Chapter two
1101 Words
The forest did not sleep that night.
Wind threaded through the pines like whispered warnings, and the moon hung high—full, luminous, merciless. Diana sat on the cold wooden floor of her parents’ cabin, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to her chest. Her tears had dried hours ago, leaving behind a hollow ache and a burning resolve that refused to fade.
Pain still pulsed where the mate bond had been severed. It throbbed like an old wound, deep and constant, but she welcomed it.
Remember this, she told herself. Remember what it cost you to be weak.
Before dawn, she rose.
No announcement. No farewell.
She pulled on training leathers, tied her hair back, and stepped outside while the world was still wrapped in shadow. Frost kissed the ground beneath her boots as she made her way toward the old training grounds—the ones most warriors abandoned at this hour.
Perfect.
She began with running.
Not the easy jogs the pack did in formation, but punishing sprints through uneven terrain—over roots, through thorns, across steep inclines that burned her lungs and screamed protest through her muscles. She ran until her vision blurred, until her legs trembled, until her breath tore from her chest in ragged gasps.
Then she kept going.
“Again,” she whispered to herself when her knees buckled.
Again, Artemis echoed, her voice calm and unwavering.
Diana dropped into push-ups, palms sinking into frozen earth. Her arms shook violently by the fiftieth rep. By the hundredth, she could barely feel them. Sweat soaked through her clothes despite the cold, her muscles screaming for mercy.
She gave them none.
When the sun finally crested the treeline, Diana was bruised, shaking, and breathless.
And smiling.
The pack noticed quickly.
They always did when someone trained too hard, too long, too relentlessly. Warriors paused to watch as she sparred—again and again—against opponents larger and stronger than her. She took hit after hit, learned from every mistake, adapted faster than anyone expected.
She fell.
She rose.
She fell again.
Each bruise became a lesson. Each loss carved strategy into her bones.
“She’s compensating,” someone muttered once. “Trying to make up for not having a wolf.”
Diana heard them.
She said nothing.
At night, when the pack slept, she went deeper into the forest—far beyond the patrol routes, to a place Artemis had chosen. A clearing where the air felt heavy, ancient, charged with something older than the pack itself.
There, Diana closed her eyes.
Show me, she whispered.
The world shifted.
The forest melted away, replaced by a vast, endless space of silver and shadow. Stars glimmered beneath her feet like a mirror of the sky. At the center stood Artemis.
She was enormous.
Her form shimmered like moonlight poured into muscle and bone, fur the color of pale silver edged with darkness that moved like living smoke. Her eyes—those eyes—were not the gold or blue common among wolves.
They were liquid starlight.
“You are ready to understand,” Artemis said, her voice resonating through the space itself.
Diana swallowed. Understand what?
“Why I hide,” Artemis replied. “And why no one must know what we are.”
The air rippled, and visions unfurled around them.
Wolves bowed beneath a blood-red moon.
Ancient alphas kneeling—not in dominance, but reverence.
A single silver wolf standing at the center of a battlefield littered with fallen kings.
Diana’s breath caught. That’s… you.
“Yes.”
Artemis lowered her massive head, eyes locking onto Diana’s. “I am not merely a wolf. I am a Moonbound Guardian—born once in generations, tied directly to the lunar source itself. Tied to the Moon Goddess”
The weight of those words pressed down on Diana’s chest.
“Moonbound wolves are not meant to be claimed by ordinary packs,” Artemis continued. “We are weapons. Protectors. Balancers. And we attract destruction as easily as power.”
So Asher… Diana began.
“Would have been unworthy,” Artemis finished without hesitation. “And dangerous to us.”
Diana clenched her fists. You let him reject us.
“I protected us,” Artemis corrected gently. “If the pack knew what we are, they would not have rejected you. They would have tried to control you. Use you. Or kill you out of fear.”
The truth settled like ice in Diana’s veins.
And our true mate?
Artemis’s tail flicked, the stars around them pulsing. “Will not be an ordinary alpha.”
Training changed after that.
Artemis did not merely guide Diana’s movements—she rewrote them. She taught her how to fight without relying on strength alone. How to read intent in the twitch of a shoulder. How to predict attacks before they were thrown.
At night, Artemis pushed Diana beyond the limits of human endurance—forcing her to shift partially, to borrow strength without revealing her full wolf. Diana learned to control the change so finely that no scent escaped her skin.
No one suspected a thing.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
Then years.
Diana’s body transformed—leaner, stronger, honed like a blade forged through fire and pain. Warriors stopped whispering. They started watching.
Then avoiding.
She defeated warriors twice her size. She outlasted seasoned fighters in endurance trials. She learned weapons faster than anyone in her class, adapting styles instinctively.
Asher noticed.
He watched from the sidelines, confusion darkening his expression every time she won. He could not scent a wolf—but the power radiating from her unsettled him.
Good.
Diana did not look at him.
One night, Artemis took her deeper than ever before—past the dreamspace, past memory, into something ancient.
A silver mark burned itself into Diana’s back, searing but not painful. Symbols she did not recognize etched themselves into her skin, glowing briefly before fading.
“What did you do?” Diana gasped.
Artemis lowered her head, pressing it to Diana’s chest. “I bound you fully to your legacy. When the time comes… you will not just fight.”
I will what?
Artemis’s eyes gleamed.
“You will command the moon itself.”
Diana woke before dawn, heart pounding, skin warm beneath her shirt.
She smiled slowly.
Let them believe she was weak.
Let them believe she was nothing.
Because one day, when the moon rose and the truth could no longer be hidden—
Crimson Fang would learn exactly what they had cast aside.
And Diana Nightshade would never bow again.
- Writer
