Copyright & Disclaimer

Copyright © [2025] [EDEN BLACKWELL]. All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are purely the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or reallife events is purely coincidental.

This book contains mature themes, explicit content, and adult situations intended for readers 18 years and older. By purchasing or reading this material, you confirm that you are of legal age in your country or region.

All characters depicted in this book are consenting adults aged 18 or older. None of the characters are biologically or legally related. This work does not promote or condone nonconsensual activities, illegal relationships, or any form of reallife harm. It is solely a work of fiction intended for entertainment purposes only.

This book is protected under international copyright laws. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or articles.

The author and publisher assume no responsibility for misuse or misinterpretation of the content. Reader discretion is advised.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

CHAPTER ONE: BETA ON PAPER

Wren Hallow’s first mistake was breathing.

Not just the shaky inhale as she stepped past the iron gates of Mooncrest Academy—but the way her lungs betrayed her, instinctively sampling the air like a real Omega would. Stupid. Dangerous.

No real Beta did that.

But no one looked her way. Yet.

The gates clanged shut behind her, metallic and final. The sound reverberated in her bones, like a threat disguised as a welcome.

She kept her shoulders squared, back straight, scent glands laced in suppressant, and her scholarship papers clutched tight in her gloved hand. The air tasted cold, rich with Alpha musk and storm-wet stone. She let it settle in her mouth, thick and unwelcome.

You’re no one. You belong here. Her thoughts were crisp, militant. Betas don’t shiver when they smell dominance.

The academy loomed ahead—black stone spires veined with silver enchantment, a gothic cathedral of prestige and cruelty. Wren’s boots crunched over frost-slick stone. The buildings looked like they'd been built to watch, to wait, to trap.

She reached the front desk, handing over her forged documentation with a practiced calm.

“Wren Hallow,” she said, voice neutral, flat, Beta-boring.

The woman behind the desk barely looked up, scanning her ID chip and biometric mark. “Scholarship, huh?” Her tone curled around the word like it tasted foul. “Room 12B. East Wing.”

Wren nodded. Took the keycard. Turned before anyone could sniff her too hard.

The dorm was colder than outside. Room 12B smelled of mildew, dust, and the faintest ghost of perfume. Cheap and floral.

Someone lived here before. That much was obvious. There was a long scratch across the floorboards, like furniture—or claws—had been dragged. A cracked mirror on the wardrobe door. A lipstick stain on the wall above the bedframe.

The closet was empty. But when Wren opened the bottom drawer, her heart kicked.

A collar.

Leather. Softened with use. Omega design. Engraved on the inside in looping script:

Property of Hallow.

She dropped it like it burned her. Slammed the drawer shut. Her breath came fast.

It was a coincidence. Had to be.

Hallow was a name. A common one. It didn’t mean anything.

Still—her fingers trembled as she tucked the gloves tighter. She hadn't worn a collar since she was a child. Since before...

Don't remember. Don't think. You're Beta now. Beta girls don’t panic.

Mooncrest was crawling with Alphas.

The courtyard pulsed with them—tall, sharp-eyed, scents bold and bruising. They lounged on marble benches, leaned against pillars, prowled in tight-knit packs like predators marking their territory. Wren kept her eyes down, her presence quiet, her breathing measured.

But she felt them.

Three, in particular.

The golden one—laughing, shirt rumpled, muscles straining against rules. Dax. He radiated danger and charm, the kind that seduced and destroyed without trying.

The cold one—still, coiled, watching. Corin. His gaze flicked across the courtyard like a scalpel. Wren caught him staring once. He didn’t look away.

And the brutal one. Kade.

She saw him last. Saw the way students stepped aside when he passed, how he moved like he didn’t have to pretend to be civilized. His scent was thick and dark, wrapping the air around him like a cloak of possessiveness and rage.

She didn’t look at them again.

But her body did. Her glands ached beneath the suppressant. A low hum stirred in her stomach, crawling downward like hot molasses.

Stop. Don’t feel. You’re not like them. You’re nothing.

She went to class. Took notes. Answered questions. Passed as harmless.

No one questioned her place. Not yet.

That night, she lay awake in Room 12B. The collar in the drawer whispered to her like a secret. She didn’t touch it again—but she felt its pull. Her glands itched. Her thighs clenched. Her body was betraying her in slow, wet ways.

A knock came at midnight.

Sharp. Clean. Measured.

She rose. Opened the door.

Corin.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, his scent held back like a weapon not yet unsheathed.

“You’re not a Beta,” he said.

No preamble. No smile. Just those silver-grey eyes, stripping her down to the bone.

Wren’s lips parted. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“I read scents,” he said, taking a step forward.

She didn’t move. She couldn’t.

“You’re masking. The pills won't last through the moon.” His voice was low, not cruel, but merciless.

Wren swallowed. “You’re mistaken.”

“No,” he said, and leaned in.

Her heart stopped.

He didn’t touch her. Just... inhaled. Slow. Deep. Intimate.

She gasped, heat rippling across her skin, a flare of scent bursting before she could stop it.

Corin's eyes dilated. “You're going to shatter.”

He turned and walked away, the echo of his boots like a sentence passed.

Wren closed the door and leaned against it, legs trembling, mouth open.

The collar in the drawer pulsed like a curse waiting to be claimed.

The full moon rose in three days. Her suppressants were nearly gone.

And she’d made her second mistake.

She’d let an Alpha breathe her in.

CHAPTER TWO: THE THREE ALPHAS

The scent of power hit her before the cafeteria doors even opened.

It wasn’t the food—though Mooncrest served decadent meals on silver trays—but the clash of hormones thickening the air like war. Pheromones battled. Tensions simmered. Dominance played out in glances, in laughs pitched too loud, in subtle scent displays. This was where Alphas claimed their space, and where Betas learned not to take up any.

Wren stepped inside.

Her head was down. Her steps controlled. Her scent clamped beneath the chemical leash of suppressants—though weaker now. She could feel it loosening at the edges like frayed rope.

Eyes followed her. She didn’t look back. She wasn’t interesting.

Until she was.

Until they turned toward her.

The three of them sat in the back corner, the throne of the food hall, where no one dared sit unless invited.

Dax. Corin. Kade.

The unofficial rulers of Mooncrest. Each one shaped by bloodlines older than most legacies, their families tied into the school’s bones like roots.

And now they looked at her.

Dax’s grin was the first to land. Lazy. Playful. The kind of smile that made girls cross their legs harder under the table.

“Scholarship girl,” he said aloud, his voice a whipcrack in the silence.

Wren froze mid-step, tray in hand.

Kade leaned back in his seat, dark eyes pinning her. His jaw clenched once, the muscle twitching like a warning. He didn’t speak. Just... watched.

Corin tilted his head. One eyebrow arched like he already knew everything.

“You going to sit with the rest of the prey,” he asked, “or are you planning to start pretending you’re one of us?”

She met his eyes. Stupid. She should’ve looked away.

Corin’s nostrils flared slightly.

She felt her scent slip.

Just a little. Just a crack.

Fuck.

“I’m going to class,” she said, voice low, tight. She turned toward the exit.

But Dax was faster.

He was on his feet, moving like honey and wildfire, slipping in front of her with infuriating ease. He took the tray from her hands with a casual smile.

“You’re shaking,” he said, voice velvet-lined. “Scared of us?”

“No,” she lied.

Kade moved next. Not toward her, but around. A slow circle, a predator tasting the wind. He didn’t even bother pretending. He just inhaled, low and deliberate.

She felt her knees weaken.

“You smell...” he muttered, “...off.”

“I’m Beta,” she snapped, too fast.

Corin’s chuckle was soft. “That’s not what your body thinks.”

The cafeteria had gone dead silent. No one spoke. No one moved. The three Alphas were circling, and everyone was smart enough to stay out of it.

Dax leaned in. Close enough to make her breath stutter. His fingers grazed a loose strand of her hair.

“If you’re lying,” he whispered, “we’ll find out.”

Then he stepped back and let her go.

She didn’t run—but only because she knew if she did, they’d chase.

She skipped class.

Room 12B was too close. Too known. Too marked by the collar in her drawer and the faint trace of whoever had worn it last.

So she went to the library. The oldest wing. The part no one really used, where the shelves still carried the smell of ancient bindings and secrets.

She found a nook. Curled into it. Shoved her face into her sleeve and breathed.

She needed time. One more dose. Just enough to make it through the moon. She had it—barely. One vial left. She’d been rationing.

Her body ached.

Not sick. Not injured.

Starving.

The suppressants dulled her receptors, but not the way her skin burned. The way her thighs pulsed. The way her scent kept pushing forward like it wanted to be known.

She bit her wrist until the sharpness made the hunger stop.

She didn't hear him approach.

But she felt it. The way the air changed. Thickened.

Corin.

She looked up slowly.

He was watching her with that same quiet violence. Like he could see too much.

“I was right,” he said.

Her throat closed.

“You’re not Beta. Your scent’s unstable. Your cycle’s about to break.”

She tried to speak. He shook his head.

“I don’t care why. I don’t care who you think you’re fooling. But if you don’t leave—soon—you’re going to bleed heat all over the floor.”

His voice wasn’t cruel. Just certain.

“I can handle it,” she said.

“You can’t.”

He stepped closer.

“You think no one noticed? You’re leaking. It’s faint, but it’s there. Enough to make every Alpha in that building look at you and want to tear each other apart.”

He crouched in front of her, so close she could feel his breath.

“I give it forty-eight hours. You’ll drop.”

She wanted to scream.

Instead she asked, “Why are you warning me?”

Corin’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Because once it starts... the three of us won’t hold back.”

She felt it then. The electric thrum beneath his skin. The leash he kept around his instinct, fraying with every second.

He rose. Turned. Walked away.

And Wren felt her body betray her again—wet, aching, undone.

That night, she dreamed of teeth.

Of Dax, laughing as he pressed her down.

Of Kade, snarling as he gripped her throat.

Of Corin, silent, as he opened her legs and whispered, “We’ll know you soon enough.”

She woke up wet. Shaking.

One dose left.

And the full moon in two days.

CHAPTER THREE: EYES THAT KNOW

Wren knew better than to look him in the eyes.

Alphas didn't like that. Not from Betas. Not from anyone lower in the chain. It was a challenge. It was an invitation. It was a mistake.

But Corin looked first.

In the lecture hall—first row, dead center—he sat alone, not because he lacked admirers, but because no one was brave or stupid enough to sit beside him. Not when he radiated that feral, calculated stillness that said I could end you without blinking.

Wren slipped into a seat three rows behind. Kept her head low. Hands in her lap.

But she felt it.

The stare.

Not casual. Not curious. Not like the others who sniffed the air when she passed, noses twitching with suspicion and hunger.

This was worse.

Because Corin didn’t look like he was hunting her.

He looked like he already knew.

The professor droned on about pack law and territory etiquette. Wren couldn’t focus. Her skin prickled under the uniform sweater. Her suppressants were failing, slowly, surely. She could feel them peeling back like paint under a rising tide.

Corin hadn’t stopped staring.

Not once.

When she shifted, his gaze tracked her. When she swallowed, he blinked, slow and deliberate. She dropped her pen. He smirked.

He knows.

And he wanted her to know he knew.

She stood when class ended, rushing to gather her things.

But when she moved past his row, he was already waiting. Leaning back in his seat like he had all the time in the world.

His leg stretched, blocking her path. Casual. Calculated.

She stopped. Looked down at him.

“I don’t want trouble,” she said, quiet.

Corin tilted his head, silver-grey eyes unreadable.

“Then why are you built for it?”

Her breath caught.

“Go to your dorm,” he said. “Take the last suppressant. Lock the door.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

He rose in one fluid motion. Taller than she remembered. Close enough that his scent wrapped around her—faint citrus and cold steel.

“I know how Omegas look right before they break.”

His words burned hotter than his scent. Her thighs clenched. She hated herself for it.

“Your heart’s racing,” he murmured. “That’s the worst part, isn’t it? When your body wants to be taken before your mind can scream no.”

Wren shoved past him.

Didn’t run. Didn’t cry.

Just walked like her legs weren’t jelly and her scent wasn’t thickening behind her like a bloody trail.

The campus bathroom was empty.

Wren locked herself in the stall. Pulled out the last syringe from the lining of her boot.

Snapped the cap.

Drew a breath.

Then hesitated.

Her body didn’t want it.

Her glands pulsed under the skin. Her blood felt heavy, hot. Her core throbbed, begging for release, for friction, for...

No. Not yet. Not here.

She plunged the needle into her thigh. Injected the suppressant. Closed her eyes and bit her lip until she tasted blood.

The burn was immediate.

A false calm spread through her veins. The ache dulled.

But not completely.

It’s not strong enough anymore.

She needed real meds. Real cover. Real escape.

But she had none of that.

Just Room 12B.

And a collar that whispered her name.

At night, the walls creaked.

The building settled like something old and watchful.

Wren sat on the edge of her bed, the collar laid out in front of her. She didn’t touch it this time. Just stared.

Engraved:

Property of Hallow.

She couldn’t have been more than five the last time she heard that word spoken with reverence. The name they buried with her mother. The bloodline they erased when they registered her as a Beta to keep her safe.

Safe from what?

From Alphas?

From heat?

From prophecy?

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the collar. Not to wear it. Just to feel the weight.

But a knock stopped her cold.

Again. Midnight.

Again. Sharp.

She rose. Quiet. Barefoot.

Opened the door.

Dax.

Golden. Shirt half-buttoned. Smirk carved in sin.

He leaned against the doorframe like he owned it.

“Corin thinks you’ll break tomorrow.”

She swallowed.

“He says you’re holding on by threads.” He stepped closer. “He’s probably right.”

She shook her head.

Dax reached out. Tucked a curl behind her ear.

“You can tell me to leave,” he said softly. “I’ll go.”

She should’ve said it. Should’ve closed the door.

Instead, she stood there. Let him lean in. Let him smell.

His nostrils flared. His pupils dilated.

“Gods,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

Wren’s lips parted.

She didn’t stop him when he touched her throat. When his thumb brushed her scent gland, exposed and pulsing.

Her breath hitched.

“You’re not in heat,” he said, voice low. “But you will be.”

She nodded once.

He kissed her then.

Hot. Sure. Open-mouthed.

And she kissed him back.

His hands slid down her waist, gripping like he could mold her into something pliant.

And she let him.

Until his fingers tugged at the edge of her shirt.

“No,” she gasped, breaking the kiss.

He froze.

Then stepped back.

“Not yet,” he said, eyes darker now. “But soon.”

She closed the door before her knees gave out.

Collapsed against it.

She could still taste him on her tongue.

And the collar still waited on the bed.

The next morning, Wren passed Kade in the hall.

He didn’t say anything.

But he growled low under his breath as she passed.

And the sound went straight to her cunt.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE MOON’S APPROACH

She woke soaked in sweat and slick between her thighs.

Not from a dream—there’d been no dreams last night. Only a black void of craving so deep it made her grind her hips against the mattress in her sleep. She woke on the edge of orgasm, panting, her fingers clenched in the sheets, scent thick enough to choke the air.

The suppressant had cracked. Not broken. Not yet.

But the tri-moon would rise tomorrow.

And her body already knew.

She showered in freezing water. Scrubbed until her skin burned. Bit the inside of her cheek until the copper taste of blood grounded her. But the ache didn’t fade. The scent didn’t recede.

If anything, it grew worse.

Mooncrest’s corridors were quieter today.

Too quiet.

Like the school could feel it. The anticipation. The scent shift in the air. Omegas nearing heat always sent a ripple through the Alphas. Even if they didn’t know who it was, their bodies did.

And Wren? Wren had become a magnet.

Every Alpha she passed in the halls turned their head.

Some sniffed. Subtle.

Some stared. Too long.

One even licked his lips, eyes unfocused like he’d caught the edge of a scent trail.

This is bad.

She tightened the scarf around her neck. It wouldn’t help. Not really. Her glands were radiating. Pheromones thickening. Her suppressant, at best, was now just delaying the inevitable.

And they knew.

They knew.

It was Corin she found waiting by the library steps.

He didn’t move when she approached. Just watched her with that surgical calm, the air around him taut with tension.

“You should be locked up by now.”

“Not everyone believes in cages,” she said, but her voice came out too soft. Too breathy.

Corin narrowed his eyes.

“You’re reckless. You know that? You’re bleeding scent through the cracks. Do you even smell yourself?”

“No,” she snapped. “Do you?”

His jaw flexed. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until they were chest to chest.

Then—he bent.

Inhaled her.

Right there in the open.

Long and low and obscene.

Her knees nearly buckled.

“You smell like hunger,” he whispered at her throat. “Like something dying to be claimed.”

She shoved him back.

He didn’t fight her.

Just let her push and watched her hands tremble.

“Tomorrow night,” he said, voice calm but deadly. “You’ll drop. And Dax will come. And Kade. And if you think I won’t—”

“Don’t,” she said.

His eyes went cold.

“You want all three of us,” he said, so softly it carved into her skin. “And when your heat hits, your body will beg.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Not yet.”

She barely made it through her next class.

Her skin crawled. Her legs shook. Every inch of her was tight, wired, painfully aware of the sweat beading between her breasts, the dampness growing between her thighs.

She sat at the far end of the lecture hall, away from everyone, arms crossed, breath shallow.

But that didn’t help.

Because Kade walked in late, and took the seat directly behind her.

The one close enough to touch.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t breathe.

But she could feel him. The heat. The violence. The raw, snarling power he barely contained.

She shifted in her seat. Accidentally—her leg brushed his.

She froze.

His growl was so low it was almost inaudible.

But she heard it.

And her cunt clenched.

He leaned in, lips at her ear.

“You’re leaking.”

She shook her head.

He sniffed her hair.

“You’re close.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

His hand dropped. Gripped her thigh beneath the desk.

Hard.

She gasped.

“You smell like you want it rough,” he murmured. “And I do rough better than anyone.”

She shoved his hand off her, stood, fled the room.

In the hallway, she found Dax.

He leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching her run like he’d been waiting the whole time.

He caught her by the wrist.

“Easy.”

“I’m fine,” she panted.

He raised her wrist to his mouth.

Sniffed her skin.

Then groaned. Deep. Like her scent punched the air from his lungs.

“You’re not.”

She pulled back.

“I need—time.”

“There’s no time,” he said gently. “Tomorrow you drop. And when you do, it won’t be soft. Won’t be easy. It’ll be claws. Knots. Desperation.”

Her body responded before she could fight it.

Heat flared.

Slick spread.

Dax’s nostrils flared.

His pupils blew wide.

He stepped closer. Hands at her hips.

And she whispered, “Don’t.”

He stopped.

But his hands stayed on her. Firm. Possessive.

“We’re going to tear each other apart,” he said, “and it’s going to feel like worship.”

She moaned, low and desperate.

And then she ran again.

That night, Room 12B reeked of her.

No more suppressants. No more hiding.

She locked the door.

Stuffed towels beneath it.

Stripped.

Laid naked on the bed, gasping, aching, swollen and slick and too hot to think.

She touched herself.

One hand between her thighs, the other clutching the collar she swore she wouldn’t wear.

She came sobbing.

Not from pleasure.

From fear.

Tomorrow was the full moon.

And they would all come for her.

CHAPTER FIVE: ROOM 12B

The scent hit the hall like a bomb.

Wren couldn’t hide it anymore—not behind synthetic blockers or neutral soap or silent footsteps. It poured off her in waves. Warm. Ripe. Thick with Omega need. Her heat hadn’t started yet, but it was close enough now to drive every Alpha who caught her scent into a subtle madness.

Doors opened as she passed. Male heads turned. Nostrils flared. Hands clenched at sides.

She kept walking.

Room 12B waited.

And so did her truth.

Inside, the air was already soaked with her. No amount of open windows or glamours or shielding could stop what her body had become.

A warning.

An invitation.

A challenge.

She threw the lock, braced her back to the door, and slid down to the floor. Her legs trembled. Her pussy pulsed.

Everything inside her felt wound tight. Like her blood had been replaced with heat, with scent, with Omega.

The collar still sat on the desk.

She’d set it there like a dare.

Wren Hallow had never belonged to anyone. Not really. Not even herself.

But the collar said otherwise.

Property of Hallow.

The house she barely remembered. The mother whose face blurred in her mind. The bloodline erased.

But the collar still remembered.

And now, so did her scent.

They came just after sundown.

One by one.

Not all at once. That would’ve been too easy. Too merciful.

The knock was soft.

She didn’t move.

The door creaked open anyway—Dax, holding a student override chip between his fingers, eyes glowing in the dying light.

She rose slowly.

He looked at her like she was prey and salvation in one.

And then he said it. The words that unraveled her.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Her laugh came broken. “Who says I’m alone?”

His gaze dropped—trailing over her bare legs, the oversized shirt clinging damp to her breasts, the scent-heavy air curling like fingers around his neck.

“I felt it,” he whispered. “From down the hall.”

He stepped in, closed the door behind him.

Wren backed away, but not out of fear.

Out of instinct.

Out of desire.

Dax approached slowly, shirt unbuttoned, skin golden from moonlight.

She could feel the pulse of him. The Alpha heat barely leashed. He was fighting it—barely.

“You’re not in heat,” he said. “But you’re close.”

“So leave.”

“I can’t.”

His voice broke a little, like it hurt him to say it.

“I’ve been dreaming of your scent,” he said. “Tasting it in my sleep. I wake up hard and angry and starving. You think that’s normal?”

