The sun filtered through the tall arched windows, casting soft gold over the packhouse's stone floors. Light kissed the ivy curling along the outer walls and dappled through the leaves of the courtyard garden, where Selene stood alone. She didn't move, didn't breathe too hard. Her gaze lingered on the dew-kissed petals of flowers she didn't know the names of. Red, blue, pale ivory—delicate things that somehow thrived in this house of cold stone and colder silences.
Her thoughts were louder than any birdsong.
The weight of Marcus's words settled like iron in her chest.
He's cursed.
You're his fated mate.
If he dies, you both die.
It should've terrified her. It did. But the fear wasn't just for herself. It was for Kael.
The Kael who bled and said nothing. The Kael who pushed her away like he was made of walls and frost but still looked at her sometimes like she was a storm he didn't know how to survive.
She pressed her hands to the stone railing, her knuckles pale.
What if she didn't know how to save him?
She barely knew how to save herself.
The door creaked open behind her. She didn't turn until she heard the familiar weight of footsteps.
"Selene," Marcus said, his voice low.
She turned to face him. He looked more tired than usual, arms folded, shoulders squared with that same unreadable heaviness he wore like armor.
"I didn't sleep," she said softly.
"I didn't expect you to," he replied.
They stood in silence, the kind that didn't press but hung between them, respectful.
"What would it take?" she asked after a long pause. "To break the curse."
His brows lifted, mildly surprised. "Completely?"
She nodded once.
He exhaled, a sound that felt old, like he'd been carrying this truth for too long. "He has to accept the bond. All of it. Not just the title. Not just the body. The emotion. The soul. His wolf has to choose you. Fully."
"He barely looks at me," she muttered. "He scowls more than he speaks."
"Because you frighten him," Marcus said gently. "Not because of who you are—but what you are. Hope. He hasn't let himself hope in a long time."
She looked away, her throat tight. "I don't want to force him. I won't beg just to be seen."
"You're not begging," Marcus said, stepping closer. "You're standing on the line between death and survival—for both of you. That's not desperation. That's purpose."
She nodded, but the words sank slow and heavy.
Later, the packhouse buzzed with the rhythm of daily life—warriors sharpening blades, Omegas carrying crates of dried meat, pups tumbling in the dirt under watchful eyes. The chaos moved around her, but Selene felt like a ghost inside it, drifting unseen between the shadows of a world that never asked for her.
Except one did.
"Don't let that Alpha make you forget your fire," came a sharp voice near the kitchens.
Selene blinked. Lena, the older Omega cook, gave her a sideways smirk while scrubbing a bowl.
"I'm sorry?" Selene asked.
"You heard me," Lena said. "You've got steel in you. Don't let him put it out."
Selene forced a small smile. "Just thinking."
Lena snorted. "That's dangerous. Thinking too much in a place like this. I've seen plenty of mates. Some love fast, some burn slow. But the bond only fails when one of them gives up."
"Isn't it already failing?"
Lena wiped her hands on her apron, then leaned her elbows on the counter. "Not if you're still standing."
The words stuck with her as she wandered back through the halls, her feet carrying her without direction until she stood once more at the door to the Alpha's quarters. Her hand hovered near the wood. She should knock. She should walk away.
Then she heard it.
"Dammit," he growled, low and pained.
A crash.
The sound of something shattering.
Her heart dropped.
She pushed the door open without thinking.
Kael stood near the desk, one hand braced on the surface, the other pressed to his side. Blood had soaked through his shirt. It clung dark and wet against his ribs. His face was pale, his expression carved from pain and fury.
"Kael," she gasped, rushing to him.
He turned sharply, stumbling. "I told you—" he began, but his voice broke as his knees buckled.
She caught him before he hit the floor, his weight jarring her but not breaking her.
"Don't be stubborn," she said fiercely. "You're bleeding."
"I'm fine," he rasped.
"You're not."
She guided him to the bed, ignoring the tremor in his muscles. He didn't fight her—just clenched his jaw as she helped him sit. Her hands were already tugging his shirt up. The gash across his ribs was raw, infected, dark veins spiderwebbing from the center.
"It's spreading," she whispered, horror creeping into her voice.
Kael looked away, jaw tight. "I know."
Tears pricked her eyes, but she held them back. "Why are you letting this happen?"
He said nothing.
"I can't watch you die," she said quietly.
That made him flinch. She saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way something flickered in his eyes.
"You don't even know me," he said roughly.
"No," she said, voice cracking, "but I want to."
She could've said more. About how he looked when he fought. About how he tasted like fire and silence when he almost kissed her. About how her chest ached every time he pushed her away. But she said nothing else.
He looked at her then. Really looked at her. Not like a pawn, or a burden, or a mistake.
Like a choice.
The silence stretched long between them. The kind of silence that decides everything.
And then… he pulled back.
"Don't waste yourself on me," he said, voice tight.
Selene stood, her heart splintering. "That's not your decision."
She left him there, bleeding and alone.
That night, she stood at her window, staring at the stars. Her breath fogged the glass.
She didn't have magic. She didn't have strength like his. She had no titles, no army. Just a bond that was fraying by the hour, and a heart she hadn't meant to give away.
But maybe that was enough.
She hadn't been chosen for her beauty or her lineage. She had been sold. Tossed into this cold house like a bargain struck in desperation.
But still she was standing.
Still she was fighting.
She would not let the curse win.
Not because of fate. Not because the prophecy demanded it.
Because she had seen something in Kael's eyes—something wounded and wild and quietly begging to be held.
And if she had to fight him to save him, she would.
Not out of obligation.
Out of choice.
Out of fire.