The blizzard had teeth. Sarin pulled her threadbear cloak tighter as wind sliced through the fabric like claws, numbing her fingers and stinging her cheeks raw. She should have been home hours ago, huddled beside her dying fire in the cramped cottage at the edge of nowhere.

 But the storm had caught her halfway between the village and the forest, and now each step forward felt like waiting through frozen honey. Three winters she had survived alone. Three winters since the Ashvale Pack had cast her out, declared her worthless, and stripped her of everything but her name. Omega, they had called her.

 The words still burned, not a title, but a curse, the weakest, the unwanted, the rejected. Sarin gritted her teeth and pushed forward. She would not die in this storm. She refused to give them the satisfaction. A sound cut through the howling wind, faint, almost swallowed by the blizzard’s roar. Sarin stopped, straining to hear.

 There it was again, a whimper, small and desperate, coming from somewhere to her left. Every survival instinct screamed at her to keep moving. The cold was already seeping into her bones, and stopping now could mean death. But that sound, that tiny broken cry, she couldn’t ignore it. Sarin veered off the path, stumbling through kneedeep snow toward a cluster of frostcovered boulders.

 The wind screamed in protest, shoving against her chest as if trying to push her back. She ignored it. following the sound until she saw a flash of movement between the rocks. A child, a small boy, no more than five winters old, curled into a ball against the stone. His lips were blue, his tiny body trembling so violently that Sarin could see it even through the swirling snow. He wore fine clothes, or what had once been fine clothes, now torn and soaked through.

Completely wrong for this weather, completely wrong for survival. Goddess above, Sarin breathed, dropping to her knees beside him. The boy’s eyes fluttered open at her voice. They were pale silver, almost luminous against his frost kissed skin. Beautiful and strange, nothing like any eyes she had ever seen in Ashevail.

 “Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please help me,” Sarin didn’t hesitate. She stripped off her own cloak and wrapped it around his trembling form, pulling him against her chest. His skin was ice against hers, cold enough to make her gasp. I’ve got you,” she murmured, rubbing his arms through the fabric. “I’ve got you, little one.

 Stay with me.” The moment her bare hand touched his cheek, fire exploded across her palm. Sarin cried out, nearly dropping the child as searing pain raced from her hand up her arm and straight into her chest. She looked down in shock and watched as golden light blazed beneath her skin, forming lines and curves that twisted into a pattern she didn’t recognize, a mark burning itself into her flesh.

 The boy’s silver eyes widened. “You!” he breathed with wonder breaking through his shivering voice. “It’s you. What?” Sarin gasped, staring at the glowing symbol on her palm. It pulsed with warmth, with power, with an energy ancient and alive. “What is happening to me?” But the child had already slipped into unconsciousness, his small body going limp against her chest. The mark’s glow faded slowly, leaving behind a brand on her palm.

 A wolf’s head crowned with thorns, intricate and unmistakable. Sarin had never seen this symbol before. Yet somehow it felt familiar. As if it had always been waiting beneath her skin, dormant until this very moment. She had no time to understand. The storm raged on, and the boy in her arms was dying. Sarin struggled to her feet, cradling him close, and ran.

 The journey home was a blur of wind and snow and burning lungs. Her cottage appeared through the white like a phantom, small and weathered but blessedly solid. She kicked open the door and stumbled inside, collapsing beside the cold hearth with the child still clutched to her chest.

 “Stay with me,” she commanded, laying him on the worn rug and grabbing every blanket she owned. “Don’t you dare leave me, little one.” “Not after I just found you,” she worked frantically, building a fire with numb fingers, piling blankets over his tiny form, rubbing warmth back into his frozen limbs.

 All the while, the mark on her palm throbbed in rhythm with her heartbeat, a constant reminder that something impossible had just happened. Hours passed. The storm howled outside like a wounded beast, but inside the cottage, warmth slowly returned. The boy’s trembling eased. His breathing deepened. Color crept back into his cheeks. Sarin sat back on her heels, exhausted beyond measure, and stared at the sleeping child before her.

 Who was he? Where had he come from? and why, when she touched him, had this ancient mark burned itself into her hand. She looked down at her palm again. The wolf and thorn stared back at her, no longer glowing, but unmistakably real, permanent, branded into her skin like a claim, like a promise, like a warning. Outside, the storm began to quiet.

