Aria's POV
The bucket of dirty mop water hit my face before I even saw it coming.
"Move faster, omega trash!" Beta Marcus's daughter laughed as the filthy liquid dripped down my hair, onto my already soaked dress. "My father wants these floors spotless before the Lunar Ceremony tonight."
I wiped my eyes with shaking hands, tasting chemicals and grime. Twenty years old today. Happy birthday to me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, dropping to my knees to clean the mess. My hands were raw and bleeding from scrubbing all morning, but I didn't stop. Stopping meant more kicks. More punches. More hunger.
Three she-wolves walked past, their designer heels clicking on the floors I'd just cleaned. One deliberately stepped in the wet spot, smearing mud everywhere.
"Oops." She smiled down at me. "Better fix that before Alpha Crest sees."
They walked away giggling. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood and started scrubbing again.
This was my life. This had always been my life—at least, for the last twelve years.
I could still remember the before times, though the memories were getting fuzzy. Mom's warm smile. Dad's strong arms lifting me up. Their cabin in the woods, small but filled with love. Then came the fire. The screams. The smell of smoke and blood.
I was eight when they died. Eight when the pack discovered me hiding in the burned ruins. Eight when they tested me and found... nothing. No wolf. No power. Just a small, broken girl.
"Omega," the pack doctor had declared, and that single word destroyed any chance I had at a normal life.
In the werewolf world, omegas were the lowest. We served. We obeyed. We suffered in silence.
But something deep inside me whispered that it was wrong. That I wasn't supposed to be this powerless. Sometimes I'd dream of silver light and a woman's voice calling my name, but I always woke before I could understand the words.
"Aria!" The head cook's shout made me jump. "Stop daydreaming and get to the kitchen! We need three hundred plates washed before sunset!"
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain shooting through my knees. The bucket handle cut into my blistered palms as I carried it toward the kitchen. The packhouse was massive, crawling with wolves preparing for tonight's ceremony.
The Lunar Ceremony happened four times a year when the moon was fullest. It was when wolves found their mates, when the Moon Goddess supposedly revealed destiny. I'd attended twelve ceremonies since turning eighteen—the age when wolves could sense their mates.
Each time, I felt nothing. More proof I was defective.
In the kitchen, I plunged my hands into scalding water, scrubbing plates until my fingers went numb. Around me, omega servants rushed everywhere, just as invisible as me. We were furniture. Shadows. Things that made pack life comfortable but were never really seen.
"Did you hear?" one of the older omegas whispered nearby. "Alpha Daemon is announcing his chosen mate tonight."
My hands stilled in the water. Daemon Crest. The Alpha's son. Golden-haired, emerald-eyed, and devastating in every way. Every she-wolf in the pack wanted him. He was everything an alpha should be—strong, confident, destined for greatness.
"I bet it's Celeste," another omega murmured. "They've been inseparable lately."
Celeste Thorne. Beta female. Beautiful, powerful, and once upon a time, my only friend. Until we turned thirteen and she realized being seen with an omega damaged her reputation. The last time she spoke to me, she'd said, "Don't talk to me anymore. People might think we're actually friends."
That was seven years ago.
"Back to work!" the head cook barked, and we all fell silent.
Hours blurred together. Washing, drying, scrubbing. My stomach growled—I'd only eaten stale bread yesterday—but omegas ate last, if there was anything left. Usually there wasn't.
By sunset, every muscle in my body screamed for rest. But as the pack began gathering in the ceremony clearing behind the packhouse, we omegas were ordered to serve drinks.
I pulled on the cleanest dress I owned—still stained and too big—and joined the others carrying trays.
The clearing was transformed. Torches blazed. Wolves in their finest clothes laughed and talked. At the center, a massive bonfire crackled, and around it, the pack's important members stood. Alpha Crest and his Luna. The Betas. The strongest warriors.
And there, standing tall and golden in the firelight, was Daemon.
My breath caught. I'd seen him a thousand times but tonight something felt different. The air itself seemed to shimmer around him.
"Champagne, omega." An older wolf shoved his empty glass at me without looking. I took it, refilled it, handed it back. Invisible as always.
The ceremony began with Alpha Crest's speech about pack strength and unity. I barely listened, focused on keeping my tray steady. My stomach cramped with hunger. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Then the Alpha called Daemon forward.
"Tonight, my son comes of age to choose his Luna," Alpha Crest announced. "The female who will stand at his side when he becomes Alpha."
The crowd erupted in excited whispers. Every unmated she-wolf stood taller, hoping.
But I felt... strange. My skin prickled like electricity danced across it. The air grew thick, hard to breathe. I looked around, confused. Was I sick?
Daemon stepped into the bonfire's light, and suddenly, everything stopped.
The world narrowed to a single point. Him. Only him.
A golden thread appeared—visible only to me—stretching from my chest to his. It pulled tight, yanking at something deep in my soul. My wolf, silent my entire life, suddenly screamed awake inside my mind.
MATE. MATE. MATE.
No. No, this wasn't possible.
Daemon's head whipped around, his emerald eyes scanning the crowd. They were wild, confused, searching. The golden thread pulled tighter, dragging my feet forward even as my brain screamed to run.
Our eyes met across the bonfire.
Recognition flashed in his face—shock, horror, and something else. Something dark and hungry.
The mate bond snapped into place like a chain around my heart.
Daemon Crest, future Alpha of the Silvercrest Pack, was my fated mate.
And from the look of pure rage twisting his beautiful face, he was absolutely furious about it.
The champagne tray slipped from my numb fingers, glasses shattering at my feet. Every wolf in the clearing turned to stare at the clumsy omega who'd disrupted the ceremony.
But I couldn't look away from Daemon. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
His lips moved, forming a single word that I felt rather than heard across the bond:
"Mine."
Then his hand wrapped around Celeste's waist, pulling her close.
And the smile he gave her was pure, calculated cruelty—a smile meant for me to see.
The golden thread between us burned like acid in my chest.
What had the Moon Goddess done?