Pain was the first thing she felt.
It wrapped around her ribs like iron chains, sharp and suffocating. Aria gasped and sat up, her lungs burning, her body trembling. The world swam around her in a blur of silver moonlight and bruised shadows.
She wasn't in the clearing anymore.
Instead, she lay in the cold, damp grass on the edge of the forest—just beyond the ceremony grounds. No one had helped her. No one had carried her. They must have left her here like trash once the spectacle was over.
Her blood roared in her ears. Damon's words echoed, cruel and final:
> "I reject you, Aria Blackthorn…"
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing trembling fingers to her chest. The bond had snapped. She felt it—like a vital thread had been cut. She had heard it was supposed to hurt. But no one said it would feel like dying.
A breeze swept through the trees, whispering against her skin like a soft voice.
> You are not dying, child.
Aria's eyes flew open.
"Who's there?" she croaked.
Silence.
But something had changed. The forest felt alive—watching. Listening. She blinked and gasped.
Her hands were glowing.
A soft, golden shimmer danced across her fingers, then flickered out. She held her breath, but it didn't return. Maybe she imagined it. Maybe the rejection had shattered her mind along with her heart.
Or maybe... something inside her had finally awakened.
---
She staggered to her feet, barely able to walk. Every step was agony, but she forced herself forward. She couldn't go back to the pack house—not now. Not after being rejected in front of everyone.
She headed deeper into the woods.
Time slipped by. She didn't know how far she walked or how long she wandered before she collapsed beneath a towering ash tree. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her vision blurred again.
And then came the dream.
A woman stood before her, wrapped in moonlight, eyes as ancient as the stars. Her voice was both wind and thunder.
> "You are of three bloods—hidden, hunted, holy. The mark on your soul cannot be erased."
Aria tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.
> "Your wolf sleeps, your magic stirs, your blood remembers."
The woman stepped closer. A silver crescent glowed on her forehead.
> "You are mine, Aria Blackthorn. Chosen. Moonmarked. And mated not once... but twice."
---
Aria awoke with a start.
The sun was rising, bleeding gold across the treetops. The dream clung to her skin like dew. Her fingers brushed her collarbone—and she froze.
There, faint but visible, was a silver crescent moon, etched into her skin.
It pulsed once—warm and real.
Panic surged. None of this made sense. She wasn't just a wolfless girl. Something was wrong with her. Or maybe… everything was finally becoming right.
Before she could think, a branch snapped nearby.
Aria spun around.
Two figures stepped into view—one with midnight-black eyes that gleamed with a predator's hunger, the other with piercing storm-gray irises and a wild aura that screamed Alpha.
She stumbled backward, heart pounding.
> "We've been looking for you," said the vampire, his voice a silken threat.
> "You're ours now," growled the werewolf, his eyes flashing silver.
Aria's blood ran cold.
The Moon Goddess had promised two mates.
She just hadn't said they'd both come looking for her at once.