 And somewhere in the distance, too far to see, but close enough to feel, Sarin could have sworn she heard wolves howling. Dawn crept through the frostcovered windows like a hesitant guest. Pale lights spilling across the cottage floor. Sarin hadn’t slept. She sat beside the hearth, watching the rise and fall of the child’s chest, counting each breath as if it were a small miracle. He was alive.

 Against all odds, he was alive. But who was he? The question had circled through her mind all night. Chased by a hundred others she couldn’t answer. His clothes, though ruined by the storm, were unmistakably expensive. Silk stitching, silver buttons. The kind of garments that had never touched Sarin’s skin, not even in her best days with the pack. This was no common child. No village boy lost in the woods. This was someone important.

 The mark on her palm pulsed gently, as if agreeing with her thoughts. Sarin flexed her fingers, studying the intricate design. The wolf’s head was detailed down to individual strands of fur, and the thorned crown above it seemed almost three-dimensional, catching shadows in ways that shouldn’t be possible on flat skin.

 “What are you?” she whispered to the mark. It offered no answer. A small sound drew her attention back to the child. His silver eyes were open, watching her with an intensity that seemed wrong for someone so young. “You stayed,” he said softly. “Not a question, an observation.” As if he had expected her to abandon him in the night. Sarin’s heart clenched.

 Of course, I stayed. Where else would I go? The boy sat up slowly, blankets pooling around his thin frame. In the morning light, Sarin could see details she had missed in the darkness. His hair was dark as midnight, falling across his forehead in tangled waves. His features were sharp for a child, hinting at the handsome man he would someday become.

And on his collarbone, just visible above his torn shirt, was a scar. Three parallel lines like claw marks. What’s your name, little one? Sarin asked gently. Ren, he answered after a pause. My name is Ren. Ren, she repeated. A small name for a small boy. It suited him. I’m Sarin. Are you hungry? He nodded and a crack appeared in his guarded expression.

 He was still a child, she reminded herself. No matter how strange his eyes or how expensive his clothes, he was still just a frightened child. Sarin moved to her meager kitchen stores, gathering dried bread and the last of her winter berries. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. She set the food before Ren and watched him eat with the desperate efficiency of someone who had gone too long without “She said carefully, settling across from him.” “How did you end up in that storm? Where are your parents?” The boy’s hands stilled. His silver eyes

dropped to the floor. “The bad men came,” he whispered. “They came for me. Mother told me to run and hide, so I ran. Sarin’s blood turned to ice. Bad men? What bad men? They wore black cloaks. They had no scent. Ren’s voice trembled. They killed everyone. I heard the screaming. Then the snow came and I couldn’t find my way home. No scent.

 The words struck Sarin like a physical blow. In the world of wolves, everyone had a scent. Pack members, rogues, even humans carried their own distinct signatures. But creatures without scent were something else entirely. Legends from old stories, nightmares that shouldn’t exist. Shadow wolves, wolves without souls.

 Sarin had heard the tales as a pup. Whispered around fires late at night, assassins who could move through packed territories undetected. Killers who left no trace. She had thought them myths, ghost stories to frighten children. But Ren’s haunted eyes told a different truth. You’re safe now, Sarin said, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them.

 How could she promise safety when she didn’t understand the danger? I won’t let anyone hurt you, Ren looked up at her. Then his gaze dropped to her hand to the mark that still pulsed with faint warmth. You carry his sign, the boy said quietly. The Wolf King’s mark. Sarin froze. What did you say? My father’s mark.

 Ren’s silver eyes met hers, and in them she saw knowledge far beyond his years. You carry my father’s mark on your hand. The world tilted beneath Sarin’s feet. She looked down at the branded wolf and thorns, then back at the child before her. His father, the wolf king, which meant this boy, this freezing pup she had lifted from the snow, was a prince, goddess above, she breathed.

 Who is your father? Before Ren could answer, the mark on her palm blazed with sudden heat. Sarin gasped as warmth flooded through her veins. Not painful this time, but overwhelming. alive, as if a presence vast and powerful had just become aware of her existence. Somewhere far to the north, beyond mountains she had never crossed, and territories she had never seen, Sarin felt something stir, a consciousness, ancient and furious, and desperately searching, and now it was looking directly at her.

