Marked by Him, Reborn Without Him

Selene’s POV

It had been ninety days since Elior was taken from me—since my world lost all color, all meaning.

Grief had wrapped itself around me like a tight, unrelenting shroud, suffocating every breath. I could barely recognize the reflection that stared back from the mirror: pale, gaunt, empty-eyed. My frame had withered, my clothes now hung off me like they belonged to someone else. But what tore me apart the most wasn’t the weight loss.

It was the silence.

No echoes of laughter down the hallway. No tiny feet pattering across wooden floors. No soft bedtime murmurs whispering, “Mommy, I love you.”

Only a devastating void.

Then, a week ago, Hannah revealed something that didn’t just deepen my grief—it transformed it into a wildfire of rage.

Ronan was throwing an extravagant party.

For Gabriel.

His “son.”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. That boy? His son?

Ronan had once thrown a nearly identical celebration for Elior’s eighth birthday. I could still see the joy dancing in Elior’s eyes, the way he had gripped Ronan’s hand like he was the center of the entire universe.

And now?

Now he was doing it all over again—this time for Carmela’s child.

As though Elior had never even existed.

As if our child—born of love, abandoned by his father—was nothing more than a ghost best forgotten.

Ronan hadn’t even brought a single flower to Elior’s grave.

Not one.

Of course he didn’t. He had convinced himself that Elior wasn’t his. Wrapped himself in lies he either created or chose to believe just to appease the woman who had once turned her back on him.

The fury boiled over. Before I could stop myself, my fist connected with the vanity mirror. The glass splintered under my skin, shards embedding in my knuckles.

Blood oozed down to the countertop.

But I felt none of it.

I was numb to pain now.

Earlier that morning, Hannah had handed me a letter. Ronan’s handwriting.

He was asking me to recognize Carmela and her son as part of the pack.

To acknowledge Gabriel as his rightful heir.

I didn’t even flinch.

As soon as I read the last word, I struck a match and burned it to ash.

Then I grabbed a pen and wrote my own message.

This was the only channel he could reach me through now. I had destroyed my phone months ago—burned it like everything else he left behind. The only relic I had kept was a printed photograph of Elior, tucked carefully in an album—the last remaining evidence of the life Ronan shattered.

It was time to go back.

To Ashfen Pack.

My parents had begged me to return for months, hounding me daily with calls and visits. I resisted every time. I had escaped from Dreadshade Pack and vanished into the quiet corners of Thornveil Pack—where nobody knew me.

Except Hannah.

She alone knew where I’d gone.

But that chapter was now closed.

I stepped out of my apartment, gripping my letter tightly. My feet moved on instinct, carrying me through dim alleyways and deserted streets.

I was heading toward the man who held power.

Toward the one who could give me what I needed—except the one thing my soul cried for.

Elior.

I could never hold my son again. But I could ensure justice. And those responsible for our suffering would face their consequences.

The estate rose before me like a fortress, silent and intimidating.

A butler led me inside, guiding me through the sprawling halls and into a grand drawing room.

“Lord Drakemoor will be with you momentarily,” he said politely.

I had barely settled on the divan when the doors opened with a soft creak.

There he stood.

Lord Aldric Drakemoor.

I had expected an elderly man with weary eyes and a tired gait.

But the figure who entered the room was neither frail nor aged.

He was older than Ronan, yes—but far from old. The atmosphere shifted with his arrival, the weight of his presence sucking the air from the room.

Those violet eyes—icy and devoid of warmth—seemed to peer directly into my soul. My wolf whimpered, instinctively recoiling from the immense, dangerous energy radiating off of him.

He was hauntingly beautiful.

Terrifyingly so.

Long, silver hair neatly pulled back. A sleek black coat and matching tie that clung perfectly to his tall, elegant build. And when he smiled… it was a smile that could convince even the most stubborn heart to surrender everything.

Grace cloaked in menace.

“Selene Soltren,” he said, voice like polished glass.

I kept myself composed as he sat across from me.

The butler returned, laying out tea and pastries, but I had no appetite to even glance at them.

“I’ve read your letter,” Aldric began, reclining slightly, one leg resting over the other. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the chair’s armrest. “Are you prepared to follow through on the arrangement?”

I didn’t flinch.

“Yes. I am.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what exactly do you seek in return?”

“The truth,” I answered firmly. “And justice.”

Justice for the child I could never cradle again.

Justice for the baby they buried beneath lies and betrayal.

Ronan thought he could pretend Elior never lived. Thought he could rewrite reality by burying it under manipulated tests and selfish denial.

But I would drag that truth into daylight. And watch it burn him to the ground.

He took Elior from me.

Now I would take everything he valued.

Aldric’s eyes gleamed with a flicker of amusement as he studied me.

“You seem driven by a deeply personal vendetta,” he murmured. “But know this—once the deal is struck, there’s no undoing it.”

“I understand.”

His expression turned solemn. “And you’re ready to trade your life, your freedom—perhaps even your soul—for this?”

Without emotion, I nodded. “I’ve been dead inside for a long time.”

A dark chuckle escaped him.

“I don’t need your soul, Selene,” he said with a smirk. “But I will ask for something else.”

I tensed. “What do you mean?”

His stare darkened, his smile slow and unsettling.

“I can give you everything you asked for,” he replied, voice a quiet threat wrapped in charm. “But not life. That’s beyond any power I possess.” He leaned toward me, eyes gleaming. “As for what I want? Let’s say the stories about me don’t quite capture the whole picture.”

I swallowed hard. “Then tell me—what is it you want from me?”

His grin widened. “Are you offering yourself, Selene?”

I didn’t look away.

“If what you need is my body,” I said, voice unwavering, “then you may have it. Just tell me what the terms are… and I’ll accept them.”