I’ve spent years running — from hunters, from packs, from anyone who’d sell me for a bounty or use me for my blood. My name isn’t important. What matters is I’m still alive.

Then he finds me.

Not hunting. Not chasing. Just standing in the rain outside an abandoned gas station, waiting like he knew I’d pass through. His scent hits me first — pine, iron, dominance — unmistakably Alpha. I should run. But something in his voice stops me.

"You don’t have to keep running," he says, stepping forward. "Join me. Be my Luna. My pack will protect you."

I laugh, sharp and broken. "Why? I’m rogue. Unclaimed. Dangerous."

He doesn’t blink. "Because you’re the only one who can save us."

I don’t know then that he means it literally. That my blood holds the key to breaking a curse killing his people. That he’s already decided: I’ll be his, whether I want to be or not.

Now, months later, I wonder — was any of it real?