 Three days passed in fragile domesticity. Sarin had never cared for anyone but herself since her exile. The adjustment was strange, exhausting, and unexpectedly wonderful. Ren followed her through the cottage like a small shadow, watching everything she did with those unnerving silver eyes. He was quiet, far too quiet for a child his age.

 But occasionally she would catch glimpses of the boy beneath the trauma. A small smile when she burned the porridge, a soft laugh when a sparrow landed on the windowsill, moments of light breaking through the clouds of his grief. She didn’t press him for more information about his father or the attack. Some wounds needed time before they could be touched.

 But the mark on her hand grew more insistent with each passing hour. It no longer merely pulsed. It burned. A constant low heat that flared every time she looked north, as if responding to a call beyond the mountains. And with the burning came sensations she couldn’t explain. Fragments of emotion that weren’t her own.

 A cold fury that made her teeth ache. A desperate fear that clutched at her throat in the middle of the night. And beneath it all, a longing so profound it brought tears to her eyes. Someone was feeling these things. Someone was projecting them across whatever connection the mark had forged.

 “He’s searching,” Ren said on the third morning, watching Sarin wse as another wave of foreign pain washed through her. “He knows I’m alive. He just can’t find me.” “Your father,” Sarin said carefully. Ren nodded. The bond between Alpha and Air. He would feel it if I died, but I’m hidden here. The boy tilted his head, studying her with that too old gaze. Your gift hides us both. Sarin stiffened. I don’t have any gift.

Yes, you do. Ren’s voice was matter of fact, as if he were stating that the sky was blue or water was wet. I felt it when you touched me. Quiet and deep. That’s why the mark chose you. Marks don’t choose people, Sarin protested. Though even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. The brand on her palm hadn’t been given by any hand.

 It had burned itself into existence, claiming her without permission or explanation. It feels like sunlight, Ren continued softly. Warm and bright. My mother had a word for people like you, but I can’t remember it.

 Before Sarin could ask what he meant, the boy simply looked at her with those knowing eyes and said nothing more. That night, the dreams began. Sarin found herself standing in a great hall of black stone, torches flickering along walls carved with ancient wolves. She was wearing a gown of deep crimson, nothing like anything she had ever owned. And before her, seated on a throne of twisted iron, was a man.

 No, not just a man. He was massive, broad-shouldered, and powerful even at rest. His hair was the same midnight black as Ren, falling past his shoulders in a warrior’s mane. His jaw was sharp, his features harsh and beautiful in equal measure. But it was his eyes that stole her breath. Gold. pure molten gold, burning with an intensity that made her soul tremble.

 He rose from the throne and walked toward her, each step deliberate, predatory. Sarin wanted to run, wanted to flee from the raw power radiating from his form, but her feet remained rooted to the stone floor. He stopped before her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.

 Who are you? His voice was deep as thunder, rough as gravel, and it resonated through her bones. I feel you through the mark. I feel my son near you. Who are you? Sarin tried to speak, but no words came. This was a dream. It had to be a dream. And yet, the warmth of his presence felt more real than anything she had experienced in years. His amber gaze dropped to her hand, to the mark that glowed brighter in his presence.

“You carry my claim.” Wonder crept into his voice, softening the hard edges. His hand reached toward her face, fingers stopping just short of touching her cheek. After all these years, all this searching, my mark has found its match. I don’t understand, Sarin whispered. You will, his gaze met hers.

 And in those golden depths, she saw centuries of loneliness, of waiting, of hoping for a destiny he had almost stopped believing existed. “Tell me where you are. Let me find you. Let me find my son.” I, Sarin, woke, gasping, sitting upright in her narrow bed with her heart pounding against her ribs. Dawn light filtered through the window. The fire had burned low.

 Everything was exactly as it should be, except for the mark on her palm, which now glowed like captured sunlight, and except for the fresh warmth on her cheek, exactly where his fingers had almost touched her. Ren appeared in the doorway, his silver eyes wide. “You spoke to him,” he said. “I felt it. You spoke to my father.” Sarin pressed her hand to her racing heart, trying to understand what was happening to her.

 the bond, the dreams, the emotions that weren’t her own. She was being pulled into a force far beyond her control. “He’s coming,” Ren continued. “And for the first time since she’d found him,” he smiled, a real smile, bright with hope. “He knows where we are now. He’s coming for us. The words should have been reassuring. A king was coming to claim his son. Ren would be safe.