Wren trembled.

“No.”

“Then stop pretending.” He stepped closer. “We feel it. You. You’re ours.”

He reached out. Brushed the back of his hand down her cheek.

Her skin burned under his touch.

Wren gasped.

Dax’s hand dropped to her hip.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said. “The first time.”

She didn’t answer.

Her body did.

She surged forward—fingers tangling in his shirt, mouth colliding with his. He caught her around the waist, lifting her effortlessly, slamming her against the door.

Their kiss was fire.

Hungry. Reckless. Teeth and tongue and moans.

He bit her bottom lip, growling low.

“You smell like mine.”

His hand slid between her thighs.

She was wet. Soaking. Desperate.

Her head dropped back.

“Dax—”

“I’m not going to knot you,” he said. “Not yet. But gods, I want to.”

He sank to his knees.

Lifted her shirt.

Pressed his mouth to the soft skin of her inner thigh.

“Say yes.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

He groaned.

And then his mouth was on her.

Tongue deep, slow, possessive.

She came in seconds. Screaming. Shaking. Nails clawing at the wood behind her.

He didn’t stop.

He licked her clean, then rose and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“You’re not just any Omega,” he whispered. “You’re the Omega.”

He didn’t stay the night.

Didn’t fuck her.

Didn’t claim her.

Just kissed her one last time, slow and reverent, and whispered:

“Tomorrow, the real heat starts. And we won’t be gentle.”

The collar lay untouched on the desk.

But in her sleep, Wren dreamt she wore it again.

And that it burned her name into her skin.

CHAPTER SIX: THE FIRST TRIAL: OBEDIENCE

They called it a “lesson.”

But Mooncrest didn’t teach in lectures or letters. Not for students like her.

Today’s class wasn’t about history or ethics.

It was about dominance.

About learning your place.

And for Omegas—whether you admitted it or not—that place was below.

The gymnasium had been transformed.

No desks.

No books.

Just open floor, marked in concentric rings of silver paint.

Each ring meant something. Authority. Territory. Submission.

Alphas stood in the center. Betas formed the outer ring.

And somewhere in the space between—stood Wren.

Sweating.

Shaking.

Already scenting.

The room stank of arousal. A dozen pre-heat Omegas. Too many Alphas. And no suppressants allowed.

“Today,” Professor Reeve said, her voice sharp and unforgiving, “you will show us what you are.”

Wren hated the way her stomach clenched.

Reeve wore her hair in a silver braid, her Alpha scent controlled to the edge of pain. She was old blood—rumored to have served as enforcer during the Binding Wars. She believed in hierarchy. And she believed in breaking those who defied it.

“The trial is simple,” Reeve continued. “Alpha issues a command. You obey. Or you prove you deserve to lead.”

Eyes turned.

Dozens of them.

Hungry. Curious.

Wren felt her heartbeat in her throat.

She wasn’t the only one called forward.

They took five students total.

Three Alphas. One Beta boy.

And Wren.

She moved into the ring like a woman walking to her execution.

Her partner was chosen for her.

Kade.

Of course.

She felt him behind her before she even heard his name. That scent—dark, unfiltered aggression—hit her glands like poison.

He stepped into the ring shirtless.

Tattoos winding over muscle. Eyes black as pitch. Hands curled into fists at his sides.

Wren stood straight.

She couldn’t shake. Couldn’t fold.

But her scent betrayed her. Already sweetening, ripening, betraying her Beta lie.

The other students began to murmur.

Reeve gestured sharply.

“Begin.”

Kade didn’t wait.

He circled her.

Once. Twice.

Then he spoke.

“On your knees.”

Her jaw clenched.

A command.

It wasn’t phrased as a request.

And she could feel it—Alpha compulsion, tugging at the base of her spine like a leash.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet.

He stepped closer. “On. Your. Knees.”

“Make me,” she whispered.

The room sucked in a breath.

Kade’s eyes glittered.

He reached forward—too fast—and gripped her throat.

Didn’t squeeze.

Just held.

Dominance rolled off him in waves.

“You’re not even fully in heat,” he said, “and you’re already dripping for me.”

She was.

She hated it.

But she didn’t drop.

Instead, she grabbed his wrist.

Held it.

And said through clenched teeth, “You don’t get to own me.”

Kade’s nostrils flared.

And then—

He shoved her.

She fell.

But not to her knees.

She rolled, came up low, and bit his arm.

Not hard.

Not bleeding.

Just enough.

The air crackled.

Alpha and Omega.

Dominance and defiance.

Her scent went wild—hot, spiced, slick—and the room reacted.

Reeve raised her hand.

“Enough.”

Kade’s breathing was ragged.

He stared at her like she’d just offered him war.

Or foreplay.

After class, she didn’t make it far.

A hand yanked her into a storage room.

The door slammed.

Kade’s body pinned hers to the wall.

“Are you trying to get fucked in public?” he growled.

She didn’t flinch.

“You were supposed to break.”

“I don’t break for anyone.”

He grinned then.

Feral.

Predatory.

“You will.”

Then he dropped his mouth to her neck.

Not biting.

Just hovering.

And whispered, “When the moon rises, I’m going to take you. And you’ll scream for it.”

She arched.

Her body already surrendering even as her mind screamed no.

But he stepped back.

Left her panting.

Alone.

And shaking.

Wren barely made it to her room before the tears came.

Not from fear.

From need.

Raw. Violent. Shameful.

Her scent coated her thighs. Her cunt throbbed with emptiness. And her fingers weren’t enough anymore.

She slid to the floor.

Curled around the collar.

And whispered the only truth she could admit:

“I don’t want to want them.”

But the moon didn’t care what she wanted.

It was coming anyway.

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE FIGHT CLUB

Wren heard the rumors first.

Hushed whispers behind locker doors. A Beta girl sobbing in the shower, bruises shaped like teeth on her thighs. The bloodied towel someone found in the south corridor.

Mooncrest denied everything.

Of course they did.

But in the deep marrow of the school—beneath the dorms, below the labs, hidden under concrete and spell-locked grates—there was a place where Alphas let go.

No teachers. No cameras. No rules.

They called it The Pit.

But everyone else just called it Fight Club.

She shouldn’t have gone.

Every instinct screamed no. Her heat was rising too fast. Her scent was unstable. Her suppressant was gone.

But Kade would be there.

And part of her needed to see him lose control.

To watch what happened when the monster stopped pretending.

Wren followed the map sketched in pencil on the inside of her class notebook. A Beta boy named Ellis had passed it to her without a word—his eyes hollow, his scent laced with fear and arousal. He knew what she was. Everyone did now. Even if no one said it aloud.

She crept past curfew.

Through the old boiler wing.

Down an unlit staircase lined with claw marks.

And then... she heard it.

The roar of a crowd.

The wet slap of fists on flesh.

The snarl of something not fully human.

The Pit was a makeshift arena carved into ancient stone. Candelabras flickered from all sides, throwing shadows that danced like ghosts. Dozens of students ringed the edge—cheering, betting, licking the sweat off their lips.

Most were Alphas.

But some... some were Omegas on the edge of heat, drawn to the violence like moths to fire.

She pressed deeper into the crowd, hood pulled low.

The scent of blood hit her next. Fresh. Hot.

And then—

She saw him.

Kade.

Shirtless. Battered. Glorious.

His body gleamed with sweat and blood, tattoos slick across muscle, his jaw dripping crimson from someone else’s mouth.

He wasn’t fighting.

He was consuming.

Every move was brutal.

Precise.

Made to hurt.

His opponent—a hulking Alpha from the North tower—lunged.

Kade ducked.

Drove his elbow into the guy’s gut so hard Wren swore she felt it in her own spine.

The other Alpha dropped.

Kade didn’t pause.

He straddled him.

Fisted his hair.

And growled at the crowd.

It was primal.

It was a warning.

It was a claim.

And Wren’s scent pulsed in answer.

He froze.

She didn’t even mean to release it—but her glands had minds of their own now.

In the sea of scent and sex and blood, hers rose like incense.

Kade lifted his head.

Found her.

Across dozens of students, he met her gaze.

And he knew.

His eyes flared black.

He rose off his opponent like he didn’t even remember he was there.

And the crowd went dead quiet.

“Wren,” he said.

Just her name.

But the sound of it in that voice—low and hoarse and barely contained—made her thighs clench.

She turned to run.

But Kade was already there.

He didn’t touch her.

Just blocked her path.

“I told you,” he rasped. “When the moon rises...”

Her breath hitched.

“It’s not risen yet.”

He leaned down. Breathed her in.

“You’re close.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Yet.”

She shoved past him.

But his fingers brushed her arm as she fled—and that single touch burned her skin for hours.

She couldn’t sleep.

Every nerve thrummed.

Her core pulsed in waves that made her curl into herself on the bed, panting, wet, needing.

And in her mind?

Kade’s eyes.

Kade’s blood.

Kade’s promise.

She dreamt of the Pit again.

This time she was the one straddled.

This time he didn’t stop.

This time he knotted her.

And when she screamed his name, it wasn’t in pain.

It was in surrender.

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLOOD ON THE FLOOR

They said she slipped.

That her heat hit too hard, too fast, and she collapsed on the stairs outside the East Tower dorms, her glands seeping scent like raw honey down her throat.

They said she clawed her own skin, trying to drag the arousal out.

They said when the Alphas found her, it took three of them to drag her away.

Wren only saw the aftermath.

The streak of blood down the tiles.

The shredded remains of a cardigan—still damp with slick—crumpled at the base of the stairs.

No one said her name.

No one whispered the word Omega out loud.

But Wren knew.

She'd seen the girl once. Her name was Miri.

A quiet thing. Soft-spoken. Always carried lemon candy in her pockets, the Beta students trailing her like loyal puppies.

Now she was gone.

Room 14C stood empty.

Her scent already scrubbed from the walls.

Wren stared at the stain for too long.

She didn’t even realize she was shaking until a voice cut through the static in her head.

“You should be inside.”

Corin.

He stepped out of the shadows near the stairs like he’d been waiting for her. Like he always did.

“You think it won’t happen to you?”

She crossed her arms. “It won’t.”

“You’re not taking suppressants anymore.”

“You were watching me?”

“I’m always watching you.”

The words hit like a confession.

He stepped closer. The air between them shimmered—Alpha to Omega, though neither of them said it.

“I felt it when you came,” he said softly. “At the Pit. You soaked the floor without a single touch.”

Her mouth opened. Closed.

He reached out—touched her wrist, gentle, precise.

Her skin burned.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered.

“Liar.”

She ripped her hand back.

“You’re all the same. Dax, Kade, you—you want to break me.”

“No,” Corin said, stepping close enough that her back hit the wall. “They want to break you. I want to see what happens when you stop pretending you’re already broken.”

His hand grazed her hip.

Not possessive.

Not cruel.

Just... waiting.

She hated that she didn’t move away.

“Why do you care?” she asked, throat tight.

“Because the girl they dragged out of here an hour ago?” He leaned in. “They’ll say she consented. That she needed it. That she begged for it.”

“And she didn’t?”

His voice cracked.

“No. She screamed.”

The blood on the stairs blurred in her vision.

Corin touched her face.

“I don’t want to claim you,” he said. “I want you to survive this.”

Wren’s lips parted.

But before she could speak—

His nose brushed her neck.

He inhaled.

And moaned.

Her slick spiked instantly.

Her knees buckled.

Corin caught her.

Pressed her to the wall with his body.

Held her gaze.

“Tomorrow, you’ll drop.”

“I know.”

“I won’t touch you when you do.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I’ll be the only one who doesn’t.”

The rest of the school pretended nothing happened.

Classes continued. Announcements buzzed overhead. The Dean’s voice rang cheery through the intercom, congratulating students on their progress.

No one mentioned Miri.

No one asked why her scent was missing from the East Wing.

No one asked why Wren couldn’t stop trembling.

Or why her thighs felt slick every time someone said her name.

That night, she didn’t lock the door.

Didn’t hide the collar.

Didn’t masturbate just to fall asleep.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, hands fisted in the sheets.

Waiting.

But no one came.

Not Dax.

Not Kade.

Not even Corin.

She was alone.

Except for the ache.

Except for the heat blooming in her belly like a bruise.

Except for the blood on the floor that smelled like warning.

CHAPTER NINE: THE SECRET IN HER LOCKER

It started with a scent.

Not hers—thank the gods—but something older. Fainter. Worn like memory and dust.

Wren opened her locker after class and froze.

It wasn't the usual mix of soap, ink, and textbook paper.

It was leather.

Worn. Familiar. Intimate.

Her heart thudded.

She pushed aside her sketchbook. Her emergency scent-shielding mist. Her half-eaten granola bar.

And then she saw it.

Tucked at the very back of the locker, behind the false bottom she hadn’t even known existed, was a collar.

Old.

Omega-make.

Dark brown leather, soft with time, the edges scuffed from wear. The scent that clung to it was ancient—faded heat, dried sweat, the ghost of tears.

But it wasn’t just a collar.

It was her name.

Etched into the inner curve in elegant script:

Wrenith Hollow.

Her full name.

Not the alias on her forged Beta documents. Not the half-truth she whispered to herself at night when the glands under her skin throbbed with suppressed identity.

Wrenith.

She hadn’t heard it in years.

Not since her mother disappeared in blood and moonlight.

She stared at the collar like it might vanish if she blinked. Her throat closed. Her pulse slammed through her ears.

Someone put this here.

Someone knows who I am.

Her first instinct was to throw it away.

Bury it. Burn it. Pretend it was a mistake.

But her fingers closed around it instead.

She brought it to her nose.

Sniffed.

And immediately dropped it.

Because beneath the layers of old Omega was something new.

Alpha.

Fresh.

Recent.

Someone had touched it.

Marked it.

Kade.

The scent was unmistakable.

Rough. Dark. Overwhelming.

Possessive.

She barely made it to the girls’ bathroom before the panic took her.

She slammed into a stall, locked it, sank to her knees.

The collar hit the tile.

She followed.

Hands over her mouth.

Breathing too fast.

He knows.

Not just about her heat.

About her bloodline.

About Hollow.

It wasn’t a name. Not really.

It was a legacy.

A prophecy.

A curse.

She’d been hidden for a reason.

Erased. Suppressed.

Why now?

Why him?

She didn’t hear the door open.

But she smelled him.

Kade.

Alpha.

Sweat and blood and danger.

She stood up too fast, slamming her back into the stall door.

“I can’t be here,” she hissed. “You can’t be here—this is the—”

He kicked the stall open.

She stumbled back.

He stepped inside.

Closed it behind him.

It was too small. Too hot.

Their bodies nearly touching.

Her scent spiked.

So did his.

“I left you a gift,” he said.

She stared at him.

“You put that in my locker?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He reached up.

Tugged the scarf from her neck.

She gasped as cool air hit her bare scent gland.

He didn’t touch it.

Just looked.

“I wanted to see what you'd do.”

Wren’s knees went weak.

“This is a game to you?”

“No.” His voice dropped. “This is survival. Yours. Mine. Ours.”

She shook her head.

“I don’t want—”

“You do.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

He stepped closer. Caged her in.

“I’ve fucked dozens of girls in heat,” he whispered. “I’ve knotted them. Bitten them. Made them howl.”

Her body throbbed.

“But you?” he said, fingers brushing her throat, hovering above her gland. “You’re going to ruin me.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“You’re shaking.”

“You scare me,” she admitted.

“Good.”

He kissed her.

Hard.

Open-mouthed.

Wet.

Her hands went to his chest to shove him away—but instead curled in his shirt.

He pulled back an inch.

“I won’t take you yet.”

Her lip trembled.

“I’ll wait for the moon. For your heat.”

His fingers brushed her slick inner thigh where it soaked through her uniform skirt.

“But when it comes,” he said, “I’m not asking.”

Then he turned.

Left her trembling in the stall, heart pounding, panties soaked.

Alone with a collar that held her true name.

And a body screaming to be claimed.

CHAPTER TEN: CORIN’S WARNING

He found her in the greenhouse.

Of all the places she could run, Wren had gone there—amongst the thorned vines and black orchids, where the air was thick with dew and slow, heavy heat. The scent of blooming magic tried to smother her rising arousal, but it couldn’t touch the fire spreading beneath her skin.

She wasn’t safe anymore.

Not from the Alphas.

Not from herself.

And not from Corin.

He didn’t make a sound as he entered.

She only knew he was there when her spine prickled, when the air shifted—still, colder, sharp with him.

She didn’t turn around.

“You followed me.”

“You smell like you're unraveling,” he said. “I didn’t need to follow. I just breathed.”

Her hands trembled over the lip of the stone planter. Dirt clung to her nails. Anything to ground her. Anything to keep her from trembling.

“I’m holding it together.”

“Barely.”

The distance between them was gone in three slow steps. He stopped behind her, not touching, not even brushing the fabric of her blouse—but she felt him. The heat of him. The weight of his restraint.

“You need to leave this place,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“You think you have a choice?”

His voice wasn’t cruel. It was precise. Icy. Like a scalpel slicing toward the truth.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered.

“I do.” His breath brushed the shell of her ear. “Because I’ve seen it.”

She turned then.

Met his eyes.

“What did you see?”

He studied her.

Then said, “You. Dying.”

Wren’s mouth went dry.

“In my dreams,” he continued. “Visions. Before you ever set foot in Mooncrest. Before I even knew your name.”

Her throat constricted.

“In the vision,” he said slowly, “you were on fire. Bleeding. Screaming. But your body wasn’t broken. You weren’t begging. You were glowing.”

She took a step back. He followed.

“You were calling down the moon.”

“That’s—”

“Impossible? Myth? So is you.”

Wren shook her head, but her body betrayed her—slick coating her thighs, scent rising between them like steam.

“You’re Hollow,” Corin said. “The last of the Moon Wives. The prophecy buried so deep it became a ghost story.”

“No—”

“You’re the reason the Council's afraid.”

His hands didn’t touch her. But his words did.

“Your heat won’t just draw us. It will burn us. Break us. Bind us.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this.”

He nodded.

“And yet, here you are.”

She backed into the table. Pots rattled. Dirt spilled. She clutched the edge like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Corin’s eyes dropped to her mouth.

“You think Dax will protect you?”

Her breath hitched.

“You think Kade won’t own you the second you drop?”

He leaned in. Finally. Close enough that his chest brushed hers. Barely.

“You think I’ll be gentle?”

She didn’t answer.

Because her body did. Her nipples peaked beneath her blouse. Her scent flared. Her thighs shifted to ease the throb.

Corin’s breath shook.

“You’re not ready.”

“I will be.”

He gritted his teeth. “I won’t touch you until you beg.”

“I won’t beg.”

He smiled then.

A sharp, dangerous thing.

“You will. And I’ll wait. Because once you’re mine, there’s no going back.”

He left without touching her.

And somehow that was worse.

Because her body screamed.

And her mind broke in quiet, shaking pieces.

That night, she sat on her bed with the collar in her lap.

Wrenith Hollow.

The name no one was supposed to know.

But they did.

Corin saw her.

Kade marked her.

Dax kissed her like he was already inside her.

And tomorrow?

The tri-moon would rise.

And she would fall.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE NIGHT OF TRUTH

The moon crested like a blade through velvet sky—silver, sharp, and full of promises it had no intention of keeping.

Not just one moon. Three.

Aligned in perfect union.

The tri-moon.

The old blood whispered about it. The scriptures buried in Omega-only vaults named it as the unbinding. A rare convergence where bonds forged by flesh unraveled—and truths, no matter how hidden, bled free.

Wren’s body had been waiting for this.

Suffering.

Starving.

Suppressants? Gone.

Barriers? Shattered.

Tonight, her heat began.

And no amount of denial would stop it.

She made it back to Room 12B.

Barely.

Her legs gave out the moment she closed the door. She collapsed to the floor, fingers clawing at her clothes. Everything hurt—her skin, her scent glands, her slick-soaked thighs.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Just burned.

It started in her belly. A low heat, curling outward like smoke and flame. Then it rose through her chest, wrapping around her throat like a noose, until all she could do was pant through it.

She stripped.

Not gracefully.

Desperately.

Shirt. Bra. Skirt. Panties.

Everything off.

She crawled to the bed and collapsed on the mattress, thighs splayed, body shaking, mouth open on a moan she couldn’t bite back.

Omega.

The word sang in her blood now.

It wasn’t a role. It wasn’t a designation.

It was truth.

Every inch of her wanted.

Every breath was a plea.

Every cell screamed take me.

And the school heard.

Not just the students.

Not just the Alphas.

But the walls.

Mooncrest was built on blood and prophecy. It knew what Wren was. Knew what she would become.

And now, every Alpha in the building felt it.

Felt her.

The first to answer was Dax.

She didn’t hear him enter.

Just felt his presence—sudden, overwhelming, heavy with dominance and need.

“Wren,” he groaned. “Oh fuck... Wren.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

He stood at the foot of her bed, shirtless, eyes wild, chest heaving.

Her scent must’ve dragged him from across the campus.

She tried to speak. Failed.

He crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees beside the bed.

“You’re in full heat.”

She nodded, tears slipping down her temples.

“I can’t—” she gasped. “It hurts.”

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “I know.”

He kissed her knee.

Then her thigh.

Then lower.

Slow.

Reverent.

His tongue brushed her slick folds, and she screamed.

Not from pain.

From relief.

He licked her like worship, his fingers gripping her hips to hold her still as she bucked beneath him. Her thighs clenched. Her back arched. Her voice broke open.

