They say when a wolf dies with vengeance in her heart, the Moon Goddess grants her one more night to haunt those who wronged her.
But that's a lie.
I wasn't free to roam, to hunt, or to fight.
I was caged.
An invisible force sealed me inside a world between realms a thick, suffocating wall that kept me bound. I couldn't break it. Couldn't move. Couldn't tear into the one who had destroyed me.
Camilla stood right there, basking in stolen glory, her smug smile catching the gallery's golden light. She looked radiant perfect even but all I saw was a predator wearing silk instead of claws.
I wanted to lunge at her. To feel her bones snap under my grip. To make her see what she'd done.
But my hands passed through her like smoke.
I couldn't touch her.
I could only watch.
Each painting she flaunted wasn't born of her talent it was born of my pain. Every color, every brushstroke, carried pieces of my broken heart. Those weren't paintings. They were my howls made visible. My way of bleeding without dying.
For two years, I had been crumbling slowly, painfully under the weight of her presence and Julian's growing distance. My wolf had tried to warn me; she had paced restlessly inside me, snarling whenever Camilla entered the room. But I ignored her. I thought jealousy was clouding my instincts.
When I finally broke down, the pack healer Dr. Arden called it "emotional exhaustion." The humans would've said depression. He gave me calming teas and herbs to dull the ache, to quiet my restless wolf. But the numbness only made it worse.
He told me I had two paths:
Leave what was breaking me…
Or learn to live while dying inside it.
I knew my problem.
It had two faces Julian and Camilla.
But I was too lost in the bond to walk away. Too addicted to the faint warmth of Julian's scent to let go. So I stayed.
And every time I stayed, I lost another piece of myself.
When the pain became unbearable, I hid in the one place that still felt safe the basement of my home, my private den. There, I painted until dawn. I poured every wound, every heartbreak, every suffocated howl into color. And somehow, that art became my survival.
Even in death, Camilla found a way to take that from me.
As I stood among the crowd, a woman pointed toward one of the paintings and tilted her head. "Wait doesn't this signature look familiar?"
My wolf's ears perked.
The air around me shifted.
And that's when everything started to unravel.
Back in middle school, I had entered a national design competition under an alias "S." No one knew it was me. I'd won first place. The art world had whispered about the mysterious prodigy for years, but no one ever discovered who "S" really was.
I couldn't tell my family. My father, Malcom Morrigan the head of the Morrigan Pack saw art as a distraction, not a strength. I was meant to inherit leadership, not chase beauty. So I hid it. I created an anonymous packnet profile and shared my work under that same name: S.
It became a legend. Thousands followed the account, waiting for the yearly full-moon drop a single painting every cycle, always signed with that one letter. Not even Julian knew.
But two years ago, I made a mistake.
I posted a piece from my personal account instead of my anonymous one. Within hours, the entire packnet erupted. Wolves and humans alike were debating was Elena Morrigan the mysterious S?
I didn't answer. I didn't deny it either. I didn't need validation from anyone. So I let the storm pass.
In two weeks, it was forgotten. Just another rumor buried under pack gossip and shifting alliances.
Two years.
Two long, bitter years since my death.
And now, somehow, Camilla had found the paintings I never meant for any eyes but mine. The ones I'd poured my soul into the ones my wolf had cried over during sleepless moons. Each stroke of color was a wound that refused to heal. I had buried them deep within my private den, never intending for the pack or anyone to see them.
But Camilla always had a way of sniffing out what didn't belong to her.
I'd hidden my mark the wolfish curl of my signature within each painting. Sometimes beneath the shimmer of light, sometimes lost in the shadows, where only the keenest eyes could sense the truth. Those who had followed my work for years could recognize the energy in every brushstroke the same energy that came from my wolf's restless soul.
But now, they thought that energy belonged to her.
All because of one careless mistake I'd made two years ago posting a piece from my personal account instead of my anonymous one. That single slip had blurred the lines between my two worlds. The human one… and the wolf within.
Now, the story had twisted beyond control.
Pack gossip spread like wildfire through both human and wolf channels. Online forums buzzed with fury and confusion. Some believed I had faked being "S," the legendary wolf-artist who painted from the soul. Others claimed Camilla had always been the real genius, and that I Elena Morrigan, the Alpha's forgotten daughter had been nothing but a jealous fraud howling for attention.
Even the charity work I'd done anonymously under the name "S" art sold to help lone wolves and orphaned pups was now credited to her.
And Camilla… she accepted it all with a perfect smile. Not a flicker of guilt. Not even the faintest tremor in her scent.
The pack's media spun the story faster than wildfire.
"Genius Painter Camilla: The Alpha's Gifted Mate and Rising Star."
"Art from the Heart The Luna Who Paints for Peace."
Every headline made my blood simmer.
But the moment that broke me came when Julian saw it all.
He didn't know I was "S." Not even after all those years by my side. I had kept that secret buried beneath our bond, terrified he'd never understand that my wolf needed freedom a space that wasn't tied to his command or his expectations.
Still, he had seen me paint. He knew the rhythm of my movements, the way I lost myself to the pull of instinct and color.
So when Camilla's collection was unveiled, I saw it the flicker of confusion in his storm-gray eyes.
"Camilla," he said quietly, voice heavy with doubt, "are these really your paintings?"
Her lashes fluttered, and tears shimmered like dew.
"Julian, who else would they belong to? Haven't you always told me how talented I am?"
His eyes stayed on the canvases, not her.
"It's just… the style feels different. These don't look like your usual work."
She smiled, soft and practiced.
"Well, no wolf sticks to one hunt forever. I evolve, Julian. The more time you spend with me, the more you'll understand my range."
Then she did it her fingers trailed down his chest, slow, possessive.
Marking what was once mine.
Julian stiffened, his scent shifting to discomfort. He gently pushed her hand away, scanning the room to see who might've noticed.
"The auction's about to begin," he said, his tone clipped.
And just like that, they moved toward the hall.
And me? I followed.
Always tethered to his aura, invisible, half-shadow, half-spirit my wolf's restless energy tied to his bond even in death.
The auction room pulsed with life. Wolves and humans alike packed the grand hall, drawn by the legend of S, the mysterious artist whose work had once stirred hearts across both realms. Some had traveled across territories, hoping to meet the one who painted the soul of the moon itself.
Julian walked with the quiet authority of an Alpha, the crowd parting instinctively for him. I watched, torn between longing and fury. My wolf paced inside the shadows, growling low as Camilla soaked in the attention meant for me.
And then
It happened.
As Julian passed through the crowd, someone brushed against his shoulder.
A man.
He muttered a low "sorry," his voice gravelly rough and broken, like stones grinding against each other. His scent hit me before his face did: smoke, iron, and blood.
When he lifted his head, I saw his eyes.
It was him