 This would all be over.” But as Sarin looked down at the glowing mark on her hand, as she remembered the hunger in those molten eyes, she realized with terrifying clarity that nothing would ever be over. Whatever this bond was, it had only just begun.

 And somewhere in the north, growing closer with each passing moment, the Alpha King was racing toward her with the force of a coming storm. The warning came not from sound, but from silence, Sarin had learned during her years of exile to trust the quiet. When birds stopped singing and wind held its breath, danger was near.

 So when the forest outside her cottage fell suddenly, impossibly still on the fourth morning, she knew someone had found them. Ren. She kept her voice calm even as her heart thundered. I need you to hide. Now the boy looked up from the wooden figure he’d been carving with her kitchen knife, a task Sarin had given him to keep his hands busy. His silver eyes flickered to the window, then back to her face.

 “They’re here,” he whispered. The ones without scent? No. Sarin moved to the window, peering through the frost. Worse, these ones I can smell. She recognized the scent before she saw the figures emerging from the treeine. Pine and ash and bitter ambition. Ashvalee wolves, her former pack.

 And leading them, his pale hair catching the winter light like a blade, was Corvvis, dread coiled tight in Sarin’s chest. of all the wolves who might have come hunting. Fate had sent her the one who had orchestrated her exile. The one who had whispered lies to the alpha until her pack turned against her. The one whose proposal she had refused three years ago, sparking a hatred that burned colder than any winter. “Hide,” she commanded Ren again.

The root seller beneath the kitchen stones. “Don’t make a sound. Don’t come out until I call for you. Do you understand?” Ren nodded, his small face pale but determined. He slipped from his chair without a word and disappeared through the kitchen. Sarin heard the soft scrape of the cellar door. Then nothing. Good boy.

 She straightened her spine, buried her fear beneath three years of hardened survival, and opened her cottage door. Corvvis stood at the edge of her small yard, flanked by four Ashevail warriors. He was handsome in the way of beautiful poisons, all sharp angles and cold elegance. His smile, when he saw her, held no warmth. Sirin.

He spoke her name like a curse wrapped in silk. The outcast Omega still clinging to life in her pitiful little hvel. I admit I’m impressed. Corvvis. She kept her voice flat. You’re a long way from Ashevail. I go where duty demands. He stepped closer, his wolves fanning out behind him. Word has reached us of a missing child.

 A very important child. The packs are searching everywhere. His pale eyes swept over her cottage with obvious disdain, even in places as wretched as this. Sarin forced herself to remain still. I’ve seen no child, haven’t you? Corvvis tilted his head, a predator scenting prey. Strange, because the trail led directly here, a small set of footprints in the snow, accompanied by a woman’s leading straight to your door, the storm. She had been so focused on survival that she hadn’t thought to cover their tracks.

Foolish, careless, deadly. I found a lost village boy. She lied smoothly. Returned him to his family days ago. Corvvis studied her face for a long moment. Then he laughed. The sound sharp and humorless. You always were a terrible liar, Sarin. It’s why you failed so spectacularly at politics. He gestured to his wolves. Search the cottage. No. Sarin moved to block the doorway.

 Her body small against the frame, but her will iron hard. You have no authority here. I am not Ashevail. I am no one’s subject. You are an Omega. Corvvis’s voice dripped contempt. You are everyone’s subject. He moved toward her and Sarin braced for impact. But before he could reach the door, something happened. The mark on her palm blazed white hot.

 Power surged through her veins, wild and unfamiliar. And suddenly, she was no longer just Sirin the Outcast. She was something more, something ancient, something claimed. When she spoke, her voice carried harmonics that weren’t entirely human. “You will not enter my home,” Corvvis stumbled backward as if struck.

 His wolves whimpered, dropping their eyes in instinctive submission. For one breathless moment, Sarin held them all frozen with nothing but the force of her will and the burning brand on her hand. Then Corvvis recovered, his eyes narrowed, fixing on her glowing palm. “What is that?” He stepped forward again, curiosity replacing caution. “What mark do you carry?” Omega.

 Sarin closed her fist, hiding the brand. But it was too late. Corvvis had seen. Corvvis was already calculating the Wolf King’s mark. He breathed. I’ve heard legends. A claiming brand that appears on the skin of his pale eyes widened with understanding. You, the rejected Omega, his faded mate. The word hit Sarin like a physical blow. Mate. The mark wasn’t just a claim. It was a bond.