And still, he didn’t stop.

He drank her down like he’d been dying of thirst.

Until her body shattered.

Until she came so hard she sobbed.

But it wasn’t enough.

The heat didn’t fade.

The ache only deepened.

“More,” she begged. “Please. Dax, please.”

He climbed over her, lips shiny with her slick, eyes blown wide with lust and restraint.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, trembling. “Once I start—I can’t stop.”

She pulled him down.

Wrapped her legs around his waist.

And whispered, “Knot me.”

He growled—low and broken—and slammed into her.

She cried out, pleasure and pressure exploding inside her.

He thrust deep and hard, every stroke a claim, every groan a vow.

“You’re mine,” he gasped against her throat. “I waited—I waited for this.”

She was too far gone to answer.

Too full. Too stretched. Too fucking complete.

His teeth grazed her scent gland.

She gasped, arched, nodded.

And he bit.

Hard.

The bond seared through her.

Fire and stars and scent and yes.

She came again.

He did too—his knot swelling, locking them together.

He moaned her name like a prayer.

And then collapsed on top of her, panting.

But it wasn’t over.

Because the door creaked again.

And Kade stood there.

His eyes black. His hands clenched.

His teeth bared.

Dax looked up. Still buried in her.

Still knotted.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “He followed it too.”

Wren couldn’t move.

Could barely breathe.

But her body? Her scent?

It begged again.

For more.

Kade stepped inside.

And locked the door.

CHAPTER TWELVE: EXPOSED

The door clicked shut behind Kade.

The sound echoed through Room 12B like a final sentence. Not a question. Not a warning.

Wren lay sprawled on the bed, body slick with sweat and Dax’s seed, her thighs trembling, chest rising in sharp little gasps. Her skin glowed with heat. Her scent filled every breath.

And Kade breathed it in like a starving man.

Dax was still buried inside her.

Still locked at the knot.

Still panting.

Still hard.

“Don’t,” he warned, voice low, guttural.

But Kade didn’t stop.

He stalked forward—deliberate and slow—his shirt long gone, boots heavy on the warped wood, scent rolling off him in thick waves of fury and want.

Wren whimpered.

Her head lolled to the side.

Her eyes met his.

And her body responded.

A fresh gush of slick wet her thighs.

Dax felt it. Groaned.

Kade’s mouth twisted.

“You let him mark you.”

Wren couldn’t speak.

Could only feel.

Everything hurt, and still—it wasn’t enough.

“I told you I’d be first,” Kade growled.

He reached the bed and grabbed the footboard. His knuckles turned white.

“But no,” he whispered. “You opened your legs for the golden boy.”

“Kade, she’s in heat,” Dax rasped. “You want to help her, fine. But don’t come in here like you didn’t smell her begging the whole damn school.”

Kade’s jaw clenched. He looked down at her.

Wren reached for him.

Not because she chose.

Because her body did.

Because her scent screamed for another knot.

Because something primal inside her knew: one wasn’t enough.

She needed all of them.

Kade tore his pants open with one hand.

His cock sprang free—thick, veined, already swollen.

“No biting,” Dax growled, still locked inside her. “She can’t take two bonds at once.”

“I don’t plan to bite,” Kade snarled.

He gripped her chin, forced her to look at him.

“You’re going to remember this,” he said.

Then he dropped his hand between her legs—just below Dax’s knot—and found her entrance.

Still wet.

Still open.

Still needy.

Wren gasped, moaned, trembled.

She should’ve said no.

But instead, she arched.

Welcomed him.

Kade slid inside in one brutal thrust.

Dax groaned, still locked in place.

Wren screamed.

Pleasure.

Pain.

Ecstasy.

Too much.

Kade drove into her.

Deep.

Ruthless.

His hand gripped her throat.

“You want to be used?” he hissed. “Then take it.”

He pounded harder.

Dax gritted his teeth. “Don’t break her.”

“I’ll fix her.”

Their scents tangled in the air—citrus and violence, gold and fury.

Wren broke again.

Came so hard her vision shattered.

Kade didn’t stop.

He fucked her through it.

Fast. Bruising. Merciless.

And when he finally groaned, “I’m gonna—fuck—”

She came again.

Screaming his name.

His knot swelled.

Popped inside her.

And locked.

Double-knotted.

Her body seized.

Her heat roared.

And then—

The alarms screamed.

Red lights flared.

The door blasted open.

The scent of Omega heat hit the corridor like a bomb.

And every Alpha within a hundred feet lost control.

“She's been marked!”

“Two knots!”

“She’s unregistered—Omega!”

Security poured into the room.

Elders. Enforcers. Staff.

Corin arrived last.

His eyes fell on her.

Bare. Slick. Knotted by two Alphas.

Her eyes met his.

And in them, she saw the third claim waiting.

The Dean’s voice thundered over the speaker system:

“Wrenith Hollow. You are hereby exposed.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE CLAIM CHALLENGE

The Council wasted no time.

One moment Wren was limp between two still-knotted Alphas, her body shuddering through the aftershocks of being filled, bitten, used. The next, she was dragged out of Room 12B wrapped in a torn sheet, collarless, slick-slicked thighs trembling with every step.

The tri-moon glowed high above.

Mocking her.

Witnessing her.

And every step through the halls of Mooncrest felt like a parade through heat-soaked shame.

Except… she wasn’t ashamed.

Not really.

Her body still pulsed with residual craving. Her glands throbbed. Her cunt—still swollen, wet, needy—betrayed her again as fresh slick warmed her inner thighs with every breath.

The suppressants were long gone.

The mask was off.

She was Omega.

Undeniably.

Unforgivably.

The Council chamber was a cold stone circle surrounded by enchanted ironwood chairs. Seven Elders, all Alpha. Their scent was muted by spells, but not enough. Wren’s head swam.

She was made to kneel in the center on a black fur rug that smelled of old blood and colder justice.

Dax stood to her right, jaw tight, eyes defiant.

Kade flanked her left, face blank but fists clenched.

And then… Corin stepped forward.

Not beside her.

Not behind her.

But across from her.

The unclaimed.

Still untouched.

Still watching.

He didn’t speak.

Just stared.

And she knew.

He wanted to claim her too.

The Dean raised her hand.

An old Alpha, her hair woven with moonstones, her face lined with the weight of law.

“Wrenith Hollow,” she began, voice echoing, “you stand accused of fraud, concealment of designation, and disruption of the peace under heat protocols.”

Wren didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Her voice had been stripped from her by knot after knot, orgasm after orgasm.

“Furthermore,” the Dean continued, “you have been marked—once by force, once by consent—and you have not declared a bonded mate.”

Dax stepped forward. “She chose me.”

Kade snarled. “She took me.”

Corin’s voice cut through them both.

“She hasn’t chosen yet.”

Silence.

Wren turned her head slowly.

Met Corin’s eyes.

“I didn’t bite her,” he said, voice quiet, calm, terrifying in its control. “Because I’m not like you.”

“You think that makes you noble?” Dax snapped.

“No,” Corin answered. “It makes me patient.”

The Dean raised a hand.

“Enough.”

She turned to Wren.

“Omega, under the Old Law—when multiple Alphas lay claim—an unbonded Omega may invoke the Challenge.”

Wren blinked.

“What does that mean?”

The Dean’s mouth was a line.

“You may permit them to compete for your claim. Publicly. Ritualistically. With rules, or without.”

Kade stepped forward immediately.

“No rules.”

Dax growled. “She’s not a prize to fight over.”

But Wren…

Her blood pulsed at the words.

Compete.

Claim.

Choose.

She’d never had that before.

Her life had been forged, forced, hidden.

Now she could decide.

And something in her wanted to watch them burn for her.

Wren lifted her chin.

“Challenge accepted.”

The room gasped.

Corin stepped forward at last.

“No biting?”

Her gaze met his.

And held.

“Not yet.”

They took her to the Binding Arena.

An underground space hidden beneath Mooncrest’s oldest spire—where Alphas had once dueled over territory, blood, and mates.

Tonight, it belonged to her.

She stood in the center in a sheer slip, barefoot, heat rising in curls of steam around her skin. Her scent—ripe and endless—coated every surface.

The bleachers were full.

Betas whispered.

Omegas trembled.

Alphas held their mates tighter.

And Dax, Kade, Corin stood at the edge of the circle.

Waiting for the bell.

Waiting for her.

The Dean’s voice boomed across the chamber:

“Under tri-moon. Under blood. Under fire.”

“The Omega has invoked the Challenge.”

The bell rang.

And they charged.

Kade reached her first.

Grabbed her wrist.

Pulled her flush against his chest.

Growled, “Mine.”

Then Dax slammed into him from the side, knocking him back, fist flying.

They grappled.

Clawed.

Bit.

Fought.

Wren’s breath came in gasps.

The scent of testosterone and slick and fury bloomed.

Corin didn’t move.

He waited.

Watched.

And when both Dax and Kade stumbled, panting, bruised, desperate—

Corin walked to her.

Took her hand.

Pulled her to him.

And whispered, “Choose.”

Her heart pounded.

The crowd held their breath.

And Wren—dripping, swollen, feral—looked at each of them.

Kade. Dax. Corin.

“I choose…” she whispered.

Then collapsed.

Her heat surged.

Her body broke.

And the tri-moon roared in the sky above.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: FERAL HEAT

The world burned red.

Wren came to on silk sheets, her body already writhing, soaked in sweat and slick, her hands clutching at nothing, her thighs splayed wide by instinct. Her mouth was open on a sob she couldn’t shape into words. The tri-moon’s light bled through high windows, casting silver across her bare skin.

She was Omega now.

Fully.

Utterly.

Undeniably.

There were no more questions. No more pills. No more pretending to be average, to be normal, to be safe.

And her body—every cell, every nerve, every wet, throbbing inch—was a living beacon of need.

She had been placed in the Containment Suite.

Heat-proof walls.

Silencing spells.

Spell-sealed door.

No escape.

Just one rule:

She would not be alone.

She barely had time to turn her head before the first scent hit her.

Dax.

Warm, golden, Alpha.

He entered slowly, cautiously, like someone approaching a wild, half-broken thing.

But his eyes were already black.

His chest rose and fell in rough pulls.

His shirt clung to him, soaked with sweat.

And his pupils dilated the second he took in her scent.

“Wren,” he rasped. “Gods... you’re glowing.”

She whimpered, arching off the bed as another wave of heat rolled through her.

Her skin ached to be touched.

Her cunt pulsed, desperate, empty, greedy.

Dax was beside her in an instant, stripping off his clothes in blind, hungry movements.

“I told them I’d go first,” he said. “Told them I’d be gentle.”

Wren didn’t want gentle.

She wanted to be filled.

She reached for him, moaning, nails dragging down his back as he hovered over her.

His cock was already hard—thick, flushed, leaking.

She spread her legs without shame.

Without hesitation.

He sank into her in one slow, deep thrust.

Wren screamed.

Dax groaned, burying his face in her neck.

“I can’t—I can’t hold back.”

“Don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t hold anything.”

He moved.

Deep.

Precise.

Rhythmic.

And her body answered, clenching around him, slick coating them both, her breath shattering in broken moans.

Every thrust pushed her higher.

Every growl made her burn.

And when he bit her again—not deep, not bonding, just pressure—she came so violently she nearly blacked out.

But she didn’t want him to stop.

Couldn’t bear it.

“More,” she begged. “Please—more.”

Dax’s knot began to swell.

He tried to pull out.

She clawed at him.

“No. Knot me.”

He kissed her, wild and messy.

“I’ll knot you, baby. I’ll fill you so full you forget every name but mine.”

He did.

It stretched her wide.

Locked them together.

And when he came—deep and long and primal—Wren sobbed with pleasure, her body milking him for everything.

They lay like that for minutes, panting, tangled.

And then—

The door opened again.

Kade.

Naked.

Panting.

Eyes black with rage.

His cock was already hard.

Already leaking.

And his scent?

Violent.

“Get off her,” he snarled.

Dax didn’t move.

“She needs rest.”

“She needs me.”

Kade was on them before the knot even deflated.

He didn’t wait.

Didn’t ask.

Didn’t care.

He shoved Dax aside.

Tore Wren’s legs open again.

And slammed into her.

She shrieked—half pain, half pleasure.

Dax cursed, crawling back.

But Kade didn’t stop.

He grabbed her throat, stared into her eyes, and fucked her like he hated her.

Like he owned her.

Like he was trying to mark her with every inch of his cock.

And she—

She loved it.

Came again.

Slick gushed.

Kade growled, biting her shoulder—not bonding, not yet, but hard enough to bruise.

“You’re mine,” he said. “You hear me? Mine.”

Then he knotted her.

And came like a beast.

Roaring her name.

Later, when she was sore and shaking and still dripping from both of them—

The third door opened.

Corin.

Silent.

Composed.

And untouched.

Wren looked at him through half-lidded eyes, body used and open and still aching.

He stepped inside.

Closed the door.

And said, “Now it’s my turn.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: DAX BINDS HER FIRST

She didn’t remember sleeping.

She only remembered heat—savage, molten, unending—and them: Dax’s hands, Kade’s snarl, Corin’s stare.

By the time she woke, she was no longer on the bed.

She was in Dax’s lap, her thighs spread across his, his arms wrapped around her back like he’d die if he let go.

They were on the floor now. The mattress was soaked, destroyed. Her body was sore, dripping, slick with the memory of too many orgasms to count.

And yet—

The hunger hadn’t faded.

It had only deepened.

Her head fell against Dax’s chest, breathing in the scent of musk and citrus and Alpha.

He shifted.

Kissed her temple.

“You awake, baby?”

She nodded.

Barely.

“Still hurting?”

“Still burning.”

His arms tightened.

And then he said it.

“I want to bond you.”

Her breath caught.

“Now?”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. His gaze was open, honest, tender.

“I want to be the first. Before Kade. Before Corin. Before anyone else stakes a deeper claim.”

She should’ve said no.

She should’ve thought about the implications.

About what it would mean to belong to someone in the oldest, truest sense.

But Wren was past sense.

Past strategy.

Her body still trembled.

Her scent glands were swollen, throbbing just beneath the skin.

And Dax’s eyes were nothing but worship.

She tilted her head.

Exposed her neck.

And whispered, “Do it.”

His growl was low.

Raw.

He turned her gently, settling her on her hands and knees across his thighs, kissing her shoulder, her spine, the back of her neck.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “So fucking perfect.”

She felt him harden again.

Felt the blunt heat of his cock against her folds.

She moaned, low and helpless.

He pushed into her slowly, inch by inch, until he bottomed out with a gasp.

“Gods,” he groaned. “You’re still soaking.”

“I need it,” she whispered. “I need you.”

He moved in slow, deep thrusts, rolling his hips with precision, coaxing more slick from her, drawing out her pleasure like silk through fingers.

And then—

His mouth found her gland.

She tensed.

“Dax—”

“Shh. Just feel.”

And then—

He bit.

Hard.

Deep.

A perfect puncture over her scent gland.

The pain bloomed white-hot.

The pleasure followed like thunder.

Bond formed.

Her body seized.

Her cunt clenched.

Her scent exploded.

And she came with a scream.

Dax growled against her throat, his knot swelling inside her, locking them together as his come flooded her again.

It was different this time.

More than physical.

The bond seared through her blood, tethering them.

She felt him inside her mind now.

His need.

His love.

His possessiveness.

His joy.

She sobbed into the sheets, overwhelmed.

And he held her.

“Mine now,” he whispered. “Always mine.”

They lay like that for what felt like hours.

Wren limp. Marked. Full.

Dax nuzzling her hair, fingers stroking lazy circles into her hips.

But the air shifted again.

Another presence.

Not Kade.

Not Corin.

Someone colder.

Older.

Wren’s head lifted.

The door creaked.

And an Enforcer stood there—one of the Elders’ personal guards.

His expression was unreadable.

His eyes locked on her bared throat.

On the bite.

On the bond.

“You’ve made your first choice,” he said.

Wren said nothing.

Couldn’t speak.

“Then prepare,” he said, “to face the consequences.”

Dax growled behind her.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

The Enforcer didn’t flinch.

“Under the law, once an Omega accepts her first mate… the Challenge escalates.”

Wren’s stomach dropped.

Escalates?

“From this moment forward,” the Enforcer said, “any Alpha who wishes to complete the bond must prove themselves.”

“How?” Dax snarled.

The Enforcer looked at Wren.

Then answered:

“They must break her again.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: KADE BREAKS THE RULES

They didn’t wait.

Not even an hour passed after the Enforcer’s words before Wren found herself alone in the Containment Suite again—Dax pulled away reluctantly, his mark still fresh, his knot still soft inside her as he was ordered out by Mooncrest law.

“Rest,” he’d whispered. “I’ll come back for you.”

She believed him.

But heat didn’t care about rest.

It curled tighter now, coils of fire beneath her skin. The bond with Dax had eased the edge—but it hadn’t sated it. Not fully.

Her glands still throbbed. Her slick still ran. Her thighs stuck together with it.

And her need was louder now.

Worse.

Like claiming one Alpha had thrown open something deeper, something bottomless.

She was marked.

But she wasn’t finished.

They’d told her she’d get one night to recover.

One.

But they forgot to warn Kade.

Or maybe he never gave a fuck about rules.

The door didn’t creak this time.

It slammed open.

Wren gasped, sitting up from the floor, sheets tangled around her sweat-slicked body.

“Kade—?”

He was already on her.

Naked. Hard. Burning.

No preamble.

No restraint.

He grabbed her wrist, twisted her around, and slammed her against the mattress.

“You let him mark you,” he snarled.

Wren’s heart pounded.

“You weren’t—there—”

“Don’t care,” he spat. “You knew what I wanted.”

“You didn’t ask.”

He leaned down, nose brushing her jaw. His voice turned dark. Lethal.

“I don’t ask.”

Her body responded before her mind could scream.

Her scent spiked—needy, wild.

Kade growled.

“You still want it,” he hissed.

“I’m—”

“Shut up.”

He dragged her hips back. Tore the sheets from beneath her.

Her legs spread on instinct, dripping onto the ruined fabric below.

And Kade sank into her with a single, brutal thrust.

She screamed.

Pleasure. Pain. Heat.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Didn’t let her catch her breath.

He fucked her like he meant to erase Dax’s scent from her skin.

“Mine,” he snarled.

“You’re too late,” she panted.

His hand wrapped around her throat.

His hips slammed into hers.

“You think his little bond keeps you from needing more?” he growled. “You think one knot is enough?”

He thrust harder.

Deeper.

She sobbed.

“No.”

“Then say it.”

She whimpered.

“Say you want me.”

“I—I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you—Kade, fuck—please.”

He bent forward.

Bit at her shoulder.

Her gland.

Didn’t mark.

But threatened.

“You feel how full you still are?” he whispered into her ear. “Still empty, even with Dax’s knot? You were made for more than one Alpha.”

She came then.

Soaked him.

Clawed at the bed.

Screamed his name.

And Kade groaned, buried himself deeper—

And knotted.

It hurt.

Beautifully.

His knot was thicker than Dax’s, stretching her wide, locking them together.

And still he moved.

Small, grinding thrusts that made her thighs shake.

He filled her.

Over and over.

Until she went boneless.

Until her mouth only formed gasps.

Until she passed out.

When she woke, he was still there.

Still inside her.

Still hard.

Still angry.

And staring at the ceiling like he’d made a mistake.

“I wasn’t supposed to come,” he muttered.

She reached for him.

Tired. Raw.

But wanting.

“You did.”

He looked down.

Eyes softening for the first time.

His fingers brushed her cheek.

“I’m not like him,” he said.

“I know.”

“He’s light.”

“You’re fire.”

His knot pulsed once.

And she smiled.

Then—

The door opened.

Corin.

He didn’t flinch at the sight of her used.

Didn’t speak.

Just looked at her.

Then at Kade.

Then said:

“Get off her.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: CORIN REFUSES

The heat was still there.

Thick. Merciless. Insatiable.

Wren lay sprawled across the wrecked mattress, her skin streaked with sweat, her thighs glistening, her cunt sore and swollen from two knots in one day. Her body should’ve been limp, finished, done.

But it wasn’t.

Because Corin was in the room now.

And her scent rose to meet him like worship.

Kade didn’t move at first.

Still knotted inside her. Still flushed with territorial rage.

His jaw clenched. His grip on her hip tightened.

“You’re not her mate,” he growled.

Corin took a step closer, his expression unreadable. “Neither are you.”

“I knotted her.”

“She didn’t mark you.”

“She didn’t stop me.”

Corin’s gaze flicked to Wren.

She met his eyes.

And even through the exhaustion, through the wet ache and the pounding arousal still dragging at her spine, she knew what she saw in him wasn’t just control.

It was reverence.

“Kade,” she whispered.

He looked down at her.

“She needs to breathe,” Corin said.

“I can smell her,” Kade snarled. “She’s not done.”

“She will be,” Corin said. “But not like this.”

Kade hesitated.

Then—growling, cursing—he slowly pulled free.

His knot popped with a wet, obscene sound that made Wren whimper.

Slick followed.

Too much.

She trembled, her thighs falling open, overstimulated and still starving.

Kade stood. Glared at Corin. “You don’t have the strength to take her.”

Corin didn’t blink. “I don’t need strength.”

Kade stormed out, scent like gunpowder and fury trailing behind him.

The door slammed.

And for a moment, the room was silent.

Just Wren.

And Corin.

He didn’t move toward her right away.

