THE WOLF KING'S BRIDE

They said the prophecy was an ancient myth-whispered, tucked between the covers of bedtime tales, always ending in blood. But Aria was always drawn to the forbidden, to the whisper of trees after sunset, to the wolf-song that lulled her to sleep.

Born under a dwindling moon, with a silver crescent stamped barely above her heart, she was not the same from the start. The village midwife had gone pale when she'd caught sight of the mark. Her mother had held her tighter, whispering prayers. The old stories warned that a girl like her would call the Wolf King back.

No one ever said what he would do once he came back.

Now, she knew.

On the night of the Blood Moon, he came out of the forest, tall and unyielding, his eyes burning embers and his voice a wisp of smoke that curled around her. He didn't speak at first-he only looked at her, as if she was the last piece in a puzzle, he'd been trying for centuries to finish.

"Waited lifetimes for you," he whispered, his hand cradling her cheek, rough and warm. His touch shouldn't have shivered down her spine-but it did.

She should have screamed. Should have run.

Yet her body leaned into his, as if it recalled something her mind had forgotten long ago.

"You're mine, little moon," he whispered against her flesh. "Not because the prophecy requires it. but because I've burned for you in every single life I've ever had."

Her heart was racing in her chest, caught between fear and desire.

She was no warrior. No princess. Just a girl with too many questions and not enough sense to say no to the crazy fire in his eyes.

And yet, when he pulled her into his arms and carried her into the forest, when the pack closed around them and the stars wheeled overhead, Aria didn't fight.

She held on tight.

For deep in her heart, something wild stirred. Something that wanted to love him. Or kill him.

The Wolf King had claimed her as his. But Aria was no one's prey.