The kind that only formed between true mates, destined pairs whose souls were written together before birth. You don’t know what you’re talking about, she managed. Oh, but I do. Corvvis’s smile turned predatory. This changes everything. The boy is valuable. Yes. But you, he laughed with genuine delight. You’re priceless. The king’s faded mate, hidden in my territory.

 What a bargaining chip you’ll make. He snapped his fingers. His wolves surged forward. Sarin fought. She fought with claws she didn’t know she had and strength that seemed to pour from the mark itself. She tore at Corvvis’s wolves with desperate fury, protecting her door, protecting the child hidden beneath her floor.

 But she was one against five, weakened by years of poor food and isolation, untrained in combat. They overwhelmed her in minutes, pinning her to the frozen ground with rough hands. Bind her, Corvvis ordered. Will take her to the border. Let the shadow wolves have the boy. Our prize is far more valuable.

 Shadow wolves working with Corvvis. Horror flooded through Sarin even as her wrists were bound with silver-laced rope. He was a traitor. Her own former pack was allied with the creatures who had murdered Ren’s family. “You’re making a mistake.” Sarin snarled, struggling against her bonds. “The king is coming. Hell destroy you. Let him come.

” Corvvis crouched before her, gripping her chin with cruel fingers. By the time he arrives, you’ll be beyond his reach, and he’ll have to negotiate with us if he ever wants to see his precious mate again. He hauled her to her feet, and Sarin caught one last glimpse of her cottage, her home, her sanctuary, and somewhere beneath those stones, a small boy hiding in darkness, waiting for a call that would never come.

 Ren, she thought desperately, hoping somehow the words would reach him. Run, find your father. Tell him I’m sorry. Then Corvvis dragged her into the forest and the cottage disappeared behind the trees. They traveled for two days through frozen wilderness. Corvvis kept Sarin bound and walking, resting only when his wolves grew tired.

 The silver in her bindings burned constantly, keeping her weak, preventing any escape. But worse than the physical pain was the agony in her chest. The mark on her palm had grown dim since leaving the cottage. The warmth that had sustained her was fading, replaced by a cold emptiness that made her want to weep.

 The bond, she realized, was stretching, thinning, and with each mile they traveled away from where the king searched. It weakened further. “Hell never find you now,” Corvvis said on the second night, watching her shiver by their meager fire. “The shadow wolves have ways of masking their territory from even the most powerful alpha. You’re walking into a void, Sarin.

 A place where bonds go to die.” She didn’t respond. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. But deep inside, fear was taking root. On the third day, as pale dawn broke through the trees, they reached the border. The forest changed. Trees grew twisted and dark, their bark blackened as if by some ancient fire. No birds sang here. No animals moved.

 Even the snow seemed gray somehow, tainted by whatever corruption had seeped into the land. The shadow territory, Corvvis announced with a sweeping gesture. Home of the soulless ones, my new allies in the coming war. War? Sarin forced the word through cracked lips. Did you think I wanted you simply for ransom? Corvvis laughed.

 No, the Wolf King has something I want. Something we all want. The crown of thorns, ancient artifact of the first wolves, granting its bearer dominion over all packs. His pale eyes gleamed with hunger. He’s refused every challenge, every negotiation. But for his faded mate, he’ll surrender anything. Sarin felt her stomach drop. They weren’t just using her as leverage. They were planning to overthrow the throne itself.

 Before she could respond, shadows moved at the edge of the twisted forest. Figures emerged, clad in black cloaks that seemed to drink the light, and their eyes, goddess above. Their eyes were empty, hollow, like windows into nothing.

 Shadow wolves, the ones who had murdered Ren’s mother, the ones without scent or soul, their leader stepped forward. A tall female with hair the color of dried blood and a smile that held no humanity. You brought her. The shadow wolf said, her voice echoing strangely. The marked one. Good. Our master will be pleased. As promised, Corvvis pushed Sarin forward.

 Now, our agreement, the Ashevail territory will be yours once the king falls. The female’s empty eyes fixed on Sarin, studying her like an insect under glass. But first, we must confirm the bond. If she’s truly his mate, the king will come. If not, she shrugged. We’ll have wasted our time on a worthless Omega. Worthless Omega.