Didn’t shed his clothes.

Didn’t drop to his knees like the others had.

He stood at the edge of the bed.

Watching.

She blinked at him. Her throat felt raw. Her cunt was dripping. Her heat still howled.

“Are you… going to knot me?” she asked, voice cracked and desperate.

“No.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

Corin moved finally.

Sat on the bed beside her.

Lifted her wrist.

Held it in his hand.

“No knot. No bite. Not yet.”

“But—I—” She choked on a moan as another pulse of heat rolled through her. “I need—”

“You think you do,” he said gently. “But your body’s been torn open and fucked by two Alphas who think they can claim you by force or pleasure.”

Wren flinched.

Corin leaned over her.

Brushed sweat-matted curls from her cheek.

“You think you’re nothing but scent and slick and glands right now. But I see what’s underneath.”

She shivered.

“I see you.”

Her lip trembled. “Then why won’t you touch me?”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Because the moment I do, it’s forever.”

He traced his fingers along her collarbone.

Slow.

Barely touching.

And yet she burned hotter than ever.

“I want you begging,” he murmured.

“I already am.”

“No.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I want your soul crawling for mine.”

She sobbed.

And he kissed her.

Not lustful.

Not possessive.

But deep.

Reverent.

His mouth slid over hers with unbearable patience.

And when she tried to pull him down, wrap her legs around him, drag him into her—

He pulled away.

“I’ll be your last,” he whispered. “Not your next.”

And then he left.

Just like that.

Leaving her open.

Wet.

Unclaimed.

And ruined in a way no knot had managed.

That night, Wren didn’t sleep.

She lay in silence, fingers curled in the bedsheets, still aching, still desperate.

But it wasn’t for another orgasm.

Not for another Alpha.

It was for him.

Because Corin hadn’t knotted her.

Hadn’t marked her.

Hadn’t fucked her.

And still…

She’d never felt more owned.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: PUNISHMENT COUNCIL

The summons came at dawn.

Delivered by a Beta in crisp gray robes, eyes pointedly averted, scent muddled beneath layers of deodorizing charm.

Wren lay curled in the Containment Suite’s wreckage—her body aching, her throat sore, her skin still slick with the fading scent of Dax and Kade. The bedding was beyond repair. Her thighs trembled when she tried to rise, still swollen, still tender.

Still in heat.

The ache was quieter now. Less of a scream, more of a pulse.

But it hadn’t ended.

Not fully.

It wouldn't—not until all three of them had knotted her.

And Corin still hadn’t come back.

The Council’s chamber was colder this time.

Colder than before.

The seven Elders sat in silence, robes stiffer, gazes more condemning. The room smelled of judgment. Authority. A hunger that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with power.

Wren stood in the center, wrapped in a simple linen robe someone had thrown over her bruised body. Her hair clung to her damp neck. Her scent glands still pulsed beneath the fabric.

Everyone in the room smelled it.

No one mentioned it.

Until the Dean spoke.

“Wrenith Hollow. Unregistered Omega. Former Beta-class scholarship recipient. Do you acknowledge your transgressions?”

Her voice rang like steel over stone.

Wren raised her chin.

“I acknowledge my designation.”

Murmurs rose around the circle.

“Do you deny falsifying your documents to gain entrance into Mooncrest?”

Wren’s fists clenched.

“I did what I had to do to survive.”

One of the Elders sneered. “And to manipulate Alpha students into a frenzy?”

“They came to me.”

“You provoked them.”

“You kept me here,” she snapped. “Without access to medical suppressants. Without a bonded mate. Without protection.”

The room went silent.

The Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“You were not authorized to bond.”

“I was in heat.” Wren’s voice cracked. “You would have let me die on that mattress.”

“An Omega's duty is to serve the Order,” one of the Elders said. “Not to unravel it.”

Wren’s laughter was bitter. Hollow.

“Then why did you bury me as a Beta? Why let me in at all?”

Another silence.

Uncomfortable. Heavy.

Because they didn’t expect her to survive this long.

They expected her to break.

To be marked quietly.

Controlled.

Owned.

Instead… she’d become visible.

Visible was dangerous.

The Dean leaned forward.

“Your scholarship is hereby revoked.”

Wren didn’t flinch.

“You will be removed from Beta coursework.”

“I never belonged there anyway.”

The Dean’s expression darkened.

“You are forbidden from using Council-sanctioned suppressants unless under direct Alpha supervision.”

Wren’s stomach turned.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you are no longer autonomous. Your biology has spoken. Your body has chosen. The Alphas may now compete for your exclusive bond.”

Wren's mouth opened.

Shut.

Then—

“Am I being expelled?”

Another pause.

The Elders glanced among themselves.

Then the Dean spoke.

“No. But you are now under evaluation.”

Wren blinked.

“What kind of evaluation?”

The Elder with the sharpest jawline leaned forward.

“The kind that determines if an Omega of your… temperament… is fit to remain within Mooncrest society at all.”

She was escorted from the chamber by two Enforcers.

Neither touched her.

Neither spoke.

But their silence screamed.

Later, Dax found her sitting in the old rose garden behind the East Wing.

Still in her robe.

Still shaking.

She didn’t look up as he knelt beside her.

“They’re afraid of you,” he said.

“Good.”

He took her hand.

Held it.

“You’re not alone.”

“I’m marked,” she said flatly. “They think I’m infected.”

“You’re not.”

“Not yet,” she said.

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She turned to him.

Eyes full of slow-burning rage.

“Because I haven’t broken their rules. Not all of them. Not yet.”

That night, she found a note tucked into the hem of her fresh robe.

In Corin’s handwriting.

Three words:

Don’t let them chain you.

CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE OMEGA UNDERGROUND

They waited until midnight to find her.

Mooncrest had rules—hundreds of them. Curfews, scent restrictions, bonded access codes, surveillance enchantments. But there were always cracks in the walls.

And Omegas knew how to slip through cracks.

Wren was walking the west corridor, alone, her scent still clinging to her like a warning sign, when she heard the whisper:

“Room 0. East Wing sublevel.”

A girl’s voice. Quiet. Urgent. Vanished before Wren could turn her head.

She didn’t hesitate.

Room 0 didn’t exist on the maps.

She passed the laundry room, the old potion lab, the boiler room. None of them had doors marked with zeroes. But the further she went, the more the air changed.

Cooler. Older.

And then—behind a rusted linen closet door—she found it.

A spiral staircase, hidden in shadow.

Wren didn’t question.

She descended.

It smelled different down there.

Not like sweat or arousal or sterile corridors.

It smelled like freedom.

Like fire and steel and lavender-slicked skin.

And when she stepped through the arched threshold, she found them:

Omegas.

A dozen at least.

Lounging on velvet couches, sprawled across pillows, laughing softly, sipping from vials.

None of them wore collars.

None of them had bite marks.

But all of them were unmistakably Omega.

Wren froze.

One of them stood—tall, black braids coiled down her back, violet eyes gleaming.

“You must be the Hollow girl.”

Wren nodded slowly.

“You’ve heard of me?”

The woman smiled. Not kindly.

“We’ve all heard of you.”

Another girl with copper hair snorted. “She’s the one who got double-knotted in the suite and still had the Dean’s blood pressure rising.”

“She’s the one who bonded Dax and made Kade go feral.”

“She’s the one Corin won’t touch.”

The braided girl stepped closer.

“My name’s Lys.”

Wren licked her dry lips. “What is this place?”

Lys tilted her head.

“This?” She smiled. “This is the Hollow Wing.”

Wren blinked.

“The what?”

“It used to be part of the original Omega housing—before the council decided to stuff us in towers and treat us like livestock. We found it years ago. Cleared the curses. Made it our own.”

Wren stared.

“You live here?”

Lys nodded.

“We stay underground. Unbonded. Free.”

“But—how do you survive heat?”

Lys shrugged. “With each other. With potions. With self-control.”

Another Omega—this one with silver piercings in her brow—chimed in. “Sometimes we knot each other with toys just to get through the worst of it.”

Wren flushed.

And the copper-haired girl giggled. “Don’t worry. We won’t jump you.”

Lys grew serious.

“But we wanted to meet you. Because they won’t let you stay unclaimed for long. Not now. Not when you’ve broken their script.”

“They’ll either collar you,” someone whispered, “or cage you.”

Wren felt her heart hammer.

“I won’t be caged.”

Lys nodded. “Then you need to understand something.”

She leaned in.

Voice low.

Urgent.

“There’s a reason the council wants to hide you. You’re not just another Omega, Wren.”

“You’re the Hollow Omega.”

Wren blinked.

“What does that mean?”

Lys pointed to a tapestry woven into the stone wall—faded, fraying, depicting a moon split into three crescents above a woman glowing silver.

“You’ve seen the mark on your thigh.”

Wren nodded.

“You dream of fire.”

Another nod.

“Then you were born to burn this system to the ground.”

They gave her a robe.

Black silk. Moon-stitched. With a hood that masked her scent for a few hours.

“We can’t stop your heat,” Lys said, handing her a flask. “But we can give you this.”

“What is it?”

“A choice.”

The potion inside shimmered violet-blue. It didn’t suppress.

It amplified.

Wren held it in her hand.

Felt it pulse.

“What happens if I drink it?”

Lys smiled slowly.

“You’ll stop pretending you're not the storm.”

Later that night, Wren lay awake in her dorm.

The collar on her desk.

The bond to Dax still humming inside her.

Kade’s knot still echoing in her cunt.

Corin’s refusal still tattooed behind her ribs.

She stared at the potion.

Then uncorked it.

And drank.

CHAPTER TWENTY: KADE’S BLOODLUST

The potion didn’t knock her out.

It didn’t dull the heat.

It unleashed it.

Wren woke up choking on her own scent.

The robe was soaked.

The sheets were torn.

Her skin burned like her bones had ignited from within.

And the need—

Gods.

The need was feral now.

No longer want.

Not desire.

Instinct.

She was panting when she stood. Her thighs slick, her mouth dry, her scent gland so swollen it hurt to breathe.

She couldn’t stay in the room.

Not like this.

Not when the ache had become agony.

So she ran.

She made it as far as the South Garden.

Under the moons, wild with hormones, dragging heat behind her like a cloak of flame.

Omegas weren’t supposed to be outside during a full heat.

The campus had lockdown protocols. Patrols. Barriers.

But Wren had always been good at breaking things.

Including herself.

She wasn’t alone for long.

Kade found her first.

Of course he did.

He didn’t speak when he saw her.

Just froze.

His eyes bled black.

His nostrils flared.

And his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked.

“Get inside,” he growled.

“I can’t.”

He took a step forward.

She stepped back.

Her scent hit him like a slap.

Kade groaned.

“You smell like fucking fire.”

“I drank the Hollow Wing potion,” she whispered. “They told me it would unlock me.”

“It did.”

Another step.

“You’re glowing.”

She was.

Faint moonlight shimmered under her skin, her glands pulsing in rhythmic flashes like heartbeats.

“I can’t stop it,” she whispered. “It hurts.”

Kade’s hands shook.

“I should take you now. I should mark you. Knot you until you forget your name.”

She whimpered. “Then do it.”

His jaw clenched.

“No.”

Wren blinked. “What?”

His voice was hoarse.

“You’re not mine. You didn’t choose me.”

“I didn’t choose anyone.”

“You chose him,” he spat. “You let Dax bite you. You let Corin walk away.”

“I let you knot me.”

He was across the garden in a second, grabbing her by the waist, slamming her against a tree trunk with enough force to rattle the bark.

“You think that was enough?”

His mouth hovered over hers.

“You think that erased what I feel when I look at you? The rage? The need to kill anyone who breathes your name?”

Her breath hitched.

“I don’t want you to hurt anyone.”

“I already did.”

She smelled the blood before she saw it.

Hot. Metallic.

Too fresh.

Too close.

“Kade…” she whispered. “What did you do?”

He stepped back.

Hands red.

His shirt soaked.

Her stomach dropped.

“I warned them,” he said, voice dead. “Told them to stop following you. Told them not to try to touch what wasn’t theirs.”

Wren’s heart stopped.

“How many?”

“Two.”

Her knees buckled.

“They were students—”

“They were Alphas,” he growled. “Smelling you. Following your trail like dogs in rut. I saw them. Heard them talking.”

He didn’t sound sorry.

He sounded possessed.

“I couldn’t let them near you.”

“You killed them.”

“They didn’t deserve to breathe you.”

Wren’s head spun.

“I—Kade, this will get you expelled. Imprisoned.”

He stepped close again.

Gripped her chin.

“I’d burn down this entire school if it meant keeping you.”

She trembled.

Not from fear.

From want.

“Kade…”

He crushed her mouth with his.

It was wild. Teeth. Tongue. Fury.

And when she pulled back, dazed and panting, he whispered:

“If you don’t let me claim you soon—I won’t be able to stop.”

She should’ve reported him.

But instead, she followed him back into the woods.

Let him mark the trees with their scent.

Let him lay her down in the moss and finger her until she screamed.

He didn’t knot her.

Not this time.

But he left her soaked.

Shaking.

His.

The next morning, the blood was discovered.

Classes were cancelled.

Alphas interrogated.

But no one blamed Wren.

They only whispered her name like a curse.

Like a legend.

Like a warning.

And Kade?

Kade was suspended.

Not removed.

Just silenced.

For now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: A MEMORY FRAGMENT

The dreams started that night.

Not dreams, exactly.

Memories.

Buried.

Rotted.

Unearthed like bones clawed free of shallow soil.

Wren woke gasping, her sheets tangled, her fingers curled into fists, the echo of screaming still ringing in her ears—but not hers.

A woman’s.

A voice she hadn’t heard since she was five.

She sat up slowly.

Her body was still wrecked from heat—bite bruises blossomed across her thighs, her glands sore, her belly marked with crescent imprints from where Kade had gripped her too tight.

But it was the memory that made her sweat now.

Not arousal.

Fear.

Real. Primal. Feral.

She’d been standing in a circle.

Carved into the floor.

Not paint—blood.

So much blood.

It steamed in the moonlight, curling like smoke as runes glowed along the edges.

She’d seen them before—deep in the Hollow Wing tapestry—but this time they were under her feet.

A woman was there.

Dark hair soaked in sweat.

Eyes burning with silver light.

She was screaming.

Not in fear.

In rage.

"Protect the Hollow!"

And then a shadow rose behind her—tall, faceless, robed in smoke.

Something struck.

The scream cut off.

Blood splashed across Wren’s dream-face.

And then—

Blackness.

She didn’t tell anyone.

Not Dax, whose bond pulsed steady and warm inside her chest.

Not Kade, still suspended, still growling her name in her dreams like a warning and a promise.

Not even Corin, who watched her from a distance like he already knew.

She just pulled out an old notebook.

And drew the runes from memory.

They looked like claws.

Like moons with teeth.

By noon, she couldn’t stop shaking.

Her classes blurred.

Voices echoed too loudly.

Her scent spiked with fear and something older—something that made the Alpha professor flinch when she walked past.

She left mid-lecture.

Ran.

Ended up in the Hollow Wing again.

The girls looked up.

Lys stood.

“You saw it.”

Wren didn’t answer.

Lys didn’t need her to.

She walked over. Touched Wren’s wrist.

“You smelled blood in the shape of moons.”

“Yes,” Wren whispered. “And someone said protect the Hollow.”

Lys’s expression changed.

Not shock.

Recognition.

“Then the prophecy’s true.”

“What prophecy?”

But the answer wasn’t a word.

It was a file.

Sealed in an old cabinet.

Marked with the Mooncrest crest.

Classified: Omega-Only Archives.

Lys handed it over.

“You need to read this alone.”

Wren waited until dark.

Lit a candle.

Opened the file.

And read:

"Subject: Wrenith Hollow. Last known descendant of the Moon Wives. Bloodline marked. Powers latent. Dangerous if awakened during tri-moon cycle. Ordered erased from registry. Omega status hidden. Beta classification assigned. Watchlist activated. Immediate surveillance upon Academy entry."

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t blink.

She turned the page.

There was a photo.

Black and white.

Of her mother.

Wren knew it instantly—those eyes, that jaw, that anger.

Beneath the photo:

"Confirmed: Performed forbidden ritual. Child exposed. Execution ordered. Mother terminated. Child unaccounted."

She slammed the folder shut.

Her hands were shaking.

Tears slid down her cheeks.

Everything had been a lie.

She hadn’t just slipped through the system.

She’d been hidden.

Targeted.

Her whole life had been someone else’s damage control.

And now?

Now she was waking up.

And she wanted blood.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: MARKED

The mark woke with her.

It pulsed against her inner thigh like a heartbeat.

Faint at first. Then stronger. Hot.

Wren kicked off the blankets, gasping, sweat glistening down her neck. She shoved her legs apart and looked—

And there it was.

Glowing.

Not a scar.

Not ink.

A sigil.

Burning pale silver beneath her skin, right where her gland lines ended—where no Alpha had touched, where no bond had been forged.

The symbol shimmered: a crescent moon with three jagged slashes across its center, like claws tearing through light.

Her fingers hovered over it.

She didn’t touch.

Couldn’t.

The air around it hummed.

Her Omega scent flared, but not with arousal this time.

With power.

She wrapped a scarf around her waist, layered on leggings and a skirt, but it didn’t help.

She felt it now, every second.

The pulse. The hum. The awakening.

She skipped class.

Went to the library instead.

Straight to the forbidden section.

The door should’ve stopped her.

It didn’t.

The mark on her thigh warmed as she stepped near the lock.

And the sigil—her sigil—flickered across the iron bolts.

They clicked open.

The door creaked wide.

Welcome.

She found it in a text older than the school.

Buried deep in the back, under a section marked Obsolete Omega Lore.

The Hollow Sigil.

“Rare mark. Denotes ancestral Omega power tied to lunar prophecy. Activated during tri-moon cycle. Seen only in Moon Wife bloodline. Symbol burns silver under heat surge. Mark-bearer is said to become the nexus of Alpha-Omega equilibrium. Feared. Worshipped. Desired. Often eliminated before full awakening.”

Her hands shook.

She read the next line three times before it sank in:

"The mark is not passive. It is a call. A mating beacon. When active, all bonded and unbonded Alphas who’ve touched her scent may be drawn to complete the rite.”

Wren’s stomach dropped.

Every Alpha who had touched her.

Dax.

Kade.

Even Corin.

Especially Corin.

She stumbled out of the library, the walls spinning.

Her thighs ached.

Her scent spiked uncontrollably.

Every student in the corridor turned.

Alphas sniffed.

Eyes narrowed.

Scent trails ignited.

She ran.

Not to her dorm.

To the Hollow Wing.

The Omegas let her in without a word.

She collapsed onto the couch, shaking.

Lys saw the mark immediately.

She nodded like she expected it.

“You’re claimed by the moon now.”

Wren whimpered. “What does it want?”

“To finish what it started.”

That night, the dreams came again.

The circle of blood.

The mother screaming.

But this time—

The shadow in the vision turned.

Looked at her.

Reached out.

And on its palm was the same mark.

Wren woke screaming.

And someone caught her.

It was Corin.

In her room.

Beside her bed.

Holding her arms.

His eyes weren’t cold tonight.

They were shattered.

“I felt it,” he whispered. “You burned me through the bond I don’t even have with you.”

She sobbed.

“I’m marked.”

“I know.”

He touched her thigh.

Right over the mark.

Her skin flared hot.

Her cunt clenched.

But he didn’t touch her further.

“Tell me not to,” he said, voice hoarse. “Tell me not to finish this.”

Wren looked at him.

Her breath shook.

And she said—

“Not yet.”

He nodded.

Kissed her temple.

And whispered:

“When the time comes, I won’t take you.”

“I’ll let you take me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: DAX’S CONFESSION

She found him in the East Wing gym, under moonlight and sweat.

Dax stood at the center of the mat, bare-chested, breathing hard, his fists bloodied from striking a dummy until the canvas ripped. His scent—amber, citrus, possessive heat—saturated the air.

But he wasn’t sparring for sport.

He was unraveling.

The moment Wren stepped inside, he stopped moving.

Didn’t turn.

Just whispered, “I felt you.”

Wren clutched the edge of her sleeve, trying to hide the mark still burning through the fabric at her thigh.

“You felt the mark activate?”

“No.” He turned then.

His face was pale. Open. Exposed.

“I felt you. Under my skin. Under the bond.”

He stepped forward, slow and aching.

“You screamed in your sleep last night. And I woke up choking on moonfire.”

She froze.

“You could feel my dreams?”

He nodded. “Because you’re not just mine anymore. You’re—” He broke off, voice raw. “You’re something else.”

She met his gaze. “You knew about the Hollow bloodline.”

He flinched.

“I suspected.”

“For how long?”

“Since before I touched you.”

“Before you marked me?”

“Yes.”

Wren’s chest hollowed. Her lips parted—but no sound came.

Dax stepped closer. His fists uncurled.

“I didn’t lie. I didn’t know for sure. But I was raised… differently.”

“What does that mean?”

He exhaled.

Then whispered:

“I was trained to find you.”

Silence.

Not the kind that filled space.

The kind that shattered it.

“You were what?”

He didn’t blink.

“Every elite Alpha family has one. One son bred for control. For strength. For politics. And one for prophecy.”

“And you?”

“I was the second son. The one marked for purpose.”

Wren backed away.

“Are you telling me you came to Mooncrest to hunt me?”

“No.” He followed her. “I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t even think the Hollow existed. But I was trained—conditioned—to recognize the signs.”

