble. The Goddess will not be ignored.”
Before anyone could stop him, the rogue shifted into a scraggly gray wolf and bolted into the forest, disappearing into the night.
The aftermath of the attack was a blur of activity. Abigail worked tirelessly in the infirmary, treating the injured guards and calming the shaken servants. But even as she worked, the rogue’s warning echoed in her mind.
Later that evening, Abigail found herself in the empty courtyard, staring at the moon. Her hands still smelled of blood and herbs, but she didn’t care.
“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered to the sky, her voice breaking. “I didn’t ask to be tied to him.”
“Abigail.”
The deep voice behind her made her spin around. Callan stood there, his shirt torn and his face shadowed, but his golden eyes burned with intensity.
“You need to stop sneaking up on me,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“You saved that boy today,” he said, ignoring her comment. His tone wasn’t angry—it was almost… awed.
Abigail crossed her arms. “It’s my job.”
“It’s more than that,” Callan said, stepping closer. “You’re… more than I thought you were.”
Abigail blinked, stunned by his words. “What are you trying to say, Callan?”
He stopped inches from her, his gaze locking onto hers. “I’m trying to say that I was wrong. About you. About everything.”
Abigail’s chest tightened. “It doesn’t matter. You made it very clear you don’t want me. And for the record, I don’t want you either.”
Callan’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You might not want me, but the Goddess doesn’t care what we want.” He took another step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’re mine, Abigail. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”