 The words echoed through Sarin’s mind as they dragged her deeper into the shadow territory, past twisted trees and blackened stones. Through a landscape that felt wrong in ways she couldn’t articulate, until finally they reached a fortress carved into the mountainside, its walls dark as coal and cold as death. They threw her into a cell of black iron and left her in darkness.

 Hours passed, or maybe days. Time moved strangely here, stretching and compressing without rhythm. Sarin huddled in the corner, trying to conserve warmth, trying to keep the mark alive, but it was fading. She could feel it. The golden glow that had burned so bright was dimming with each passing moment. “Please,” she whispered into the darkness.

 “Please don’t leave me here.” She didn’t know who she was begging. The goddess, the king, the mark itself, but someone answered. Warmth flooded through the bond, sudden and fierce. Not physical heat, but something deeper. A presence, a consciousness reaching across whatever void separated them to touch her mind. Hold on.

 The words weren’t spoken aloud, but felt. That deep voice she remembered from the dream now rough with desperation. I’m coming. Hold on. Tears streamed down Sarin’s face. I’m trying. Don’t let them break the bond. Whatever they do, whatever they say, don’t let go. The connection wavered, static and distance interfering. But before it faded, she felt one more thing from him.

Not words this time, just emotion, raw and overwhelming. Fury at those who had taken her. Desperation to reach her in time. And love. Deep, ancient, impossible love for a woman he had never truly met, but had been waiting for his entire life. The warmth faded, leaving her alone in the darkness once more. But something had changed. The mark on her palm glowed brighter than before.

 He was coming. Now she just had to survive long enough for him to arrive. They came for her at dawn. The shadow wolves dragged Sarin from her cell and through the black fortress, their grip cold even through her clothes. She was weak from hunger, from the silver that still burned her wrists, from the constant drain of maintaining the fading bond, but she forced herself to walk with her head high. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her crawl.

 They brought her to a great hall carved from obsidian, its ceiling lost in shadow, its floor marked with symbols that hurt to look at. At the far end sat a throne of twisted bone, and upon it lounged a figure that made every instinct in Sarin’s body scream. The Shadow King. He was beautiful in the way of nightmares.

 Pale as moonlight, with features so perfect they seemed carved rather than born. His hair was white as fresh snow. His body lean and powerful. But his eyes, his eyes were the worst. Black from corner to corner without white or iris or anything human. The marked one. His voice slithered through the hall like smoke. I’ve waited a very long time to meet you.

 Sarin’s guards forced her to her knees before the throne. She gritted her teeth against the pain and glared up at the monster before her. I know what you’re planning, she said. It won’t work. Hell never surrender the crown for me, won’t he? The shadow king rose from his throne and descended the steps with liquid grace.

 He stopped before her, reaching down to grip her chin. His touch burned like ice. You underestimate the power of the mate bond. It’s driven kings to madness. Destroyed empires. For you, little Omega, the great Kale will do anything. Kale, the Alpha King’s name, spoken aloud for the first time. He doesn’t even know me, Sarin whispered. He doesn’t need to.

 The shadow king smiled, revealing teeth too sharp to be natural. The bond knows, and the bond will bring him to me. He released her chin and turned to the female shadow wolf who had captured Sarin. Prepare the ritual, he commanded. Well accelerate the timeline. Force the bond to full manifestation before he arrives.

 By the time the wolf king reaches us, his precious mate will be bound to our will instead of his. Horror flooded through Sarin. What ritual? What are you talking about? The shadow king glanced back at her. Something like pity flickering in his empty eyes. The mate bond is powerful, he explained, but fragile in its early stages. Unfinished, unconsummated, he gestured to the symbols on the floor, and they began to glow with sickly green light.

 Our ritual will sever your connection to Kale and forge a new one. To me, no. The word screamed through Sirin’s mind. She couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let them use her against the king, against Ren. I won’t cooperate, she snarled. Whatever you do to me, I’ll fight it. I was hoping you’d say that. The shadow king nodded to his wolves.

 The fight makes the breaking so much sweeter. They dragged her to the center of the symbols and forced her to her knees. Chains of black iron emerged from the floor, binding her wrists and ankles. The shadow wolves began to chant in a language that hurt her ears. Words that seemed to rot the air itself. Pain exploded through the mark on her palm.