Her heart pounded.

“The mark?”

“The heat pattern. The scent structure. The dream-state.”

Wren shook her head.

Tears burned the corners of her eyes.

“You bonded me.”

“I fell for you.”

“You used me.”

“No!” His voice cracked. “Wren, I didn’t know until the tri-moon hit. I didn’t know until I felt the bond snap into place and something ancient flood my blood. You think I’m okay right now? I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay since the second I tasted you.”

He reached her.

Gripped her arms.

“Being near you is like trying to breathe underwater. My instincts scream to protect you, to fuck you, to worship you—”

“Then let me go!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re mine!”

She shoved him.

He didn’t move.

She hit his chest, hard.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

“You don’t get to decide that! I never asked for this. I never wanted to be prophecy. I wanted to be Wren. Just Wren.”

He caught her wrists mid-swing.

Pulled her against him.

And held her.

Just held her.

Not as an Alpha.

Not as a mate.

But as a boy unraveling.

His lips pressed to her temple.

And he whispered:

“They told me to find you so the Council could break you.”

She froze.

“They said the Hollow Omega had to be bred. Controlled. Or ended.”

Tears slid down her cheeks.

“But I won’t let them have you,” he said.

“I’m already theirs.”

“No.” His voice hardened. “You’re mine. And I’ll burn the fucking world before I let them touch you.”

They didn’t fuck.

Didn’t kiss.

He held her on the gym mat until dawn, her head on his chest, his hand stroking her back like she might vanish if he let go.

And when she finally fell asleep, her mark pulsed once.

Silver.

Warm.

Awake.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE BROKEN COLLARING RITUAL

They told her it would help.

That collaring, even without a bite, would calm her heat. Soothe the bond already formed with Dax. Give her time—just time—to think, to breathe, to decide.

They told her tradition would protect her.

That this ritual, this formality, was nothing more than a symbol of respect. That wearing the collar would stabilize the flood of power rising in her blood.

They lied.

The ceremony was held at twilight.

Private.

Controlled.

Only Dax, the officiant, and two Elder witnesses were allowed to observe.

Wren was dressed in white—barefoot, throat bare, thighs still bruised from Kade’s grip and Corin’s refusal to give in.

Her mark pulsed at her inner thigh, hidden beneath silk. No one could see it glowing.

But she felt it.

Burning.

Waiting.

Dax stood before her, resplendent in moonsteel cuffs, his Alpha scent cloaked by ceremonial oils. His eyes were soft, scared, reverent.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Not until the officiant raised the collar.

Black leather. Silver buckle. Engraved with her name:

Wrenith Hollow.

Wren swallowed.

Her scent flared.

The collar hovered inches from her throat.

“I accept,” she said, voice trembling.

Dax stepped forward, hands shaking.

He clasped the leather around her neck.

It snapped closed.

And the world—

Exploded.

It wasn’t pleasure.

It wasn’t pain.

It was fire.

Searing through her skin, down her spine, into her belly.

She screamed.

The collar burned silver.

Her mark ignited.

The silk at her thigh disintegrated, revealing the glowing sigil to the room.

The officiant shouted.

The Elders rose to their feet.

And Dax—

Dax reached for her, horror twisting his face.

But Wren was already on her knees, clawing at her throat.

“It’s wrong,” she gasped. “It’s wrong, Dax—it doesn’t fit—it doesn’t match me.”

The collar refused to sync.

It refused to bind.

Because the Hollow couldn’t be collared.

Not by force.

Not by tradition.

Not even by love.

The ritual shattered.

The Elders screamed for containment.

Magic rippled through the air—chains of pure silver erupting from the floor.

Wren’s power surged up in defiance.

The chains disintegrated.

So did the floor.

Cracks raced across the marble, her scent spiraling into the sky like incense.

Uncontainable.

Uncollared.

Unbroken.

Later, in the infirmary, her throat was raw.

The collar had been ripped off by a healer, its clasp melted into slag.

Dax sat at her bedside, head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m not made for that.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re made for more.”

Word spread before the sun rose.

The Hollow Omega couldn’t be collared.

Couldn’t be owned.

Couldn’t be subdued by Council-sanctioned rites.

She was a threat now.

No longer just a prophecy.

No longer a heat-blinded girl with scent on her thighs.

She was becoming.

And the world had no idea how to stop her.

In the shadows beyond the ward, Corin watched.

Silent.

Still.

And whispered to himself:

“She’s not just the Hollow Omega.”

“She’s the beginning of the end.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: THE HOLLOW FILES

The vault wasn't supposed to exist.

It wasn't on any official floor plan.

Not listed in student directories or Omega archives. Not spoken about, even in whispers.

But it was real.

And Wren found it.

The sigil on her thigh led her there—burning hotter the closer she came, tugging her through back corridors like a leash made of moonlight and memory.

She ended up behind the East Tower library, deep beneath a crumbling set of stone steps. The walls grew damp. The air grew heavy. And then the mark glowed so bright it lit the passage ahead.

The vault door stood three inches thick.

Moonsteel.

Spell-sealed.

Unbreakable.

Unless you had the mark.

Wren pressed her hand to the sigil engraved on the iron.

Her thigh flared in heat.

And the vault opened.

Inside: silence.

Dust.

A thousand forgotten secrets.

And at the very center, resting on a single obsidian pedestal, was a sealed file.

She stepped forward.

Reached for it.

Her fingers trembled.

It was thick. Heavy. Labeled in red:

HOLLOW. WR-H. UNREGISTERED.

Below that, in smaller print:

CLASSIFIED – BY ORDER OF THE HEAD ALPHA COUNCIL.

Her name.

Her initials.

Her life, dissected.

She opened it.

The first page was a report.

Filed fifteen years ago.

Subject: Wrenith Hollow, Omega-blooded female infant. Born to Liora Hollow. Unbonded, unclaimed. Maternal death reported under suspect ritual conditions.

Further notes:

Initial designation: Omega (unmarked)

Reassigned status: Beta, with memory suppression and scent-gland dulling serum

Watchlist assigned to all future educational placements

Prophetic status: Unconfirmed but high risk. Recommend continued surveillance.

Authorization to terminate if awakening occurs under tri-moon.

Wren’s breath hitched.

Her knees buckled.

She dropped to the floor, file splayed before her.

She kept reading.

“Subject exhibits early signs of Hollow-blood activation. Emotional volatility. Resistance to control. Accelerated heat cycles. Unusual psychic bleed through known Alpha bonds.”

Her stomach turned.

They'd known.

All this time.

They hadn’t just misfiled her.

They’d engineered her silence.

Page after page detailed her foster placements. Her false documentation. Her suppressant prescriptions.

She read every line with shaking hands and a fury growing so deep it cracked her ribs.

And then—

At the back of the file—

A photograph.

Not of her.

Of her mother.

Standing in a field of fire, hair wild, body bleeding from her scent gland, holding a baby wrapped in moonstone cloth.

There were runes carved into her skin.

And the caption beneath read:

"Final image before termination. Liora Hollow invoked The Omega Rite."

Wren stared at it until her tears blurred the page.

She turned the photo over.

Words had been scratched on the back in dark ink.

“They will try to break you. But the moon bends for no Alpha.”

The vault trembled behind her.

Power flared through her mark.

Through her glands.

Through her blood.

And something inside her—something ancient and terrible and hers—woke up.

She didn’t take the file.

She burned it.

Held the flame in her palm like her mother once did.

Watched the pages curl into ash.

The truth was hers now.

And no one would bury it again.

As the fire died, the sigil on her thigh glowed brighter than ever.

The Hollow wasn’t a name.

It was a warning.

And she was done running.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: KADE TIES HER AGAIN

The knock came at midnight.

Not soft.

Not tentative.

Demanding.

Wren was still awake—sitting cross-legged on her bed, the remains of the Hollow file still flickering in her mind. Her skin glowed faintly in the dark, a byproduct of whatever had awakened in her after opening the vault. The sigil on her thigh pulsed like a second heartbeat.

When she opened the door, she already knew who it would be.

Kade.

He stood shirtless, wet from rain, his black hoodie plastered to his chest, fists clenched at his sides. His scent rolled in behind him like a storm: burnt ozone, musk, blood.

And something else.

Need.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he said, voice like broken gravel.

Wren stepped aside without a word.

He stepped in.

Didn’t speak again.

Just stood there, dripping.

Waiting.

She watched him for a long beat.

Then closed the door.

Turned the lock.

And whispered, “You’re suspended.”

“Yeah.”

“You killed two Alphas.”

“They were going to touch you.”

Her thighs clenched.

Not from fear.

From memory.

From need.

“They moved me to a different hall,” she said.

“I know.”

His voice shook.

“I still found you.”

She crossed the room slowly.

Stood before him.

Tilted her head back.

“You came to claim me?”

“No.”

He shook his head, eyes burning.

“I came to give in.”

She stared.

His chest heaved.

“I’ve fought it. Every second. Every time I smell you. Every time I close my eyes and feel your slick soaking through my fucking skin.”

He stepped closer.

“You’re in my head.”

“I’m in your blood,” she whispered.

He groaned.

Fell to his knees.

Pressed his forehead to her belly.

“Please,” he whispered. “Let me stop pretending.”

She undressed him slowly.

Lifted his shirt over his head.

Unbuckled his belt with trembling fingers.

He didn’t help.

He didn’t move.

Just watched her with reverence, with restraint, with hunger.

She slid her robe off her shoulders.

Let it fall.

Her bare skin glistened.

Her mark throbbed silver.

Kade growled.

Low.

Dangerous.

She stepped back to the bed.

Laid down.

Opened her thighs.

And said, “Come here.”

He was on her in seconds.

Not rough.

Not like last time.

He cradled her hips.

Kissed her neck.

Whispered her name against her skin like an apology he’d never say out loud.

“I thought you’d never let me do this right.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“You’re not here to do it right.”

“You’re right.”

His cock brushed her slick folds.

She moaned.

And he pushed in.

This time, he didn’t fuck her like he owned her.

He worshipped her.

Every thrust deep, controlled, grounding.

His hands trembled as they held her.

His lips brushed every place he hadn’t before.

He whispered things.

Dark things.

Soft things.

“I dream about your moans.”

“I want your scent on me every night.”

“I want to be the only thing that touches you when you wake.”

Wren sobbed.

Clawed his back.

Came around him like lightning.

And when his knot swelled—she asked for it.

“Give it to me.”

He buried his face in her neck.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Then fuck me like you don’t.”

And he did.

His knot locked inside her with a deep, primal pop.

His cum filled her again.

Hot.

Heavy.

Holy.

They lay tangled for an eternity.

And when his knot finally softened, she tried to move.

He pulled her back.

Cradled her tighter.

She blinked up at him.

“You’re not angry this time.”

“I am.”

He kissed her forehead.

“I’m angry it took me this long.”

She smiled, small and raw.

And whispered, “Are you going to bite me?”

He shook his head.

“No. You’ll mark me. When you’re ready.”

Then he took her again.

On his back.

With her riding him, moaning his name like a spell.

She didn’t break him.

She rebuilt him.

And when she collapsed in his arms, limp, spent, full—

He didn’t say she was his.

He just said:

“Now I’m yours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: CORIN WATCHES HER SLEEP

She woke up feeling seen.

Exposed in the softest way—her body still damp between her thighs, her mark a dull ember under her skin, the sheets twisted around her hips, cool air whispering against places still tender from Kade’s worship.

Wren stretched, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen from being kissed into silence.

And then she felt it.

Not fear.

Not danger.

A presence.

Stillness.

Intensity.

She blinked once, twice—then turned her head.

Corin.

Seated in her reading chair.

Legs crossed, hands folded in his lap.

Like he hadn’t been watching her.

Like he hadn’t just seen everything.

Her nakedness.

Her sleep-tangled limbs.

Her flushed thighs and bite-free neck.

His eyes were sharp.

But his scent was calm.

Controlled.

Deceptively so.

“You’ve been here all night?” she asked, voice husky.

His gaze flicked over her slowly.

Not greedy.

Curious.

“I came after he left.”

Wren blinked again.

“You didn’t knock?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Corin—”

“I just wanted to see,” he interrupted. “What it looked like when you were at peace.”

She pulled the sheet over her chest, too late.

His eyes didn’t drop.

Didn’t drift.

“I didn’t touch you,” he said softly. “But I could smell you the moment I walked in. You’d just knotted. Twice.”

Her body clenched, remembering.

“You came to mark me?” she asked.

“No.”

He leaned back.

“I came to see if I still wanted to.”

That hurt more than it should’ve.

She sat up.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t.”

He nodded.

“I know.”

“I thought—”

“I did too,” he said, cutting her off again. “But then I felt something when I watched you sleep.”

He stood slowly.

Approached the bed.

His eyes burned.

And something in him—something restrained, wild, unwilling—pushed forward.

“I saw your death.”

The words landed like a curse.

Wren stiffened.

“In your dreams?” she whispered.

“In mine.”

He reached her side.

Kneeled.

“I’ve seen it for years. Always the same. You on the floor. Bleeding. The sigil on your thigh burned out. The scent of rut and blood in the air.”

Her voice trembled. “Who killed me?”

His jaw clenched.

“I don’t know.”

“Was it an Alpha?”

He didn’t answer.

She swallowed.

And reached for him.

Touched his wrist.

He let her.

“I don’t want to die,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said.

Their eyes met.

Heat curled again between them—subtle. Lingering. Unclaimed.

Corin lifted her hand to his lips.

Kissed the knuckles.

“I’ll protect you,” he said. “Even if I have to protect you from me.”

She didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know if she wanted to be protected.

Or claimed.

Or ruined.

But her body leaned toward him anyway.

“I still want you,” she breathed.

He nodded.

“I know.”

She pulled the sheet aside.

Revealed her thigh.

The glowing sigil.

“Then come closer.”

Corin reached out.

Touched it.

His finger traced the moon-clawed symbol slowly.

And the mark flared bright.

Power erupted in her bloodstream.

Her eyes rolled back.

Her breath caught.

Her thighs trembled.

But he didn’t fuck her.

Didn’t kiss her.

He just held her down while the magic pulsed through them both.

Then he whispered:

“I’ve seen your death.”

“But I swear—”

“I’ll die before I let it happen.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: THE VANISHING OMEGAS

It started with whispers.

A missing name on a class list.

A bed left cold in a dorm no one wanted to remember.

An empty chair at dinner, passed over like it had never existed.

Wren noticed it first because she was trained to look for cracks.

Because she was one.

Two unbonded Omegas vanished in a single week.

No heat cycles reported. No calls for containment. No alarms.

Just silence.

Not even the Hollow Wing girls knew what had happened.

“They didn’t run,” Lys whispered, pacing barefoot across the cold stone floor beneath Mooncrest. “No scent trails. No goodbye notes. No mess.”

Wren’s mark throbbed.

Her bones vibrated.

Her body told her what her mind refused to believe:

They were taken.

She spent the next day digging.

Not through files—those were cleaned, redacted.

Not through dorm logs—those were falsified.

But through the scents.

She walked the east stairwells.

The old classrooms.

The abandoned dorm hall with the cracked mirror she’d passed on her first week here.

The air there was wrong.

No decay. No blood.

Just... nothing.

Like a vacuum where heat once bloomed.

Like a room devoured.

By nightfall, another Omega was gone.

Wren heard the scream.

Brief.

Guttural.

Then cut off.

She ran toward it.

Barefoot.

Half-dressed.

Her scent on fire.

The mark on her thigh glowing like a beacon through her skirt.

She reached the corridor—

Empty.

Just a spilled vial of suppressant.

And a puddle of slick drying in a red-streaked arc.

She dropped to her knees.

Touched the floor.

And saw—

A flash.

Not a vision.

Not a dream.

A memory that wasn’t hers.

A cold hand on her face.

A blindfold.

A needle.

A whisper:

“You’ll be better without the heat.”

She staggered back.

Fell.

Footsteps pounded the stairs.

Corin reached her first.

Eyes wild.

He lifted her up like she weighed nothing.

“What happened?”

“They’re taking them,” she gasped.

“Who?”

“The Council,” she whispered. “Or someone they send. Someone... silent.”

Corin’s jaw clenched.

He sniffed the air.

Growled.

“Someone was here. Alpha. Masked.”

“They’re removing unbonded Omegas,” she said. “One by one.”

“Why?”

Wren looked at him.

Her voice was broken glass.

“Because we’re dangerous.”

He took her to his room.

Not the containment suite.

Not her dorm.

His.

The one carved into the top of the tower, where no one dared to go.

Where silence reigned.

And where the moonlight cast silver across stone and desire.

He locked the door behind her.

Then he turned.

“You can’t be alone anymore.”

Her hands trembled.

Her voice shook. “You’re still unbonded.”

“I know.”

He stepped closer.

“I won’t bite you.”

She nodded.

“I won’t knot you.”

She exhaled.

“But you’ll sleep here,” he said. “Every night. Until this ends. Until I know you’re safe.”

“And if I’m not?”

Corin’s eyes burned.

“Then someone else won’t be either.”

That night, Wren slept curled against him.

Not touched.

Not claimed.

But watched.

His heart beat steady behind her spine.

And she knew—no matter how many Omegas vanished—

She would not.

But the Council wasn’t done.

Not yet.

Because the next morning, Wren was summoned.

A formal invitation.

Sealed.

Marked with the Council’s blood-scented crest.

Inside:

You are cordially requested to attend a disciplinary hearing regarding the containment and reclassification of unbonded Omegas. Attendance is mandatory.

The last line was hand-signed.

Councilor Vren.

Wren folded the paper.

Looked at Corin.

And whispered:

“They’re going to auction us.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: A COUNCIL OF CHAINS

The chamber smelled like Alpha sweat and polished cruelty.

Lit by cold flame, lined with moonsteel and marble, the Council’s private hall was built for spectacle—every wall designed to echo commands, amplify fear, and suppress Omega scent.

It didn’t work.

Not with her.

Wren stepped in with her head held high, the sigil on her thigh flaring beneath her gown, every breath dragging her scent across the room like a war banner.

They all looked.

The seven Elders.

The spectators.

The Enforcers.

The bidders.

Because this wasn’t just a disciplinary hearing.

It was an auction.

Rows of unmated Alphas sat in bleacher-like tiers, gold badges pinned to their lapels. House symbols shimmered on their chests. Mooncrest families. Political dynasties. Bloodlines with teeth.

Wren’s stomach turned.

To them, she wasn’t a student.

She was a commodity.

Councilor Vren stood.

Old, thin, fingers like spider legs.

He didn’t speak first.

He barked.

“Wrenith Hollow. You are here today not as a student, but as an unclaimed Omega in breach of containment law.”

She didn’t flinch.

Vren sneered.

“You have refused collaring. Broken bond hierarchy. Instigated Alpha aggression. And carried a latent Hollow mark without authorization.”

A buzz went through the chamber.

Wren’s throat was dry, but she held her ground.

“You’re trying to sell us.”

“This is not a sale,” he said coldly. “This is protection.”

“For who?”

“For the balance of our society.”

Laughter rippled behind her.

Dax’s voice rang out, sharp and golden.

“Funny how ‘balance’ smells like ownership.”

He was restrained, arms cuffed in the row behind the railing, a guard on each side.

Kade was beside him, blood still crusted at his temple, jaw clenched, scent like boiling tar.

Corin was nowhere in sight.

Yet she felt him.

Watching.

Waiting.

Vren continued.

“You may choose your path, Omega. Accept bonding to a sanctioned Alpha. Or be relocated for long-term study.”

The crowd hushed.

Wren stepped forward.

“No.”

Vren blinked. “No?”

“No,” she said louder. “I won’t be leashed for your comfort. I won’t be bred for your legacy. And I won’t be studied like a cursed star.”

Her scent flared.

Omegas in the crowd whimpered.

Alphas groaned.

Dax surged forward.

“She’s mine.”

Kade snapped his chains.

“Touch her and die.”

The guards drew weapons—moonsteel rods meant for heat-maddened Omegas.

Wren raised her hand.

Power exploded from her skin.

A wave of silver heat.

The mark on her thigh lit the chamber like a second moon.

The rods melted.

The cuffs shattered.

Dax fell to his knees, panting.

Kade roared, half-shifting.

Alphas backed away, noses bleeding.

The floor cracked beneath her feet.

And Wren stepped into the center of the chamber like a queen ascending her throne.

“You don’t get to choose for me.”

Vren tried to speak.

She turned her power on him.

He choked.

Dropped to his knees.

Clawed at his throat like her scent was drowning him.

Wren whispered:

“I’m done pretending I’m prey.”

Chaos erupted.

Bells rang.

Guards shouted.

The chamber split with screaming.

But Wren stood untouched.

And then—

Corin appeared.

Through the crowd.

Through the heat and the ash and the fear.

He took her hand.

And said, “Run.”

They fled the hall together.

Dax and Kade followed, cutting through the madness, leaving broken chains behind.

Wren didn’t look back.

Because behind her was the old world.

And ahead?

Was freedom.

Or fire.

She didn’t care which.

They reached the gates of Mooncrest as the sky cracked open.

Rain poured.

The tri-moon shone above the storm.

And Wren turned to face the Academy one last time.

“Let them come,” she whispered. “Let them chase.”

Corin’s hand tightened in hers.

Kade cracked his knuckles.

Dax bared his teeth.

Because she wasn’t leaving as a fugitive.

She was fleeing as a force.

