est, his footsteps dragging along the dusty path. His heart was heavy, a storm of emotions swirling within him. Shame. Anger. Confusion. And worst of all-reje

did I expect? he thought bitterly. That she'd open her arms a

to her," came a voice in his head-raspy, dark, desperate. Magnus. Lysander flinched as the presence of the other half of him stirred, u

one, not after today. Not in this state. He just needed to disappear, to vanish into the shadows of his room and try to for

unded on the door. Before she could respond, it opened and in walked Alpha Wynter-her father. "Is something troubling you?" he asked, his tone gentle, but his sharp eyes didn't miss much. Astra quickly sat up, forcing a smile. "No, Dad. I'm fine." He arched a brow, clearly not convinced, but didn't press her. Instead, he walked over and sat beside her on the bed. The weight of his presence was always comforting, solid and grounding. "You know," he began, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "when your mother first found out I was her mate, she hated me for three weeks straight." Astra blinked in surprise. "She what?" Wynter chuckled, his voice deep and rumbling. "Oh yes. She thought I was arrogant, too strong-headed, too... well, too Alpha. But eventually, she realized it wasn't about control or expectation. It was about connection. Growth. Forgiveness." Astra leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. "I think I really messed up, Dad." He didn't ask for details. He didn't need to. "You can always talk to me, sweetheart," he said softly. "And I promise you-on your mother's grave-that nothing will ever happen to you as long as I'm alive." Her throat tightened, and she nodded. "Thanks, Dad." They sat in silence for a moment before he rose, kissed the top of her head, and quietly left the room. The second the door closed behind him, the smile dropped from her face. Her shoulders slumped, the weight of guilt and longing sinking in again. She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The room felt colder without Rafa's presence in her mind. They were bonded. Connected in a way most people never fully understood. Losing that voice-her voice-was like losing part of herself. "Rafa?" she whispered. Silence. Then, barely a whisper: "Fix it." Her heart squeezed. She sat up slowly, determination lighting a fire in her chest. She had made a mistake. But maybe-just maybe-it wasn't too late to make it right. - The moon hung high above the canopy, casting pale silver streaks between the twisted branches of the forest. Shadows danced across the leaves, giving the woods an eerie, restless quality. It was well past midnight, and the air had grown cold-too cold for comfort. Lysander trudged forward, his breath misting in the chill. His legs ached, and his wounded heart pulsed with the heaviness of grief. Zane clung tightly to his hand, his small fingers trembling in his grasp. The boy's quiet sobs had faded to sniffles, but Lysander could still feel the fear radiating off him. "Please keep quiet, okay?" Lysander whispered gently. Zane nodded, but his lip quivered. "Where's Mummy?" he asked in a broken voice. "And Sage too? They... they told me to stay in the cupboard. Why aren't they with us? Did... did something bad happen to them?" Lysander's steps slowed. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to budge. He turned slightly toward his little brother, trying to find words that wouldn't break them both. "Mum, Dad, and Sage are..." A low growl sliced through the air, cutting him off. Lysander froze. They weren't alone. Red eyes flickered from the darkness between the trees, one pair... then two... then many. A shiver ran down his spine as he tightened his hold on Zane's hand. "Stay close to me," he whispered. From every direction, wolves emerged. Not ordinary wolves-these were rogues. Their bodies were lean, starved-looking, and their eyes glowed a sinister red. Their growls filled the night like a rising chorus of death. Zane whimpered and stepped closer to Lysander, burying his face in his brother's side. The rogues began to circle them, their steps light but purposeful. Hungry. Angry. One of the wolves snarled and lunged. Lysander grabbed Zane and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding snapping jaws. He scrambled to his feet, pushing Zane behind him. More came. One after another, they launched themselves forward, and Lysander fought back with everything he had-his fists, his feet, desperation. He swung at a rogue that got too close, landing a punch that sent the wolf stumbling back. Another sank its teeth into his arm, and he cried out, wrenching it away and kicking it hard in the ribs. Blood stained his shirt. His face was cut. His strength was waning. But he refused to let them get to Zane. "Come on!" he yelled, pushing Zane behind a fallen log. "Stay there and don't move!" The largest of the rogues growled and charged, its claws raking across Lysander's chest. He stumbled backward, nearly collapsing-but forced himself to stay up. Then something shifted. Another wolf leapt from a branch above, jaws wide open-and Lysander raised his arm in defense. In that moment, the bracelet on his wrist pulsed with light. A blinding, radiant crystal blue glow erupted from it, washing over his body in a heartbeat. He screamed-not from fear, but pain-as his bones cracked and shifted beneath his skin. His body twisted, reshaping with a force that dropped him to his knees. Zane peeked from behind the log, eyes wide in horror and awe. Lysander let out a cry as his limbs extended, fur burst from his skin, his jaw elongated. The transformation completed in seconds, and where the wounded boy had stood now loomed a massive white wolf-majestic and terrifying. His eyes glowed with the same blue as the bracelet, now fused to the thick fur on his front leg. His body was enormous, towering over the other wolves. Snow-white fur shimmered under the moonlight, and his sharp fangs gleamed like silver blades. The rogues froze. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Lysander released a roar-like howl that split the silence. Fear spread through the rogues like wildfire-but they were too many, and too bloodthirsty to retreat so easily. They attacked. Five launched themselves at him, jaws open, teeth ready to shred-but Lysander moved with impossible speed. He ducked, turned, and with a powerful swipe of his paw, sent two flying into the trees. Another tried to bite his flank, but he twisted mid-motion and crushed it beneath his weight. One after another, they came. And one after another, they fell. He fought like a beast possessed, primal and relentless. His claws slashed through flesh and bone. His teeth clamped down on necks and limbs. Howls of pain filled the forest as rogue after rogue collapsed under his fury. Some tried to run-but he chased them down, ensuring none would return to finish what they started. Then the tide shifted. The remaining rogues hesitated, their snarls faltering. Lysander stood tall in the clearing, blood staining his white coat, eyes glowing with raw power. He gro