Chapter 01

There she was again, in another seemingly ordinary day — cooking meals, washing, tidying, ironing. Zaya was the Cinderella of the wolf world. She didn't know what it felt like to receive a kind gesture or a loving word. Everyone around her either ignored her or barked orders, as though her existence was irrelevant.

The youngest of the Morgando family, Zaya carried an even heavier burden as the daughter of Beta Malakor. Yet she was rejected by all, treated like a mistake the pack preferred to forget. The reason was simple — and cruel: she still hadn't shifted.

Among wolves, the first shift happens at eighteen. For Zaya, though, time had passed without mercy. At twenty, nothing had changed. No sign of her wolf. No transformation. Only looks of contempt, whispers, and the crushing weight of not belonging.

She always obeyed orders. She stayed quiet when she was insulted or even struck. She never questioned anything, because deep down she felt inferior — as if she had no right to exist beyond what was demanded of her.

And once again, there was her father, standing before the entire pack, proudly recounting how he'd defeated Lazarus, the alpha wolf who had tried to seize the territory of his alpha and friend, Balthazar. His voice rang through the great hall, heavy with glory and vanity. Few among them, however, knew what had truly happened in that war.

After the victory, Balthazar had consolidated his power, taking control of Lazarus's pack as well. To ensure no future threat would arise, he'd ordered the execution of the defeated alpha's entire family — eliminating any possibility of revenge.

His own son, Varg, had been groomed from an early age to lead and govern with an iron fist, trained by Malakor, the beta — loyal accomplice in every decision the alpha made. Varg took command of the Western Pack, while his father claimed the newly conquered Rising Sun Pack, a more fertile land cut through by a crystalline river that symbolized prosperity and power.

Smiles spread across faces. Applause echoed through the hall each time Malakor retold the story, as though the violence he described was something to be proud of.

Everyone clapped.

Except Zaya.

With every detail he told, her stomach turned. To Zaya, this wasn't a story of honor. It was a story of cruelty.

Unable to stay a moment longer, she slipped out of the great hall in silence. The instant she crossed the doorway, she came face to face with her half-sister, Freya.

"Where do you think you're going? Don't you know you're supposed to serve everyone? You can't run from your job, Zaya. It's what you were born for — to serve." Freya's voice was sharp with reproach.

"Freya... I just wanted to rest for a little while..." she tried, her voice breaking. "And—"

"Absolutely not. Get back in there. You're not leaving until the party's over."

Zaya lowered her head, swallowing the pain, and returned in silence — obeying her sister's command.

Tears slid down her face as she walked. She didn't want this life.

Deep in her chest, a question echoed — painful and unanswered:

Why had the Moon Goddess chosen her to suffer so much?

Hours passed. The young woman was exhausted; her feet ached, burning with every step. All Zaya wanted was to crawl back to the basement — the place where she slept, by order of her stepmother, an arrangement her father had never once questioned. Her meals came from scraps, as though even food was a privilege she didn't deserve.

By the time she finally finished, the great hall was already empty. The party had ended long ago.

Zaya stepped outside and walked through the village in silence, feeling the cold wind against her tired face. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself absorb the strength that flowed from the nearby forest. Then she began to sing, softly.

It was the only remedy she knew for the wounds in her soul.

That was when a voice cut through the night.

"Where do you think you're going, Zaya?" Natasha sneered — one of the she-wolves in Freya's circle, always trailing in Alpha Varg's shadow.

She was flanked by other young wolves, males and females known for their cruelty, always eager to humiliate anyone they deemed weaker.

"The party's not over yet. We want more drinks."

Zaya drew a deep breath before answering, her voice unsteady:

"Haven't you... haven't you all had enough? Everyone's already gone home, and—"

"How dare you question me? Have you forgotten whose daughter I am? Freya and I are the most important she-wolves in this pack. I'm going to teach you some respect... and remind you of your place." Natasha advanced as she spoke.

Without warning, Natasha lunged at Zaya. The first blow made her stagger. The second sent her crashing to the ground. Each impact drove the air from her lungs.

All around them — laughter.

Alpha Varg watched with a satisfied grin, along with his friends, who treated the scene as entertainment.

"Go easy on her, Nat. Don't forget she's weak and worthless. Can't have you killing our little servant." Freya's tone was ice-cold.

Zaya tried to stand, but was shoved back down.

"Don't worry, Freya. I just want to have a little fun." Natasha laughed.

"Anyone else want in?"

Another she-wolf stepped forward, kicking Zaya as she curled up, trying to shield her face. Hands yanked at her, shoves knocked her down again. Every blow came with laughter, insults, and contempt.

And then Freya joined in.

Without hesitation, she delivered a hard slap that snapped Zaya's head to the side.

"Stand up when someone important is talking to you," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

Zaya stayed on the ground, her body aching, her heart aching worse.

None of them tried to stop it.

None of them felt guilty.

In this pack, her pain was nothing but a spectacle.

"And that necklace? Who gave you the right to wear it?" Natasha asked with a grin.

Zaya's hand went to her chest instinctively, shielding the small pendant.

"It's mine... It was my mother's," she answered, her voice trembling.

Natasha's laugh was cruel.

"Your mother? That traitor who tried to take the Luna's place? Who dared to want what wasn't hers and left behind a daughter as weak as you?"

Freya stepped closer, her gaze cold.

"Our mother gave her what she deserved. You're just paying the price for betraying the beta's true mate."

Natasha tilted her head, greed glinting in her eyes.

"That would look so much better on me."

Without warning, she ripped the necklace from Zaya's neck.

"No!" Zaya screamed.

The instant the necklace left her skin, something broke free.

Zaya's head snapped up, her heart hammering as though an ancient force had been unleashed. A devastating pain tore through her body, ripping a scream from her throat. Her bones cracked, the sound splitting the night. Her spine curved unnaturally as her hands pressed flat against the ground.

Her nails lengthened, razor-sharp, digging into the earth. Her skin burned like liquid fire.

Then the fur began to emerge.

It wasn't dark.

A dingy white — strange, unsettling — spread across her arms, climbing over her shoulders, swallowing her body. A wolf with no beauty in her.

The laughter continued.

Zaya's eyes blazed silver — wild, ancient.

She closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, feeling the power grow, take hold, claim its space. A trapped howl vibrated in her chest, heavy with pain, fury, and awakening.

When she opened them again, there was nothing human left in that gaze.

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