CHAPTER THIRTY: SHE RUNS

The gates howled behind her.

Mooncrest roared like a wounded beast, spells surging, alarms wailing as Wren burst into the wild beyond its iron-clad borders. The three moons bled light through the clouds, silver and sharp, as if they too had chosen to witness the unmaking of control.

Her lungs burned with cold air and old fire.

Her thighs ached from too many knots.

Her body still reeked of arousal and rebellion.

But her feet—

They flew.

Barefoot, soaked, her nightgown plastered to her skin, she ran like she had when she was a child—before the collars, before the lies, before she learned what it meant to be hunted.

Behind her, the footsteps came.

Kade’s, violent and fast.

Dax’s, steady, close.

And Corin’s—always closest, even when silent.

They didn’t speak.

Didn’t slow.

Because the moon had made its choice.

And she was the Hollow Omega no longer hiding.

The woods swallowed them.

Deep.

Twisted.

Older than the Academy itself.

The kind of forest that wasn’t mapped anymore. That wasn’t tamed.

The trees pulsed with ancient energy, reacting to her mark like an old friend had returned.

Branches parted.

Roots glowed.

And still she ran.

Not from them.

Toward something.

She didn’t know what.

Only that her body knew the way.

Her mark pulled her deeper.

Her blood whispered home.

Eventually, her knees gave.

Her body collapsed into moss and mist and silence.

The air curled warm around her skin like a lover’s exhale.

She trembled.

Not from fear.

From something else.

Something beginning.

Dax dropped beside her first.

He was shirtless, soaked, eyes wild and golden.

He reached for her—then stopped.

Waited.

Let her choose.

She fell into his arms.

Kade knelt beside her next.

He didn’t speak.

Just pressed his forehead to her thigh—right over the glowing mark.

Her body pulsed.

Then Corin.

He didn’t touch her.

He didn’t need to.

The moment his eyes found hers, her breath caught.

Because this was it.

This was what her heat, her mark, her self had been leading to.

“I can’t go back,” she whispered.

“You’re not meant to,” Corin said.

“I’m not mated. I’m not stable. I’m—”

“You’re free,” Dax said.

Kade growled low, fierce. “You’re ours.”

Wren sat up.

Rain sluiced off her skin.

Her thighs glistened.

Her mark blazed.

And the forest answered.

Roots lifted.

Moonlight swelled.

The trees themselves seemed to bow.

A clearing opened.

And at its center—

An altar of stone.

Old.

Covered in carved runes matching her thigh.

Wren stood.

She walked to it barefoot.

Climbed onto it.

Turned.

Faced them.

“I need all of you.”

Dax’s breath stuttered.

Kade’s pupils blew wide.

Corin didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

She untied her gown.

Let it fall.

The men stepped forward as one.

Drawn.

Owned.

Willing.

Dax touched her first.

Soft.

Chest.

Thigh.

Mouth.

He kissed her like worship.

And when he sank inside her, it was gentle.

Complete.

Kade came next—growling, biting her neck, claiming her with rough thrusts that made her scream.

And Corin—

He knelt behind her.

Held her.

Watched her eyes while Dax and Kade filled her.

He whispered things only she could hear.

Things that lit her soul on fire.

And when she shattered—

When she screamed through the knot, the bond, the blaze—

Her mark flared so bright the entire clearing lit silver.

The altar cracked.

The wind screamed.

And somewhere in the distance—

Mooncrest fell silent.

She had run.

But not away.

Toward destiny.

Toward power.

Toward her truth.

And now the world would burn for her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: THE FORGOTTEN TEMPLE

The morning broke slow and golden, heavy with silence.

Not peace.

The kind of silence that follows after gods are named.

The forest was still glowing faintly—roots warm beneath her bare feet, leaves humming with residual magic. Wren stood nude beneath the branches, the silver mark on her thigh pulsing like an ember that refused to die out.

Her body ached in the most sacred way.

Not from pain.

From completion.

She’d taken all three of them.

Dax.

Kade.

Corin.

And they hadn’t broken her.

They had built her.

She stepped from the altar, slick between her thighs, her breath misting in the chill as the tri-moon faded behind gray clouds. Her skin was dusted in bruises and kisses, teeth marks and heat.

The ground shifted beneath her.

She looked down.

Where her blood had spilled from the knotting—just a drop, maybe two—the moss had bloomed.

Bright violet.

Like a sigil in flower form.

She knelt and touched it.

It didn’t feel like plant.

It felt like pulse.

And then something shifted in the earth behind her.

Stone scraping stone.

A door.

Corin stood first, fully dressed now, already alert, already scanning.

“Something opened,” he said.

Kade rose next, shirtless, rubbing sleep from his eyes like a wolf stirred too soon.

“I smell old blood.”

Dax touched her shoulder gently.

Wren nodded.

She stepped forward.

And followed the moss trail.

The path led to a hidden archway buried under ivy and bone-white trees.

The stone was carved in the same language as her thigh.

The sigil lit.

And the stone groaned.

Opened.

A temple.

Ancient.

Swallowed by earth, hidden for generations, waiting for her.

The walls were black slate.

The air cold.

Each step she took echoed with memory—not hers, but the bloodline’s.

Wren felt her heart throb as the runes whispered.

“This is the cradle of the Moon Wives,” Corin said quietly, his voice reverent.

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw it in my visions.”

Kade grunted. “This is where they made you.”

Dax stayed behind her, close, silent.

Protective.

She reached the center chamber.

At its core: a shallow pool.

Still.

Dark.

Wren approached.

Knelt.

Looked in.

And gasped.

The water didn’t show her reflection.

It showed her mother.

Alive.

Drenched in blood.

Kneeling at the same altar.

Holding a blade to her scent gland.

Wren choked.

“Mom—?”

“She’s not real,” Corin said.

“It’s memory,” Dax whispered.

“She was performing the Rite,” Kade muttered.

In the reflection, Wren’s mother looked up.

Spoke.

But the voice came from behind them.

From the stone itself.

“Power must be claimed through sacrifice.”

Wren turned slowly.

The voice wasn’t alive.

It was the temple.

And it knew her.

“You bear the last mark,” it said. “You’ve taken your mates. You’ve opened the vault. Now the Hollow must awaken.”

Wren’s mark pulsed.

The water flared.

She stepped into the pool.

It came to her knees.

Cold.

Blinding.

She gasped—

And the visions came.

A circle of Omegas.

Naked.

Glowing.

Chanting under moonlight.

Their Alphas at the edge, hands raised in blood oaths.

A blade passed from Omega to Omega.

Each one cutting their thigh over the sigil.

Letting it bleed into the ground.

Binding themselves to the Hollow.

Then—

Fire.

Alphas with chains.

Screams.

The ritual broken.

Her mother running.

A baby in her arms.

Wren.

The vision ended.

She fell to her knees in the water, gasping.

Kade caught her.

Dax held her back steady.

Corin knelt before her, hand on her cheek.

“You were born during the unfinished Rite,” he said.

She nodded.

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Which means the power’s still incomplete.”

Kade growled. “Then let’s finish it.”

Corin looked at her.

And asked:

“Are you ready to bleed for what you are?”

Wren looked down at her glowing mark.

And whispered:

“Yes.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: SHE SCREAMS THE MOON DOWN

They formed the circle at dusk.

No spellbooks.

No instructors.

No witnesses.

Only instinct and the echo of bloodbound memory.

Wren stood at the center of the stone chamber, moonlight cutting through the ruined temple ceiling in three perfect beams—one for each of them: Dax, Kade, Corin.

Her mark pulsed, visible now even without touch. A crescent claw surrounded by three jagged slashes, burning brighter each hour since she stepped into the temple’s heart.

This was no longer just about survival.

This was a completion.

Corin was the first to speak.

"The Hollow Rite requires sacrifice."

Kade rolled his shoulders, shirtless, hands wrapped in gauze already bloodstained.

"You want pain?"

Dax stepped forward. "We give her everything."

Wren nodded.

Then began to strip.

She let the temple see her. All of her.

Naked.

Unashamed.

Omega.

But not owned.

Marked—but not collared.

Claimed—but still sovereign.

The moment her skin was bare, the wind shifted.

Her scent bloomed.

The forest outside shuddered.

Inside the circle, the air thickened like velvet spun from lightning.

They circled her.

Each man bare-chested, sweat glistening, scent barely restrained.

She felt them like heat between her thighs.

But tonight wasn’t for pleasure.

It was for power.

Wren took the blade from the altar—obsidian, humming with old voices—and held it to her thigh.

One clean slice.

The mark split.

Blood poured.

The ground beneath her hissed.

Kade caught her when her knees buckled.

"Hold her," Corin said.

And Kade did.

Wren’s blood painted the stone beneath her feet, soaking into the carved sigils of the forgotten Rite.

And the temple answered.

It began as a tremble.

Then a hum.

Then a howl.

Not from her lips.

From the earth.

Wind tore through the trees.

The sky cracked open.

And Wren screamed.

The moons above her trembled.

The clearing lit with silver fire.

And her body lifted.

Levitated.

Arched.

Her scream turned feral—Omega in the purest form.

Her mark exploded with light.

And the trees caught flame.

Silver flame.

Holy flame.

Dax dropped to his knees.

Kade bared his throat.

Corin whispered something in a language none of them understood.

And still Wren screamed.

She wasn’t alone.

The mark pulsed.

And other marks awakened.

Across the Hollow Wing.

Across the dorms.

Across the woods.

Every Omega who had been silenced felt it.

A call.

A rupture.

A rebirth.

They fell to their knees, not in pain—but in resonance.

Wren was their signal fire.

Their cry.

Their revenge.

Then it snapped.

The magic.

The Rite.

Her scream cut off mid-breath.

And Wren fell.

Dax caught her.

Her body convulsed.

Kade held her legs down.

Corin pressed her hand to his chest.

“Breathe,” he said.

She coughed.

Choked.

Then gasped.

The air surged into her lungs like she was breathing for the first time.

And her eyes—

Glowed.

Not gold.

Not silver.

Not Alpha or Omega.

Moonblood.

She stood.

Naked.

Bleeding.

Glowing.

The forest bowed around her.

The fire didn’t burn her.

And every living thing watched.

Because she was no longer just Wrenith Hollow.

She was the Hollow Omega awakened.

And the world had seconds left to choose:

Worship.

Or burn.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THE ALPHAS FIND HER

The forest had changed.

Even the wind moved differently now—curling around Wren’s body like it knew her name. Trees leaned toward her. Roots shimmered with residual moonfire. The sky hung low, heavy with stars that pulsed in time with the glowing mark on her thigh.

She didn’t walk through the woods.

She glided.

Naked. Bloodstreaked. Sovereign.

She was the epicenter of the power that cracked open the world.

And the Alphas were following.

Drawn.

Compelled.

Claimed.

She heard them before she saw them.

The crunch of branches.

The broken rhythm of breath.

The thrum of three heartbeats, all tuned to her.

Dax stepped into the clearing first.

Eyes wide.

Chest bare.

Hands trembling at his sides.

“Wren,” he whispered. “What are you?”

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Her power rolled across him like scent. Like heat. Like command.

He dropped to his knees.

Not because he was weak.

Because his Alpha blood recognized a force older than dominance.

Reverence.

Kade crashed through next.

Mouth already open to speak—already ready to rage—

Then he saw her.

And his breath caught.

He didn’t kneel.

He stumbled forward.

Fell.

Onto all fours.

He crawled to her, growling, eyes black, teeth bared—not in fury.

In submission.

“Fuck,” he choked. “I’d die for you.”

“You already have,” she whispered, her voice a breeze, a balm, a blade.

Corin arrived last.

He didn’t run.

He walked.

Still dressed in black.

Still precise.

Still that quiet blade that had always waited behind the others.

He met her eyes.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t kneel.

He just unbuttoned his shirt.

Dropped it.

Then his belt.

His pants.

His walls.

Until he stood naked before her.

Unshielded.

Unclaimed.

Unshaken.

And then—slowly—he knelt too.

Not because he was made to.

Because he chose to.

And Wren stepped forward.

Tears sliding down her cheeks.

Rain began to fall again.

But it didn’t touch her.

The drops hissed against her skin like they feared being unworthy.

Her fingers brushed through Dax’s curls.

Along Kade’s jaw.

Down Corin’s throat.

“You followed me,” she said.

Dax: “Always.”

Kade: “I couldn’t stop.”

Corin: “I didn’t know I ever had a choice.”

Wren’s breath shook.

“Then offer me something.”

“Anything,” they said as one.

“Blood,” she whispered.

They offered wrists.

She took them.

Bit down.

Each taste deeper than the last.

Dax—sweet, hot, loyal.

Kade—sharp, dark, seething with fire.

Corin—cool, ancient, laced with grief and truth.

Her mark flared with each draw.

And when she’d tasted all three—

She stepped back.

And said, “Then offer yourselves.”

They didn’t speak.

Didn’t hesitate.

They stripped completely.

Laid back on the moss.

Shoulders touching.

Cocks already hard, leaking, aching.

Not with need.

With purpose.

And Wren?

She climbed atop them.

Straddled Dax first.

Lowered herself slowly.

Eyes locked with his as she took him deep.

He gasped.

She turned to Kade next.

Guided him to her mouth.

Sucked him in slow, steady, until he moaned her name like prayer.

Corin’s hands gripped her hips.

Guided her rhythm.

Kept her centered.

All three of them were hers.

And as she rode Dax, swallowed Kade, let Corin mark her hips in bruises, she felt it—

The final ritual.

Not of power.

Of balance.

They didn’t fuck her to own her.

They opened themselves to be devoured.

And she did.

With her body.

With her mark.

With her soul.

When Dax came, he screamed.

When Kade spilled down her throat, he sobbed.

When Corin pressed his lips to her spine and whispered, “I love you,” she broke apart completely.

Came so hard the forest went still.

The moons flashed bright.

The sigil on her thigh seared into permanence.

And the Hollow Omega—

Chose.

“I bind all three of you,” she said.

Dax: “Yes.”

Kade: “Fuck yes.”

Corin: “Forever.”

And the forest—ancient, knowing, holy—knelt with them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: THE TRUE BINDING

The stone beneath her was slick with moonlight and sweat.

Three Alphas lay around her, marked and spent—Dax with his mouth pressed against her breast, Kade sprawled across her thighs like a beast too blissed to breathe, and Corin behind her, arms caging her ribcage like she might try to float away.

Wren sat upright.

The air itself bent around her skin now.

Thick.

Heavy.

A kind of reverence that had nothing to do with scent or heat.

This wasn’t biology.

This was ritual.

The mark on her thigh pulsed bright silver, then deepened—shifting hue—until it wasn’t just glowing.

It was alive.

Three curved runes joined the crescent:

One for loyalty.

One for blood.

One for choice.

She turned to Corin first.

Still unbitten.

Still unbound.

Still waiting.

She straddled him, naked, slick, soaked in the essence of two other men—and he opened for her like a prayer left too long unanswered.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

He nodded once.

No bravado. No performance.

Just certainty.

She took him in slow, guiding his cock into her with a gasp that shook them both.

Corin’s hands gripped her hips.

His eyes closed.

Not from restraint.

From surrender.

“Don’t hold back,” she breathed.

“I can’t.”

“Good.”

He rolled his hips once, twice, deep.

Wren’s back arched.

Kade moaned in his sleep.

Dax stirred beside them.

And Corin—

Corin held her as she came, once, twice, a third time, writhing above him, their bodies locked in rhythm only the moons could understand.

Then she leaned down.

Exposed her scent gland.

His lips touched it first.

A kiss.

Then a bite.

Sharp.

Deep.

Permanent.

The mark on her thigh exploded.

The bond flared in triplicate.

She collapsed over Corin’s chest, gasping.

His knot swelled.

Slid into her with a wet, satisfying stretch.

She whimpered.

Smiled.

Clung to him.

And whispered: “I see you now.”

When she sat back, all three of them stirred.

Awake.

Present.

Marked.

She stood over them.

Her skin glowing with fresh bite marks.

The mark on her thigh now complete.

The bond humming in her blood like a second pulse.

She had three mates.

But she wasn’t theirs.

They were hers.

The air shifted.

The forest bent.

And the old altar at the edge of the grove crumbled into dust.

Revealing what it had protected.

A crown.

Carved of bone and moonmetal.

Set with a single violet stone.

The Hollow Crown.

Dax crawled to it first.

Lifted it.

Turned to Wren.

He didn’t place it on her head.

He offered it.

Kade dipped his head.

Corin’s hand brushed her wrist.

Wren took it.

Set it atop her curls.

And the forest howled.

This wasn’t just a bond.

This wasn’t just a mating.

This was the beginning of a reign.

Wrenith Hollow was no longer hiding.

She had her Alphas.

She had her power.

And now she had her crown.

The Academy would either bow—

Or burn.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: WREN NO MORE

The crown was heavy.

Not in weight.

In truth.

It sat on her head like it had been forged for her—woven of the bones of long-dead Omegas, lined with the metallic glow of lunar prophecy. When she looked down at her reflection in the rain-stilled pool, she saw someone else staring back.

Not Wren.

Not the girl who faked her designation.

Not the scholarship fraud who swallowed suppressants like salvation.

This woman’s eyes glowed silver.

Her throat bore three fresh bite marks—Dax’s tenderness, Kade’s fury, Corin’s solemnity.

Her scent was no longer Omega.

It was sovereign.

She stood.

The robe clung to her hips, but she didn’t bother to tie it.

Let the forest see her skin.

Let the world remember.

Kade stepped beside her first, jaw set, muscles tight.

His eyes were still black around the edges from the fire of the ritual.

He didn't speak.

Just knelt.

Dax followed.

Golden. Smiling. Barefoot in the moss.

He kissed her wrist.

Then her thigh.

Then knelt beside Kade.

And Corin—Corin said nothing at all.

He took his place behind her.

A shadow.

A shield.

An Alpha who knelt not to submit but to witness.

Together, they formed a triangle of devotion around her.

And Wren—no.

Wrenith.

Spoke.

“I am not the mistake you buried.”

Her voice carried through the grove, over the trees, into the very bones of the school behind them.

“I am not the Beta you suppressed, the heat you feared, or the girl you tried to erase.”

She turned her head skyward.

The moons looked down.

Still full.

Still watching.

“I am the blood you spilled.”

“I am the prophecy you silenced.”

“I am Wrenith Hollow, last of the Moon Wives.”

Lightning cracked across the sky.

A single silver bolt split the tallest tree in the woods.

A ring of light circled her feet.

And in the distance—

Screaming.

Not from pain.

From awakening.

The unbound Omegas of Mooncrest were waking up.

Her mark had called them.

Her Rite had touched their bones.

And they were coming.

Lys found her first.

Stumbling into the grove, her eyes glassy, lips parted, scent newly risen with uncontrolled power.

Behind her came three more.

Then five.

Then a dozen.

Barefoot.

Glowing.

Their glands wide open.

Their marks blooming.

Wrenith turned to them.

Lifted her hand.

And they all dropped to their knees.

Not because she asked.

Because they couldn’t not.

Dax rose.

Kade stared.

Corin’s mouth twisted with something like awe.

“They’re drawn to you,” Corin said.

“No,” Wrenith corrected.

“They’re freeing themselves through me.”

She stepped forward.

Through the ring of blood and ash.

Over the moss.

Onto the cracked stone path that led back toward the school.

Kade followed.

Dax matched her pace.

Corin flanked the rear, eyes sharp.

And the Omegas?

They marched.

Behind her.

Scenting.

Weeping.

Blooming with old magic.

Mooncrest would see her return.

Not as a runaway.

Not as prey.

But as something they forgot to fear.

The girl in the forged Beta file was dead.

The masked scent.

The caged heat.

The lie.

Dead.

Wren was gone.

Only Wrenith Hollow remained.

And she was coming to take everything.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THE DEAD GIRLS SPEAK

The Hollow Wing pulsed with power.

Wrenith stood at its threshold, her bare feet silent against the cold stone, her crown glowing faintly in the half-light. Behind her, the Omegas marched in silence. Beside her, her Alphas kept close—three points to anchor a storm that had outgrown its vessel.

The air in the forgotten wing smelled like old perfume and dried heat. Like secrets sealed in skin and shadow.

But tonight… it was awake.

And it was listening.

She stepped inside.

The doors didn’t creak.

They breathed open.

The hallway pulsed with soft, silver light—like the walls themselves remembered her bloodline.

Lys came to her side.

“None of us come here alone,” she said softly. “Too many bones. Too many ghosts.”

Wrenith nodded.

“I’m not alone.”

The girls followed her into the heart of the wing—a vast, domed hall with broken windows and rusted collars nailed to the stone like trophies.

This was where they housed the Omegas who went feral.

Who bled through their heat.

Who screamed during their Rite and were never heard again.

This was where they buried them.

Not under earth.

Under silence.

And then—

It started.

The air thickened.

The scent of moonblood spiked.

The temperature dropped.

And from the walls—

They came.

Not bodies.

Echoes.

Wrenith turned slowly as the air shimmered and cracked open.

The dead girls stepped into the room.

Their faces pale.

Their throats marked.

Some still wore the collars.

Some were nude.

All of them bore the Hollow sigil.

Every. Single. One.

Lys gasped.

“Oh my gods…”

Dax reached for Wrenith’s wrist, but she didn’t flinch.

She walked forward.

To the first girl—barefoot, her head tilted, eyes glowing silver.

“You were here before me,” Wrenith whispered.

