After My Mate Stole My Moonbloom, I Crushed His Pact

The walking didn't stop.

Four days. Maybe five. I lost count somewhere after the second night when I woke up shaking so hard I thought my teeth would crack. The coordinates played on repeat in my head. North by northwest. Forty-three degrees. Seven minutes. Twelve seconds. I whispered them when I couldn't walk anymore. When my legs gave out and I had to crawl.

I ate berries when I found them. Drank from streams. Slept under trees with roots thick enough to hide me. My left hand shook constantly now. Not just when I was scared. All the time. A tremor I couldn't control, like my body was trying to shake something loose that wouldn't come out.

The journal stayed pressed against my ribs. I checked it every few hours. Made sure it was still there. Still dry. The leather was warm from my body heat. Sera's handwriting inside. Pierce's signatures. Proof.

I kept moving.

The hollow space where the bond used to be throbbed cold. Constant. Like a wound that wouldn't close. My wolf was still silent. Not sleeping. Not resting. Just gone. I pressed my palm against my sternum out of habit, but there was nothing to soothe. No flicker. No whisper.

Nothing.

On the fifth day — or maybe the sixth — the terrain changed. The forest thinned. I smelled salt. Heard waves. The coordinates led me to a coastal ridge, and below it, nestled against the cliffs: a compound.

Stone walls. High gates. Wards I could feel even from a distance, humming against my skin like static. This wasn't a pack house. It was something else. Something older. More formal.

I stumbled down the ridge. My boots were worn through at the heel. My jacket was torn at the shoulder. I looked like exactly what I was: a wolfless rogue with nothing left.

Two guards met me at the perimeter before I reached the gates. Both of them tall. Armed. Their stances said they'd done this a thousand times.

"Stop," the first one said. His voice was flat. Professional. "State your business."

I stopped. Swayed slightly. My legs were shaking.

"I need sanctuary," I said. My voice came out hoarse. I hadn't used it in days. "My mother gave me these coordinates. She said if I ever needed help—"

"Name," the second guard interrupted. "Pack affiliation."

"Joanna. No pack."

The first guard's eyes swept over me. Calculating. Dismissive. "You're unaffiliated. We don't take rogues."

"I'm not a rogue. I was Luna of Ironveil. I was rejected three days ago."

Something flickered in the second guard's expression. Not sympathy. Recognition, maybe. Or curiosity.

"Luna," he repeated slowly. "You have a wolf?"

I swallowed. "No."

"Then you're nobody." The first guard stepped forward, his hand moving toward my shoulder. "Turn around. Walk back the way you came."

I didn't move. Couldn't. If I turned around, I had nowhere to go. No coordinates left. No plan. Nothing.

The second guard held up a hand. "Wait." He leaned closer, his nostrils flaring slightly. His brow furrowed. "Do you smell that?"

The first guard paused. Sniffed. His expression shifted — confusion, then something sharper. Alertness.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "It's faint. Almost nothing. But—" He looked at me again. Harder this time. "Who was your mother?"

"I don't know," I whispered. And it was true. The woman who raised me had whispered the coordinates. Had given me wolfsbane in my tea every morning. Had told me it was medicine. I never questioned her. Never asked why.

The second guard exchanged a glance with the first. Some silent conversation I couldn't read.

"Bring her inside," the second guard said finally. "Let someone with rank assess her."

The first guard didn't argue. He gripped my arm — not rough, but firm — and led me through the gates.

The compound was larger than I'd realized. Stone buildings arranged around a central courtyard. Wolves everywhere, moving with purpose. Formal attire. Insignias I didn't recognize. This wasn't a pack gathering.

This was something official.

They brought me to a side entrance and into a small antechamber. Stone walls. A single bench. A door at the far end that was closed.

"Wait here," the second guard said. "Don't move."

He disappeared through the far door. I heard voices beyond it. Low. Formal. The cadence of a meeting in progress.

I sat on the bench. My legs were trembling so hard I couldn't stand anymore. The journal pressed against my ribs. I pulled it out. Held it in my lap. Sera's handwriting. Pierce's signatures. Proof.

I closed my eyes.

The hollow space where the bond used to be pulsed cold. My left hand shook. I pressed it flat against my thigh.

Then the pain started.

Not the hollow ache. Something else. Deeper. Hotter. It started in my chest and spread outward, burning through my ribs, down my arms, into my legs. I gasped. Tried to stand. Couldn't.

My bones cracked.

Loud. Audible. Like branches snapping in a storm.

I dropped to my knees. The journal fell from my hands, hitting the stone floor with a slap. My vision blurred. The burning intensified, and suddenly my skin was splitting — not bleeding, tearing — silver-white fur erupting through the wolfsbane scars on my arms.

I tried to scream. Couldn't. My jaw was changing. Elongating. My spine arched, vertebrae popping one by one, and the pain was total. Absolute. Every nerve on fire.

My wolf surged.

Not a whisper. Not a flicker. A roar. Silent and deafening at once, tearing through the hollow space inside me and filling it with heat and light and rage.

She was massive.

I felt her size as she erupted from my body — larger than any wolf I'd ever known. Lycan-sized. Her fur was silver-white, luminous even in the dim antechamber light. Her scent rolled off her in waves: wild jasmine and ancient frost, sharp and unmistakable.

The far door burst open.

Guards poured in. Then froze.

My wolf stood in the center of the antechamber, panting, her sides heaving. She was taller than the guards. Broader. Her eyes — my eyes — glowed faintly in the dim light.

Beyond the open door, I heard the meeting hall go silent.

Then footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Moving toward the antechamber.

A man appeared in the doorway. Tall. Regal. His presence filled the room before he spoke. His eyes locked on me — on my wolf — and his nostrils flared.

He went rigid.

His voice, when it came, was low. Rough. Breaking.

"That scent…"

My wolf's ears flicked forward. She knew that voice. Somewhere deep, beneath the wolfsbane and the years and the silence, she knew.

The man took one step into the antechamber. His hands were shaking.

Behind him, the entire summit hall had gone still. I could feel their eyes. Their shock.

The Lycan King stared at me. At my wolf. At the silver-white fur and the scent that had just flooded his hall.

And for the first time in my life, I understood why my mother had given me those coordinates.

Why she'd whispered them like a prayer.

Why she'd hidden me.