Sarin screamed as something tore at the bond, clawing at the connection that linked her to Kale. She could feel it weakening, fraying like a rope under strain. And through the agony, she felt him. His voice, desperate and distant, crying her name across the void. Sarin, hold on. I’m almost there. But the ritual was working.

 The bond was breaking. And with each passing second, the warmth that had sustained her grew dimmer. Let go, the shadow king whispered, kneeling before her. Let go of him, and the pain will stop. Accept me as your mate, and you’ll know power beyond imagining. Never. The word came out as barely more than a breath. But Sarin poured everything she had into it.

I will never be yours. The Shadow King’s perfect face twisted with rage. So be it. If you won’t surrender willingly, I’ll tear the bond from your soul by force. He placed his ice cold hand over the mark on her palm, and Sarin felt the last threads of her connection to Kale begin to snap. I’m sorry, she thought, tears streaming down her face.

 I’m so sorry. I wasn’t strong enough. The bond shattered. Darkness swallowed her whole. But in that final moment before consciousness fled, Sarin heard something that made her dying heart leap. Wolves. Hundreds of them, howling at the gates. Sarin floated in darkness. There was no pain here, no cold, no fear, just endless nothing.

 Stretching in every direction like a sea without shore. She drifted through it, weightless and empty, wondering if this was death. If so, it was peaceful. Perhaps she had earned that much. But something tugged at her, a thread of warmth in the void, faint, fragile, almost gone. Sarin. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Deep and desperate and achingly familiar.

 Sarin, please come back to me. Kale. His name surfaced in her mind like a bubble rising through dark water. The Alpha King. her mate, the one she had been bound to before the shadow wolves tore that bond apart. I can’t, she tried to say. The bond is broken. There’s nothing left. You’re wrong. His voice grew stronger, closer. The bond isn’t in the mark. It was never in the mark.

 It’s in you, in me, in what we are to each other. They can burn the symbol from your skin, but they cannot destroy what lives in your soul. Sarin felt something stir in her chest. A spark, tiny and stubborn. refusing to die. Find me, Kale commanded. Follow my voice. Fight your way back. I don’t know how. Yes, you do. And now his voice was tender, soft as moonlight on snow. You’ve been fighting your whole life, Sarin.

 Fighting to survive, fighting to matter, fighting to prove them all wrong. A pause. Don’t stop now. Not when I finally found you. The spark in her chest grew brighter, warmer. Sarin reached for it with everything she had, pulling herself toward that fragile light.

 And then she was falling, rushing upward through the darkness toward something bright and loud and alive. Sarin’s eyes snapped open. She lay on cold stone. The ritual symbols still glowing sickly green around her. But something had changed. The black iron chains were shattered. The shadow wolves who had surrounded her were gone, fled or fighting. And the hall was filled with wolves.

 Real wolves. Living wolves. Massive creatures with blazing eyes and silver pelts, tearing through the shadow wolves like vengeance made flesh. At their center, in human form, stood a figure that stole Sarin’s breath. Kale. He was everything her dreams had shown and more. Tall as a mountain, broad as a fortress, moving through the battle with the grace of death itself.

 His midnight hair flew wild around his face. His eyes blazed like twin sons. And when he killed, it was with an efficiency that spoke of centuries of practice. Beautiful, terrifying, hers. The shadow king faced him across the hall, his perfect face twisted with rage. The two powers clashed, light against darkness, ancient against ancient. But even as Sarin watched, she could see Kyle weakening.

 The shadow magic was draining him, feeding on his life force with every blow exchanged. He was losing. No. The word tore from Sarin’s throat as she struggled to her feet. Her body screamed in protest. The ritual had nearly killed her, had shattered the very core of her being. But she forced herself upright anyway. She would not watch him die.

 Not for her. Not like this. How touching. The Shadow King’s voice cut through the chaos. He had Kale pinned against a pillar now. Tendrils of darkness wrapped around the Alpha Kings throat. Your broken mate comes to watch you fall. Perhaps I’ll let her live long enough to see me take everything you love. Kales golden eyes found Sarin across the hall.

 In them she saw no fear, only love, only gratitude that she was alive. Run, he rasped. Save yourself. Forget me. Never. Sarin stumbled forward one step at a time. I am done running, done hiding, done being the rejected Omega everyone expects me to be. The spark in her chest blazed brighter with every word. She could feel it now. The power she had always hidden. The gift Ren had seen in her.