“You opened the door,” the girl replied, her voice echoing like wind through ribs.

“We tried,” said another.

“But they silenced us,” came a third.

More spirits emerged.

The room shimmered with Omega ghosts, their scents layered in grief and rage and heat denied.

“We screamed.”

“They bound us.”

“They called it mercy.”

Wrenith stood in the center of the storm.

Corin moved closer, chest bare, marked by her bite.

“They’re not trapped,” he murmured.

“They’re waiting.”

“For what?” Dax asked, voice strained.

Kade’s jaw flexed.

Wrenith turned slowly.

“They’re waiting for someone to listen.”

She dropped to her knees.

Bowed her head.

Pressed her hand to the stone floor.

“I hear you.”

The spirits flickered.

Cried out in one unified scream—a sound so powerful it shattered every remaining window in the wing.

Then fell silent.

And in that silence—

They stepped into her.

One by one.

The dead girls didn’t vanish.

They merged.

Their light moved into her skin.

Their stories into her blood.

Their wounds into her soul.

She gasped as power surged through her chest, down her limbs.

The mark on her thigh split.

Multiplied.

Now it wasn’t just hers.

It was theirs.

All of them.

When she rose, her hair floated behind her like it had caught fire.

Her eyes were silver.

Her veins glowed.

And her scent…

Her scent made every Alpha drop to their knees.

Even Kade.

Even Corin.

Even Dax.

“I am not the first,” she said.

“I am the last.”

“But not the end.”

“The Hollow Omega isn’t a girl.”

“She’s a graveyard.”

“And I am filled with the rage of every one of them.”

The wing pulsed.

The walls cracked.

The dead girls whispered through her mouth.

“We are no longer gone.”

“We are risen.”

And the Council would hear them scream.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: MARKED BY MOONBLOOD

It wasn’t dawn when they emerged from the Hollow Wing.

It was something older.

A false-dawn glow—the sky blood-warm and silver-heavy, the kind of light that came before a reckoning. Wrenith walked out first, barefoot, no longer human in how she moved. Her skin shone with soft veins of silver light. Her eyes glowed full-moon bright. The sigil on her thigh now circled her entire upper leg, etched like it had been carved in starlight and sealed with tears.

Behind her, the Omegas followed.

Some weeping.

Some silent.

None the same.

Because Wrenith hadn’t just awakened herself.

She had awakened them.

The Hollow Wing had whispered through her blood, their pain channeled through her womb and into the soil.

And the mark they gave her…

It was contagious.

The first Alpha to see her bowed.

Not out of fear.

Out of instinct.

Out of recognition.

He dropped to his knees, baring his throat, as his pupils blew wide and his scent faltered under the sheer weight of her moonblood.

Wrenith kept walking.

Kade flanked her left, shirtless, his body still bearing the bite-marks of their last mating. He wore them like armor. His cock stirred with every step, but he didn’t touch her.

Because this wasn’t about desire.

This was declaration.

Dax walked at her right, golden eyes unblinking, lips pressed tight. He had painted her sigil over his heart in black ink, so everyone would see.

So there would be no question.

He belonged to her.

And Corin walked behind her—silent as always—but with a silver chain now tied around his wrist, connected to hers.

Voluntary.

Not binding.

Reverent.

When they reached the central quad, the other students began to gather.

Beta girls clutched their chests and cried, not knowing why.

Unbonded Alphas stared at her like she was the knife at their throat and the hand holding it.

And Omegas?

They bloomed.

Her scent pulled them like gravity.

They knelt at her feet.

Not just girls.

Not just students.

Even staff.

Even the Enforcers.

And when the sky split again with moonlight—though the tri-moon had waned—the glow descended in ribbons across the quad, marking them.

One by one, the Omegas received a sliver of her mark.

Each girl touched by moonfire where their scent gland sat.

Tattooed by magic.

By memory.

By resonance.

Wrenith lifted her hands.

Spoke into the wind:

“From this day forward, you are no one’s property.”

“No Alpha may claim you without consent.”

“No collar may be forced upon you.”

“No Rite may be invoked without your voice.”

“You are Hollowborn now.”

“You are marked.”

And then she turned to the three men who had followed her to fire and back.

She beckoned them.

They knelt.

She lifted her hands over each.

And tattooed them with silver flame.

Over their hearts.

With her crest.

Not initials.

Not a symbol.

A crescent moon torn through by three slashes.

Dax moaned when it burned into him.

Kade bit his own arm to keep from climaxing.

Corin wept—silent and open—as the mark melted through skin and soul.

When it was done, they rose.

Her mates.

Her chosen.

Her kings.

But she?

She was no longer just theirs.

She was everyone’s.

A symbol.

A wound turned weapon.

The Hollow Omega—filled with the ghosts of the silenced, the rage of the forgotten, and the heat of the world yet to come.

The bells rang then.

Not alarm.

Summons.

The Council had called her again.

Only this time—

They wouldn’t chain her.

They would kneel.

Or they would bleed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: THE REAPING CEREMONY

The Council called it tradition.

The Reaping.

A yearly rite in which the most powerful, unclaimed Omegas were paraded before the Alpha Court—a ceremony masked as pageantry, dressed in silk, scented with floral oils, made to look like celebration.

But it was always blood.

Always auction.

Always a silent scream beneath the perfume and the pearls.

This year, the Omega who stood at the front of the line wasn't one they expected.

This year, Wrenith Hollow arrived barefoot, crowned in moonmetal, with her mark blazing down her thigh like prophecy made flesh.

And the Reaping?

This year, the Reaping would belong to her.

The ceremonial hall was packed.

Mooncrest’s great auditorium—transformed overnight into a throne room of opulence and control.

Alphas lined the gold-flecked benches.

Councilors stood along the marble dais, robed and expressionless.

And in the center of it all, on the auction platform—

A single black dais.

Where Wren was meant to kneel.

She didn’t.

Instead, she walked the center aisle.

Alone.

Her mates forbidden by protocol to enter until the claiming round.

Not that she needed them.

Her scent was a weapon now.

Her skin glowed faintly silver, a residue of the Hollow Rite that no one dared name aloud.

As she reached the platform, her footsteps left glowing marks behind her—each one a rune in the Moon Wives’ forgotten tongue.

She stepped onto the dais.

Turned slowly.

Met every gaze.

Then spoke.

“I will not be reaped.”

The room exhaled, like someone had been holding the air hostage.

Councilor Vren stood.

“You are unbonded,” he said, voice like a blade dulled by arrogance.

“I am claimed,” she replied.

“You wear no collar.”

“I wear a crown.”

She pointed to her mark.

“To stand here in front of you is not consent. It is witness.”

Murmurs echoed.

Someone stood.

Then another.

Then a Beta boy—terrified, but trembling with something close to awe—called out:

“She’s not an offering. She’s a queen.”

Vren snarled. “Then die like one.”

He raised his hand.

And the Enforcers charged.

The first spell hit her like a hammer of light.

But it bounced.

Her mark flared.

The silver tattoo on her mates’ chests ignited across the campus.

Dax roared.

Kade tore through the door, shirtless, bloodied, hands already slick with fresh fight.

Corin walked in behind them—calm, cloaked, holding a blade carved of stone and moonsteel.

They did not kneel.

They guarded.

Dax met the first Enforcer mid-leap, broke his jaw.

Kade took two to the ground in a snarl of scent and steel.

Corin reached Wren’s platform in six heartbeats.

Held out his hand.

Her scent spiraled up like smoke.

She took it.

And the sky cracked.

The ceiling above them exploded open.

Moonlight crashed through like a divine spear.

Every mark on her body pulsed once—twice—then glowed solid.

The Omegas in the audience screamed.

Not in pain.

In awakening.

One by one, their scent glands flared. Their bonds snapped. Their eyes rolled silver.

The Reaping ended not with a sale.

But with a rebellion.

Wren stepped off the platform.

The ground rippled beneath her feet.

She turned to Vren.

The remaining Enforcers formed a wall in front of him.

She raised her hand.

The floor beneath them collapsed.

Screams. Smoke. Gone.

She didn’t flinch.

When she turned to the crowd, the entire room dropped to their knees.

Not just the Omegas.

Not just the Betas.

Even some Alphas.

Even the strongest ones.

Even the proudest ones.

Because what stood before them wasn’t a girl.

It wasn’t a mate.

It wasn’t a name.

It was the Hollow Crown in motion.

And it had come not to be reaped—

But to reap.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: CORIN DIES TO SAVE HER

Power changed everything.

But not fate.

Even queens bleed.

Even Hollow Omegas can fall.

They didn’t come in broad daylight.

The Council’s assassins moved in shadow—silent, scentless, masked by dampening spells and forbidden oaths. Trained to track power, not scent. Trained to bind what should never be bound.

They came for Wren at moonfall.

While she slept beneath ivy-draped stone in the sanctuary her magic had carved from the forest.

She didn’t dream.

She didn’t wake.

But Corin did.

He’d been sleeping on the floor beside her, half-curled like a sentinel between realms. The moment the magic faltered—the wards blinked, the sigils dimmed—his eyes opened.

He saw the blade before he saw the face.

His body moved before his voice did.

Wren gasped awake to his blood.

They drove it through his chest.

Straight through the Hollow Crest tattooed above his heart.

A moonsteel dagger, meant for her.

He made no sound.

Just looked at her as they pulled it free.

Fell.

Wren screamed.

The forest shook.

And every Omega in a five-mile radius woke with a jolt of shared pain.

Dax arrived first.

Covered in frost and fury.

He didn’t speak—just shattered the assassin’s skull with one punch and fell to his knees beside Corin.

Kade burst in next, panting, eyes black with fury.

He didn’t ask what happened.

He just howled.

Wren dropped beside Corin’s body.

Pressed both hands to his chest.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Not you. Not now.”

He tried to speak.

Blood bubbled from his lips.

She leaned in.

He whispered:

“I told you I’d die… before I let them take you.”

Her tears fell onto his skin.

Her mark flared.

The room trembled.

“Not like this,” she cried. “Not for me.”

Kade’s jaw clenched.

Dax wept silently.

“Do something,” she begged.

But no one could answer her plea.

So she answered it herself.

She laid her hand flat over the wound.

Pressed her other hand to his throat.

And began to chant.

Not words she knew.

Not language she'd learned.

The tongues of the Hollow.

The screams of the dead.

The fury of the moon itself.

Her mark seared into her palm.

The blood beneath her hands began to shimmer.

And Corin’s body glowed.

His back arched.

His mouth opened in a soundless gasp.

The room filled with a wind that came from inside her.

And when she screamed—

The magic took.

Corin gasped.

Jerked.

Blinked.

Alive.

Wren collapsed over him, sobbing.

His hands—cold—found her waist.

“I came back,” he whispered.

She kissed his lips.

Tasted blood.

And said, “You were never allowed to leave.”

They burned the assassin’s body.

No burial.

No mercy.

The forest devoured the remains.

And when the last bone turned to ash, Wren rose.

Her hands still bloody.

Her skin still glowing.

Corin stood beside her—shirtless, reborn, a new scar over his heart where her magic had rewritten death.

Kade fell to his knees before her.

Dax bowed his head.

Corin only smiled.

“You’re not just Hollow,” he said.

“You’re the grave and the resurrection.”

And Wren?

She lifted her chin.

Let the moonlight crown her again.

And whispered:

“Let them send more.”

CHAPTER FORTY: KADE SUBMITS

The next moon rose red.

Not with prophecy.

With warning.

The blood-moon—rare, raw, unforgiving.

And beneath its glow, Wren knew what had to happen.

What had been building since the moment Kade growled her name for the first time in the Mooncrest halls.

What had simmered beneath every knot, every fight, every feral kiss.

Kade had taken her body.

But he had never given her his.

Not completely.

Not without resistance.

Until now.

He found her at the edge of the cliffside temple, shirtless, still blood-marked from the assassin’s fire, scent dark with battle and silence.

“I’m not good at this,” he muttered.

She said nothing.

Just watched the way his shoulders shifted—coiled with control, waiting to snap.

“I don’t beg,” he added, jaw tight.

“I know.”

“I don’t kneel.”

“I know.”

“I’m not like them.”

Wren tilted her head.

“No,” she said. “You’re worse.”

Kade’s laugh was sharp and broken. “Yeah.”

“But,” she continued, stepping forward until they were nose to nose, her fingers brushing the edge of the scar near his ribs, “you’re still mine.”

That shattered him.

The last defense.

The last excuse.

He dropped to his knees.

Not because she demanded it.

Because he couldn’t not.

He bowed his head.

Bared his throat.

And whispered, “Do it.”

Wren stepped behind him.

Ran her fingers through his hair.

Let her nails trace the knot marks she’d left before.

“You’ve fought me every step.”

“I know.”

“You rutted me before I was ready.”

“I know.”

“You called it claiming. It was control.”

Kade trembled.

“I know.”

She knelt behind him.

Bit his shoulder—not gently.

He gasped.

But didn’t move.

“You gave me your cock. You never gave me your name.”

He turned slowly.

Eyes wet.

Voice hoarse.

“My name is Kade Arros. Last Alpha of the Iron Line. Heir to the Black House. And I am yours.”

She shoved him onto his back.

Straddled him.

Held his throat.

And rode him slow.

He whimpered.

Begged.

Not with words.

With need.

When he came, it was broken.

Shaking.

His arms wrapped around her like she was the only thing that could keep him from falling through the earth.

And Wren?

She didn’t ride him for her heat.

She rode him to rewrite history.

To show him what submission looked like in the hands of a Hollow Queen.

When she bit him—finally bit him—it wasn’t a claiming.

It was a crowning.

They lay tangled for hours.

His scent curled around her like forgiveness.

And when he finally whispered, “I’m sorry,”

She whispered back, “Good.”

Then kissed his throat.

And said, “Now you’re mine.”

The blood moon faded.

The night stilled.

And Kade—violent, beautiful, broken—slept at her feet.

Not as a weapon.

But as a willing one.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: SHE RETURNS TO MOONCREST

They weren’t ready.

Not for her power.

Not for her scent.

Not for the way she walked through the main gates of Mooncrest Academy like a storm taught how to take shape.

Wrenith Hollow didn’t sneak back.

She didn’t wear a disguise.

She didn’t temper her magic or soften her bite.

She returned naked—wrapped in only a robe of shadow and silver mist, her feet bare, her mark glowing like it had teeth, her scent thick with dominance and something holy.

Behind her walked Dax, Kade, and Corin.

Each of them bare-chested, scarred, marked with her crest over their hearts.

Three Alphas once feared, now devoted.

Three warriors who had bent to her magic, her heat, and her name.

And behind them?

A procession of Omegas.

From every hall.

Every hidden wing.

Every orphaned record the Council tried to burn.

All marked.

All uncollared.

All Hollowborn.

The gates opened on their own.

Wren didn't speak.

Didn’t need to.

Her presence pulled the eyes of every student, every professor, every staff member.

The quad fell silent.

Beta girls wept without knowing why.

Alpha boys dropped to their knees, teeth chattering.

And somewhere above them all, in the tallest tower of the Academy, the Elder Council stared down in horror.

She was supposed to be gone.

Burned out.

Caged.

Instead—

She was glowing.

She stepped into the main hall, the marble tiles sparking beneath her soles.

Each footfall etched glowing runes behind her.

A new path.

A rewritten truth.

Dax reached the grand stairway first.

Lifted his hand.

The bannister exploded into dust.

Kade ripped down the old Omega Code banner, snapping the steel rods like twigs.

Corin stepped to her side, whispering, “The Headmaster’s already fled.”

Wren didn’t blink.

She wasn’t there for him.

She was there for the throne.

It wasn’t literal.

But it might as well have been.

The Omega Suppression Platform—the Council’s sacred circle—had long been used to bind, collar, and “correct” feral designation cases.

Wren climbed the steps to it.

Lifted her hands.

Her power flared.

The entire circle cracked.

The silver veins along the stone ruptured.

The spell anchors broke.

And the circle of suppression became a sigil of sovereignty.

When she turned, her voice rang out across every corridor.

“I am no longer hidden.”

“I am no longer afraid.”

“I am no longer Beta, broken, or bound.”

She lifted her chin.

“I am Wrenith Hollow. Moonblood-born. Last of the Moon Wives. Sovereign of the Hollow Line.”

“I have returned to claim this school.”

“To rewrite its laws.”

“To crown its future.”

No one spoke.

No one moved.

And then—

One by one—

They knelt.

Omegas.

Betas.

Even a few Alphas.

Because they didn’t see a girl anymore.

They saw a legacy too powerful to deny.

Corin approached.

Held out a thin strip of moonsteel.

Wren took it.

Not a collar.

A circlet.

She placed it on her own brow.

Marked herself.

And said:

“From this moment on, the Hollow reigns.”

Behind her, her mates stood tall.

Scarred.

Bitten.

Blinding.

And her people?

They howled.

Not in pain.

Not in fear.

In freedom.

The Academy would never be the same.

Because Wren didn’t just return.

She ascended.

And the old world fell silent in her wake.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: THE COUNCIL BOWS

They made her wait.

Of course they did.

The Elders summoned her through formal decree, draped in ancient protocols, forced her to stand outside the High Chamber while they whispered behind closed doors.

But Wrenith Hollow no longer feared locked doors.

She opened them with her name.

The chamber was domed in onyx and white flame—lit by rune-fires, scented with petrichor and old blood. Seven Councilors sat in their curved throne-rows, each older than the next, each cloaked in power and prejudice.

Wren stepped inside alone.

No Dax.

No Kade.

No Corin.

Just her.

That was enough.

The doors slammed shut behind her with a satisfying finality.

Councilor Vren stood.

His robes shimmered with command spells.

His voice cracked like thunder.

“You are not welcome here without escort.”

Wren smiled softly.

“I’m not here for permission.”

“You’ve violated protocols. Destroyed sacred wards. Collared no Alpha. Yet you stand—”

She raised a single finger.

He choked.

His words cut off mid-breath.

She didn’t touch him.

She didn’t need to.

Her scent bloomed like flame through dry halls—thick, potent, impossible.

Every Elder’s breath faltered.

Every enchantment wavered.

Wren walked forward slowly.

Graceful.

Glowing.

She stopped at the foot of their dais.

Lifted her chin.

Spoke:

“I am here to collect your obedience.”

Gasps.

Outrage.

One Elder stood—Councilor Maelis, the oldest, scent masked by three centuries of suppression charms.

“You claim dominion over the Council?”

“I claim dominion over myself. And that’s more than any Omega before me was allowed.”

“This school was founded on Order.”

“Then it’s time to reorder it.”

She lifted her hand.

Magic pulsed from her palm like a heartbeat.

The floor sigils cracked.

The Elder thrones shuddered.

“Every Omega marked by Hollow blood now holds her own law,” Wren declared. “No more collars. No more forced bonding. No more leashing our power for your wars, your beds, your dynasties.”

“This is treason,” Vren spat.

“This,” she said, “is correction.”

The doors burst open.

Dax walked in first—shirtless, scarred, golden with rage.

Kade followed, blood on his knuckles, smiling like he wanted to burn down kingdoms.

Corin last—silent, eyes lit with quiet fury.

Behind them?

Every Omega from the Hollow Wing.

Every Alpha who had bent willingly.

Even Betas who had watched too long and said nothing.

Wren didn’t move.

Didn’t speak again.

She just turned—

Faced the Council.

And knelt.

Not to submit.

To invite.

The Hollow power pooled at her feet.

A glowing crest that filled the entire chamber.

Councilor Maelis stared.

Then, slowly—trembling—she rose.

Removed her own collar.

Dropped it on the dais.

And knelt.

Councilor Reva followed.

Then two more.

Then—

Even Vren.

Fuming.

But folding.

Because they knew.

They’d lost.

The entire Council bowed.

And Wrenith Hollow rose.

“You may keep your seats,” she said, voice like silk sharpened to a knife.

“But from this day forward, you will answer to me.”

The High Chamber had never seen such stillness.

And in that silence, Wren whispered:

“Long live the Hollow.”

And the world changed.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: A BOND IN PUBLIC

There had never been a mating ceremony like this.

Not in Mooncrest history.

Not in Council archives.

Not in the sacred texts passed hand to hand between cloistered Alpha bloodlines.

Because no ceremony had ever been written for an Omega like Wrenith Hollow.

No rulebook knew what to do when she stepped onto the central quad—barefoot, crowned, glowing—with three Alphas at her side and no collar on her throat.

The school stood still.

Omegas gathered in silent awe.

Betas lined the balconies.

Alphas… knelt.

Every one of them.

Even the Head Alpha of House Vren dropped to his knees at the first breath of her scent.

The quad had been transformed into an open-ringed arena, lined with white fire and scattered moonpetals.

And in the center—

The Binding Circle.

Usually reserved for private vows.

Usually cloaked, perfumed, hidden.

But not this time.

This time, Wren was going to burn their shame in front of their eyes.

She entered the circle with Dax.

His eyes gleamed gold under the moons, body wrapped in ceremonial black, her mark shining over his heart.

She kissed him first.

Slow. Open. Unapologetic.

He moaned into her mouth.

When she pulled back, she bit his throat just enough to make him whimper.

The crowd gasped.

Then Kade entered.

Smirking.

Half-wild.

Blood still crusted at his knuckles.

He stripped off his jacket, let it fall.

Stepped into the circle like a wolf walking into his own damn storm.

Wren grabbed his hair.

Dragged his mouth to hers.

He growled.

Bit her lip.

