No one talks about the Black Moon.

They say children born beneath its ink-stained light are cosmic errors, mistakes corrected before their seventh winter. At eighteen, I am the error that lived.

As the Alpha’s daughter, I should have been royalty. Instead, I am a ghost in my father’s house, treated like rot beneath the floorboards and never touched without heavy gloves. I have no wolf and no future—until the night I am rejected by my fated mate.

When my heart breaks, the sky breaks with it. The moon turns black, lightning strikes, and a plague begins to destroy my pack from the inside out. The Priests’ verdict is simple: to save the wolves, the "curse" must be bled dry.

Sentenced to death, I steal one final night of freedom in the neon haze of a forbidden club. There, I meet a dangerous stranger with a deal that tastes like sin and salvation.

Yes, they called me a mistake. They called me a sacrifice. But when I return for the Bloodline rituals, the Goddess didn’t choose my sister to save the world. She chose me. 

Now, the Kings of wolves, mages, and vampires are coming for me; they all want a piece of the Black Luna to tip the scales of war. They think they can buy my blood, my presence, or my hand in marriage…

They are wrong, because the shadow beneath my skin… is finally hungry.

Excerpt:

"You're a long way from the attic, little curse," he says, his voice a low, silk-wrapped growl.

"I'm a few hours from an altar," I shoot back, my sassy edge finding its footing. "I figured I'd see what the world looks like before I'm bled dry for it."

He leans down, his breath warm against my ear. "The Blood-Claw pack is foolish. They think they can solve a plague by killing the only thing the Goddess actually bothered to mark?”

"They think I'm a mistake. Who are you to tell them otherwise?"

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his silver gaze pinning me in place. "I’m the Prince," he says, the title sounding like a threat. "And that’s enough.”

He reaches out, his thumb grazing my jawline, tracing the path where my father’s hand usually leaves a bruise. I should flinch, but the shadow in my blood is purring at his touch.

“I have a proposal, Iskera. If you go back alone, you die at dawn,” he whispers, his eyes darkening. "They’ll open your throat to appease a Goddess who isn't even listening. But if you go back as my property? If you wear my ring and carry my name?"

He leans closer, his lips inches from mine, his scent of sandalwood and winter air filling my senses.

"Not even your father would dare draw his knife against what belongs to me."

It is a terrifying thing to stand before the Alpha King under query—or is it judgment now? 


My whole body has gone rigid, yet my fingers are traitors, trembling so violently I have to press them against my thighs. There are no thick folds of skirt to hide them in tonight, no way to mask the raw fear radiating off me, especially after Vane returns to his seat, leaving me exposed in the center of the room.


All the Royal eyes are pinned on me. One of the females—Vane's sister, I realize, much older than the gentle Avalon—is snickering behind her hand. She smells my fear; they all do. I can't even find the room to be ashamed or feel my pride bruise. 


"Iskera… it would be wise to answer the King. He does not often repeat himself," Avalon speaks softly. 


The King's gaze is steady, hot, and clinical. He scans me like a specimen under a glass, and I can tell he doesn't like what he sees.


Chapter 43 - Forgiven...