 Not just healing, something more. the sunlight he had described, the warmth and brightness that had been waiting her whole life to be unleashed. “You want to know what I am?” she shouted at the shadow king. “I’ll show you.” She reached deep inside herself, past the fear and pain and years of suppression. Found that burning core of light and ripped it free.

 Power exploded from her body in a wave of golden radiance. The shadow wolves screamed as light touched them. Their forms dissolving like smoke in sunrise. The darkness wrapped around Kale shattered. Even the Shadow King stumbled backward, throwing up his arms against the brilliance. “Impossible,” he snarled. “You’re an Omega.

 You have no power. I was never just an Omega.” Sarin advanced on him, light pouring from her skin like liquid sunrise. I am a soul healer, a lightbringer, and I am done letting creatures like you decide my worth. She raised her hand, the one that still bore the faded mark, and pressed it against the shadow king’s chest. Light met darkness. For one eternal moment, they wared.

 Then the shadow king screamed as golden fire consumed him from within. His perfect form crumbled to ash. His empty eyes went dark, and when Sarin finally lowered her hand, nothing remained but dust and silence. The battle was over. Sarin swayed on her feet, the power draining from her as quickly as it had come. Strong arms caught her before she could fall.

 I have you. Kales voice was rough with emotion as he pulled her against his chest. I have you, my heart. You’re safe. Sarin looked up into his golden eyes, seeing them clearly for the first time outside of dreams. This close, she could count the flexcks of amber in his irises. Could trace the strong line of his jaw.

 Could feel the thundering of his heart against her own. The bond, she whispered. They broke it. I felt it shatter. Bonds can be remade. Kale cuped her face in his massive hands, his touch impossibly gentle. If you want them to be, Sarin’s heart clenched. You would still want me after everything? A rejected Omega with nothing to offer. Something fierce flashed in Kale’s eyes. You are not nothing.

 You saved my son. You fought shadow wolves with your bare hands. You destroyed a king who has terrorized my people for centuries. His thumb traced her cheekbone. And you are my faded mate. The one I have waited 500 years to find. 500 years? Sarin breathed. I would have waited a thousand more. He lowered his forehead to hers. Say yes, Sarin. Choose me.

 Let me spend the rest of my life proving that you were never worthless. That you are everything. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Happy tears. Healing tears. Yes, she whispered. Yes, I choose you. Kale’s smile was like sunrise breaking over mountains. He tilted her chin up. And when his lips met hers, Sarin felt the bond roar back to life. Not the fragile thread from before.

 something stronger, something unbreakable, forged in fire and sealed with choice. When they finally parted, the mark on her palm blazed golden once more. “But now a matching mark glowed on Kales hand.” “Two wolves, two crowns, intertwined forever.” “My queen,” he murmured against her lips. Before Sarin could respond, a small voice cut through the moment.

 “Father,” Ren burst through the hall’s shattered doors, followed by a contingent of Kale’s wolves. The boy’s silver eyes were bright with tears as he launched himself at his father. “They found me hiding,” Ren said breathlessly. “They knew exactly where to look,” Kale caught him easily, lifting him with one arm while keeping Sarin close with the other. “You found her,” Ren said, looking between them with wonder.

 “You found each other. She found me first,” Kale said, pressing a kiss to his son’s hair. “She saved you when no one else would. She is the bravest soul I have ever known.” Ren reached out and took Sarin’s hand, his small fingers tracing the renewed mark. “I knew it,” he said solemnly. “I knew you were special.

 I knew you belonged with us.” Sarin looked at the boy she had lifted from the snow. At the king who had crossed mountains to find her, at the wolves who watched her now, not with contempt, but with respect, for the first time in her life. She didn’t feel rejected. Didn’t feel worthless. Didn’t feel alone. She felt home.

 Kale wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the fortress doors, toward the sunlight streaming through the broken stone. “Come, my heart,” he said. “Let me show you your kingdom.” Sarin walked out of the darkness and into the light, flanked by her mate and her son, surrounded by wolves who would now fight and die for her.

 The rejected Omega had become a queen, and she would never be cold again. Thank you so much for listening. I hope you enjoyed this story. If you’d like to hear more tales of faded mates, fierce love, and happy endings, please subscribe and leave a comment letting me know what you’d like to hear next. Your support means everything to