Then kissed her knuckles.

A submission no one expected.

She nodded.

Bit his shoulder, right over the faded scar.

Marked him again.

Public.

Permanent.

Corin came last.

Clothed head to toe.

Controlled.

Unshakable.

Until he looked at her.

Until she opened her arms.

And he dropped his coat at her feet.

His shirt.

His blade.

He knelt in front of her.

Offered his wrist.

And said, “Mark me where they can all see.”

Wren lifted his hand.

Bit down.

Hard.

When she pulled back, the silver of his blood shimmered through her teeth.

She kissed the mark.

Then turned.

“I don’t choose one,” she said.

Her voice echoed across every tower, every courtyard.

“I bind to all three.”

“I do not belong to them.”

“They belong to me.”

The circle flared with light.

The moons above aligned again—out of season, against all prophecy.

And Wren fell to her knees.

Not in surrender.

In command.

Each Alpha pressed his lips to a part of her body.

Dax to her collarbone.

Kade to her thigh.

Corin to the nape of her neck.

And she—

She glowed.

Every bond in her body pulsed alive.

Every claim written in scent and scar and sacred flame.

The binding wasn’t silent.

It wasn’t soft.

It was orgasmic.

She came as the final knot locked in her belly—no cock needed.

Just magic.

Just love.

Just herself.

And when it ended—

When she stood again, trembling, burning, crowned—

The crowd howled.

And the world knew:

The Hollow had not just returned.

She ruled.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: THE HOLLOW OATH

The night after the public binding was silent.

Not with peace.

With anticipation.

Wrenith Hollow stood atop the highest balcony of Mooncrest, the wind pulling at her hair like it remembered when she’d run through these halls half-collared, scent-hidden, forgotten.

Now the entire school was beneath her.

Lit by torchfire and moonlight.

Watching.

Waiting.

The courtyard brimmed with Omegas, Alphas, Betas—students and staff, teachers and enforcers, all gathered in the cold night air for what had once been the Council’s Night of Vows.

But the council no longer led.

Wren did.

And tonight, the vow was hers.

Dax stood behind her, hands resting on the hilt of a ceremonial blade.

Kade beside him, wearing the warcoat of his bloodline, eyes shadowed with purpose.

Corin, silent, sharp as ever, held the black-bound Hollow Ledger: a record of every Omega erased by the Council in the last fifty years.

Names once removed.

Now written.

Now honored.

Wren stepped forward.

The crowd hushed.

Her bare feet touched the ritual stone, etched now not with suppression sigils, but with her mark—freshly carved by her own blood the night before.

A new crest had been chiseled into Mooncrest’s foundation:

A crescent moon torn through by three claw marks.

The symbol of Hollow.

The symbol of truth.

Wren lifted her chin.

Her voice did not shake.

“I was born to die beneath your system,” she said.

The wind carried her words.

“You made sure of it. Buried my bloodline. Shoved a Beta file in my hand and told me to stay quiet. Be small. Be obedient.”

She turned.

Faced the students.

Faced the Council still seated in their ceremonial pews.

“But you forgot something.”

“I’m not the only one you tried to erase.”

She opened the Hollow Ledger.

Read aloud.

One name.

Then another.

Then another.

Each name made the air crackle with Omega scent.

With memory.

With rage.

Some in the crowd began to cry.

Some howled.

Some dropped to their knees.

Because those names were theirs.

Or their sisters.

Or their mothers.

When she finished, Wrenith Hollow closed the book.

Looked into the stars.

And said:

“I vow this—”

“Every Omega will know she is sacred.”

“Every Alpha will learn we are not prey.”

“No more collars without consent.”

“No more reaping. No more erasure. No more compliance masquerading as safety.”

She turned back to the crowd.

Her mark burned like fire across her thigh.

Her scent flared like an army.

And she said:

“If they touch one of us—”

“They answer to all of us.”

Dax unsheathed the blade.

Lifted it to the stars.

Kade took her hand.

Corin placed the ledger into the fire pit beside them.

The flames rose silver.

Magic flickered through every mark on every Omega in the courtyard.

And they began to chant.

Low.

Slow.

Growing.

“Hollow. Hollow. Hollow.”

Wren dropped the blade into the fire.

Watched it melt.

Watched it become nothing.

And said:

“This is our last vow.”

“Our first law.”

“Omegas are not possessions.”

“We are prophecy.”

And Mooncrest knelt.

Not just the students.

Not just the staff.

Even the walls seemed to bow.

Above them, the moons glowed as one.

And Wrenith Hollow, last of her line, first of her reign, stood unshaken.

Unowned.

And unbreakable.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: PREGNANT WITH POWER

It began as a dream.

Wren standing in the forest at night, her mark glowing, her hands resting on a belly that hadn’t been swollen the day before.

The trees whispered.

The moons glowed low and red and close.

And beneath her skin—

Light moved.

Not kicks.

Not human motion.

But pulses of silver, like starlight swimming inside her womb.

She woke gasping, drenched in sweat, the sheets around her tangled and torn, the bond-marks on her throat throbbing like fresh bites.

Her body wasn’t her own anymore.

And yet, it had never felt more hers.

Corin was the first to feel it.

He touched her hip that morning and went utterly still.

“There’s… something,” he said. “Your scent changed.”

“I know.”

Dax caught her scent mid-step down the tower stairs.

He dropped the plate in his hands.

Kade scented her from the training yard, stopped mid-spar, stared into the sky like he’d been struck by thunder.

None of them said it first.

She did.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words fell like prophecy.

And the room, the air, the world shifted.

Not because of fear.

Not because of consequence.

Because all three of them had marked her.

All three had knotted her.

And now—

All three felt her womb light up like a star gate cracking open.

Dax dropped to his knees before her.

Pressed his cheek to her belly.

Tears in his eyes.

“I feel them,” he whispered.

Kade crouched beside him, hand trembling as he reached forward.

“I don’t know if I should touch,” he said, voice cracking.

“You already have,” she whispered.

He pressed his palm flat.

Closed his eyes.

Then gasped.

Corin didn’t touch.

He just stared.

Then said, “There are three.”

Wren blinked.

“What?”

“Three,” he repeated. “Not children.”

Dax looked up.

Kade’s eyes went wide.

“Then what—?”

Corin met her gaze.

“Orbs. Not hearts. Not limbs.”

Wren’s stomach fluttered.

“They’re not normal,” she whispered.

“No,” Corin said.

“They’re blessed.”

She dreamt again that night.

Not of the forest.

Of a moonless sky.

Of three silver lights orbiting her body, tethered to her blood, her bond-marks, her womb.

Each glowing brighter than the last.

Each pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

And in the dream, a voice whispered:

“You will birth more than heirs.”

“You will birth a new world.”

The next morning, the Hollow Wing shimmered when she walked through it.

Her presence pulled magic from the stones.

Omega girls gasped when they passed her.

Some dropped to their knees in reverence.

Others sobbed.

Lys approached with trembling hands, placed them gently over Wren’s belly.

And whispered, “It’s true.”

“They’re already speaking,” Wren said.

“They’re already changing us.”

Councilor Maelis called an emergency meeting.

The prophecy was spreading too fast.

Omegas were glowing.

The halls whispered with the sound of pulses echoing womb to womb.

And none of them knew what the orbs were.

Or who they would become.

Only that they were not Alpha.

Not Beta.

Not Omega.

They were Hollowborn.

Wren stood before the Council again.

Hands on her belly.

Power thick around her like a storm.

“I’m not carrying your legacy,” she said.

“I’m not birthing your future.”

She stepped forward.

“I’m building one.”

The room didn’t argue.

Because her scent wasn’t just fertility.

It was creation.

Dax curled around her at night, whispering poems against her skin.

Kade pressed his lips to her womb every morning like it was a sacred altar.

Corin sat beside her in silence, one hand always resting at her pulse.

And Wren?

Wren didn’t fear what was inside her.

She craved it.

Because it wasn’t weakness.

It wasn’t dependence.

It was power in gestation.

And when she delivered—

She wouldn’t just bring forth children.

She would bring forth revolution.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: THE MOON MARKS HER MATELESS

There was a storm inside her now.

Not wind. Not rain.

But pulse.

Pressure.

A power that grew sharper every day, no longer confined to the hollow of her womb, but woven through every nerve beneath her skin.

She had created life—three luminous orbs that defied classification, that glowed with prophecy instead of bone.

And still, the world asked her to choose.

To submit.

To bind.

To wear the symbol they demanded—

Not a crown.

A collar.

Wren stood before the Grand Mirror of Mooncrest.

An artifact carved from obsidian and laced with Alpha blood, once used to reflect a submissive Omega’s truth before a Council bonding.

But when Wren stepped into its light, it didn’t show her on her knees.

It showed her standing.

Unbent.

Pregnant with light.

And alone.

Dax entered first, drawn by scent.

Kade came second, breath ragged.

Corin stood just beyond the threshold, silent as always, watching her from the shadows.

They had already been marked.

They had been bound.

Loved.

Tied.

But Wren?

She still wore no claim.

Because she was more than theirs.

She was sovereign.

The ritual circle was prepared.

Silver lines woven with moonthread, three knots at each point—one for Dax, Kade, and Corin.

But the center was left open.

Where Wren should kneel.

Where tradition dictated she lower her gaze, offer her neck, and ask to be made whole.

She stepped into the center.

But she did not kneel.

She lifted her arms.

The wind howled through the open dome.

The sky cracked.

The moon bled.

The ceremony was never completed.

Because Wren’s mark split wide.

Glowed so violently the silver lines burned away.

The knots snapped.

The ritual turned to ash.

And the mirror behind her—

Shattered.

The Council called it an abomination.

The Council called it a rejection.

But Wren stepped forward and gave it a name:

Ascension.

“I am Alpha,” she said.

“I am Omega.”

“And I choose no tether.”

The crowd gasped.

Even Dax’s knees buckled.

Kade bared his teeth—but in awe, not anger.

Corin watched her like a man staring into the sun.

“You would refuse us?” one Councilor asked.

Wren turned to her mates.

Her voice trembled—but not with fear.

With fire.

“I don’t refuse you.”

“I choose myself.”

And the moon answered.

A beam of light pierced the sky, struck her bare chest.

Burned a new sigil over her heart.

A fourth mark.

Unseen in over three thousand years.

The mark of the Alpha-Omega.

Neither owned nor owning.

Both.

All.

Whole.

Wren’s body arched.

Her scent exploded—so vast, so holy, that even the most dominant Alphas in the court dropped.

One vomited from scent shock.

Another fainted.

A third bit his own wrist until blood ran in rivers.

And Wren stood at the center of it all.

Pregnant.

Unbonded.

Crowned.

Complete.

The moons didn’t just glow.

They spun.

Aligned.

Marked the moment in the sky with a burning ring.

And every Hollowborn Omega in the courtyard clutched their chest—

And glowed.

They could no longer call her mateless.

Because she was not without a mate.

She was her own.

And in doing so, she made the whole world hers.

The collar shattered.

The old rites burned.

The last submission died.

And Wrenith Hollow ascended.

Not claimed.

Not collared.

Not conquered.

But crowned in her own name.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: WREN’S LAW

She didn't write it in ink.

She carved it into stone.

On the wall that once held the Mooncrest Obedience Code, where every rule had once chained an Omega by her throat, Wren etched the first lines of her legacy with her own hands—bloody, glowing, unstoppable.

A chisel in one.

A dagger in the other.

No magic.

Just fire and purpose and the weight of everything she'd survived.

They watched in silence.

Hundreds gathered in the great hall.

Every Alpha. Every Beta. Every trembling, radiant Omega who now bore a piece of her mark somewhere on their skin.

The air tasted like lightning.

The moons hovered too close.

And when she stepped back from the wall, the runes glowed.

Ten words.

Carved in a language dead for centuries, but now rising again through every Hollowborn throat:

“Omegas are sacred. Desired. Not taken—only chosen.”

She turned to face them.

Not on a dais.

Not from above.

Just… among.

Alive.

Breathing.

Burning.

Her belly round with prophecy.

Her eyes lit silver.

And her voice?

A thunderclap wrapped in silk.

“This is Wren’s Law.”

She let it fall like a sentence.

Like a promise.

No more auctioning.

No more reaping.

No more collars unless willed.

No more forced heat chambers.

No more buried girls.

No more fake files.

No more forgiveness for the system that had fed on their silence.

“We don’t beg,” she said. “We choose.”

She stepped closer.

Lifted her chin.

“From this day forward, if an Alpha touches an Omega without consent, they will burn. If they mark without bond, they will bleed. And if they try to leash us again—”

She bared her teeth.

“We will feed them to the Hollow.”

Kade laughed low in his throat. “She means it.”

Dax placed a hand over his heart, over the sigil she'd burned there. “She’ll enforce it.”

Corin just nodded once.

“They’ll never recover.”

The Elders didn’t protest.

Couldn’t.

They stood beneath the words she carved and said nothing.

Because there was no rule old enough to unwrite the woman she’d become.

And even they knew—

Wrenith Hollow wasn’t a rebellion anymore.

She was law.

Later that night, they held a feast.

Not of excess.

Of ritual.

Three candles lit in the Hall of Binding.

Three oaths poured into wine.

Three Alpha hands offered not to possess, but to protect.

Wren stood between her mates, her crown heavy, her womb glowing, and lifted her cup.

“To the broken girls,” she said softly.

“To the ones who bit first.”

“To the ones who died in silence.”

She raised her voice.

“To the ones who rose.”

They drank.

And the Hollow drank with them.

The wall still glows in the dark.

Her law—cut deep and final.

Not because she demanded obedience.

But because the world had waited too long for justice.

And it had finally found her.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: THE HOLLOW ACADEMY

They renamed it within a month.

The plaques were torn down, the etched crests of Mooncrest Academy melted into slag, the Council chambers converted into classrooms. The old banners were burned—replaced with fabric kissed by moonlight, stitched with the Hollow crest: a silver crescent torn by three marks, bleeding light.

Mooncrest was dead.

In its place stood The Hollow Academy.

And at its helm, Wrenith Hollow.

It didn’t begin as a school.

It began as a refuge.

A haven for the forgotten.

The silenced.

The burned.

Omegas who had hidden themselves under suppressants, under false Beta labels, under shame.

Alphas who had refused the leash of tradition.

Betas who wanted more than to stand on the sidelines of a world built on fear and power.

She opened the gates not with invitation—

But with command.

They came by the dozens.

Some walked for days.

Others limped in barefoot, bloodied, broken, still healing.

Every one of them was offered the same three things:

A bed.

A mark of choice.

And a voice.

The first dormitory was named after her mother.

Liora’s Hall.

It was built beside the forest altar where Wren had first screamed the moons down.

Girls painted their doors with spells.

They built altars to their scent.

They braided magic into their bedsheets.

And Wren?

She walked the halls barefoot every night, pregnant with prophecy, her scent washing the corridors in comfort and power.

They restructured the classes.

No more obedience trials.

No more dominance drills.

Combat was taught by Kade—who barked and growled but wept the first time an Omega punched an Alpha in the face and was applauded.

Dax led power theory.

He stood before classes with no shirt, just his Hollow brand, and taught touch as reverence, not possession.

Corin became the Keeper of Memory.

He curated the archives, recovered buried Omega rites, restored names to the lost.

And every time someone tried to kneel before Wren, she would lift their chin and say, “Not before me.”

“With me.”

A thousand small rebellions bloomed.

Omegas danced in heat with no fear of being taken.

Betas held each other without shame.

Alphas braided silver thread into their hair as a sign of submission by choice.

A new word rose in every spellbook.

Hollowborn.

Not designation.

Not threat.

Legacy.

Lineage.

A birthright.

Wren’s children moved in her belly like moons finding gravity.

Every day they pulsed brighter.

And with every step she took across the grounds, her mark left traces of fire behind her.

Not destruction.

Foundation.

The Academy became a temple.

And the temple became a kingdom.

But not ruled by iron.

By consent.

By law written in blood and blossoms.

And Wren?

She didn’t sit on a throne.

She walked through every room, every class, every courtyard—

Like a girl who had been buried and clawed her way back to life.

Because she had.

And now she made sure no one else had to.

The Hollow Academy was not for the obedient.

It was for the risen.

For the once-reaped.

For the once-wrecked.

And it pulsed at its heart with a girl who had once been nothing—

And made herself into everything.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: THE MATING CEREMONY OF SHADOWS

The final bond wasn’t for show.

It wasn’t for Council approval.

Or school tradition.

Or ceremony.

It was for them.

Wren.

Dax.

Kade.

Corin.

A tether formed not in fire or fury, but in the sacred hush of the new moon—where no light watched, no rules reached, and no one could touch what belonged only to them.

They met in the deepest part of the Hollow Grove, where the altar had long since cracked open from Wren’s awakening.

The roots glowed with quiet magic.

The trees stood silent, guardians of something ancient.

And overhead, the sky pulsed void-black—moonless, vast, endless.

The perfect canvas for something new.

Wren wore no crown.

No robe.

No weapons.

Just her body.

Round with life.

Marked with Hollow power.

And bare.

She was already mated.

Already marked.

Already powerful beyond any Omega before her.

But tonight was not about being claimed.

It was about completion.

Dax came first.

He knelt in the moss.

Offered his wrists.

“I was yours from the moment you bit me,” he whispered. “But now I offer what I never gave anyone—my surrender.”

Wren kissed his wrists.

His bonds flared silver.

Kade arrived second.

He bled when he entered the clearing, a self-inflicted offering across his palm.

“I’ve fought everything,” he said. “The system. The heat. Even you.”

He dropped to his knees.

“But I will never fight you again.”

Wren touched his wound.

He moaned.

The blood sealed beneath her fingers.

Corin came last.

He said nothing.

Just stepped forward, pressed his forehead to hers.

And whispered:

“I dreamed of your death.”

“I know.”

“But tonight, I choose your life.”

“And I choose yours.”

They stripped without ceremony.

Not to shock.

To equalize.

Three powerful Alphas, once feared, now kneeling naked around her.

Each of them still marked by her bite.

Each of them tattooed with her crest.

Each of them burning for her.

She stepped between them.

Raised her arms.

And the forest answered.

The roots twisted into a circle of silver light.

The altar bloomed into soft moss.

The moons did not rise.

Because they were watching from inside her womb.

Three orbs pulsed in rhythm.

And Wren laid down.

Opened her thighs.

Offered everything.

They took turns.

Dax first—slow, reverent, pressing kisses to her swollen belly as he slid into her, his knot swelling with care and promise.

Then Kade—growling, biting, weeping, his knot a violent echo of devotion barely contained.

Then Corin—silent, eyes full of light, entering her like prayer, holding her gaze as he gave her his final piece.

When she came the last time, it was not with a scream.

It was with a pulse.

A thrum of Hollow magic that exploded from her womb like starlight.

Bathed the grove.

Branded their souls.

And bonded them again.

Not Alpha to Omega.

Not mate to mate.

But equals.

All of them.

They lay together, knotted, tangled, breathless.

The forest bloomed around them.

Petals rained from unseen canopies.

And Wren closed her eyes knowing the world could fall apart tomorrow—

But she?

She would never fall alone.

The Mating Ceremony of Shadows ended not in darkness—

But in the softest kind of dawn.

CHAPTER FIFTY: HOLLOW

They stripped her name.

They denied her heat.

They tried to bury her in forged files, swallowed pills, fake Beta perfume, and a lie so heavy it nearly crushed her before she ever tasted power.

But now—

She wore it all like a crown.

The Hollow Crest was etched into the highest spire of the Academy—no longer in shadow, but blazing in silver moonlight.

It pulsed like a second heart.

Like a warning.

Like a promise.

The world could look up and remember.

Because Wrenith Hollow was not myth.

Not prophecy.

Not a mistake.

She was the reckoning that followed silence.

Her children were born beneath the new moon.

Three glowing orbs became three wailing infants—swaddled in violet cloth, their eyes glowing faintly with the residue of her magic.

Each held something different.

One smelled like wild honey and rage.

One breathed like wind through bone.

One laughed before they ever cried.

They weren’t Alpha.

They weren’t Omega.

They were new.

And the world had no language for them yet.

Dax sang lullabies in old tongue.

Kade held them like glass and thunder.

Corin whispered the Hollow histories into their dreams.

And Wren?

She kissed each one on the brow.

And said, “You are mine. But not to keep. Only to free.”

The Hollow Academy expanded.

Omegas came from every region.

The Council dissolved itself quietly.

Not out of penance.

But because there was no longer room for them in a world that had remembered the women it buried.

Wren taught the first class of Omega leaders herself.

She stood barefoot in a circle of grass.

Spoke not of war.

But of will.

She didn’t talk about power.

She radiated it.

When a girl asked how to survive without submitting—

Wren lifted her sleeve.

Showed her every scar.

And said:

“You don’t survive by hiding your fire.”

“You survive by becoming the match.”

Some nights, she still woke with her hand on her thigh, half-expecting the mark to fade.

But it didn’t.

It had never been a scar.

It had always been a seed.

And now it bloomed everywhere.

In the songs.

In the silence.

In the way Alphas asked instead of took.

In the way Omegas laughed with their heads thrown back instead of down.

Years passed.

And Wren stood in her tower, looking down over the Academy that no longer called her a mistake.

Her mates stood beside her.

Her children at her feet.

And when the moon rose—

She smiled.

Because the world howled not for war.

Not for rage.

But for her.

And the name she once feared?

She carved it into the stars.

THE END.