The white fur that made me precious also made me disposable. I stood at the edge of Moonstone Square, watching the elders prepare the ceremonial stone that would seal my fate. My father—Elder Corvus of the Silver Moon Pack—wouldn't meet my eyes. He hadn't looked at me directly in three days, not since he'd informed me of the Council's decision. "Lyra." My younger sister Mira gripped my hand, her fingers trembling. "You don't have to do this. We could run. I know the eastern border routes—" "And start another war?" I squeezed her hand back, harder than I intended. "How many would die this time?" The decade-long conflict between Silver Moon and the Iron Claw Pack had claimed hundreds of lives. My mother. Mira's twin brother. Countless warriors on both sides, their bodies returned wrapped in funeral shrouds that grew more numerous with each passing season. Now, finally, there was a chance for peace. And the price was me. "The White Wolf of Silver Moon," they called me. A genetic rarity that occurred once every few generations—pristine white fur, ice-blue eyes, and a wolf form that supposedly carried ancient bloodlines. I should have been treasured. Protected. Celebrated as pack royalty. Instead, I was the perfect bargaining chip. "All pack members, assemble!" The ceremonial horn echoed across the square, its mournful note making my wolf stir restlessly beneath my skin. She didn't understand why her own pack was doing this. Neither did I, not really. The crowd parted as the Iron Claw delegation entered Moonstone Square. I'd never seen them up close before—only across battlefields, their dark forms tearing through our warriors. Now they walked among us under the white flag of truce, and the hatred radiating from my packmates was almost palpable. Alpha Thorne led them, a mountain of a man with scars crisscrossing his face like a roadmap of violence. His eyes swept the assembled crowd with cold assessment before landing on me. Something flickered in his expression—pity, maybe? It vanished before I could be sure. Behind him walked the Iron Claw elders, their ceremonial robes embroidered with symbols of war and conquest. And beside them— My breath caught. A man in a wheelchair, pushed by an attendant. Even seated, I could tell he'd once been massive. His shoulders were still broad, his arms corded with muscle, but his legs lay motionless beneath a heavy blanket. Dark hair fell across his face, obscuring his features, but I caught glimpses of a strong jaw and high cheekbones marked by scars. Kael. The Broken Warrior of Iron Claw. My future husband. The rumors about him were legendary—a warrior so fierce he'd single-handedly held the northern pass against fifty Silver Moon wolves, only to be crippled in the final assault. Some said he'd been paralyzed by one of our pack's shamans. Others claimed it was a curse from the Moon Goddess herself for his brutality in battle. Looking at him now, slumped in that chair with his face turned away from the crowd, he seemed more broken than brutal. "Let the Binding Ceremony commence!" Elder Thorne's voice boomed across the square. My father finally looked at me then, and what I saw in his eyes made my wolf howl with grief. Love. Regret. And an unyielding determination that told me there would be no last-minute rescue, no sudden change of heart. I was really going to do this. The elders from both packs gathered around the ceremonial stone—a massive granite slab that had witnessed countless pack rituals over the centuries. Today, it would witness my sacrifice. Elder Thorne began the incantation in the Old Language, words that made the air shimmer with ancient magic. My father joined in, his voice steady despite the tightness around his eyes. One by one, the other elders added their voices until the chant filled the square, resonating in my bones. The magic built like pressure before a storm. "Lyra Corvus of Silver Moon." Elder Thorne's eyes glowed with ceremonial power. "Step forward." My legs moved automatically, carrying me to the stone. The crowd's whispers followed me like ghosts. "So young." "The White Wolf, sacrificed." "At least it's just the cripple. Could be worse." Could it? Could it really be worse than being shackled to an enemy, forced to leave everything I knew, bound by magic to a man who probably hated me as much as I should hate him? "Kael Ironridge of Iron Claw." Alpha Thorne's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Step forward." The attendant wheeled Kael toward the stone. As he drew closer, he finally raised his head, and I got my first clear look at his face. Beautiful. Devastatingly, unexpectedly beautiful, despite—or perhaps because of—the scars. His eyes were molten gold, wolf-bright even in human form, and they fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. There was no hatred in that gaze. No cruelty. Only a resignation that mirrored my own. "The terms," Elder Thorne announced, producing an ornate dagger that gleamed with enchantments. "Lyra Corvus will join Iron Claw Pack as Kael Ironridge's mate and wife. She will live among them, bound by marriage and magic, for a period of no less than ten years. Should either pack break the peace during this time, should any harm come to the bride, or should she be returned to Silver Moon before the decade ends, the treaty is void and the injured pack may claim blood price threefold." Threefold. They'd made me worth three hundred lives. No pressure. Elder Thorne approached the stone and began to carve, the enchanted blade cutting through granite like butter. Ancient symbols flowed from his hand—the mark of Silver Moon, the mark of Iron Claw, intertwined with the binding runes of marriage and treaty. Each stroke felt like a wound to my heart. My father took the blade next. His hand shook slightly as he carved my name into the stone, making it permanent. Making it real. When he finished, he looked at me with tears streaming down his weathered face. "Forgive me," he mouthed. I couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. One by one, the elders carved their oaths into the stone. With each cut, the magic intensified, wrapping around me like invisible chains. My wolf fought against it, snarling and snapping, but there was no escape from ceremonial magic this ancient, this powerful. Finally, only the binding remained. "Your hands," Elder Thorne commanded. Kael extended his right hand, palm up. The attendant wheeled him closer to me until we were only inches apart. This close, I could smell him—pine and smoke and something wild that made my wolf pause in her struggling. I placed my hand in his. His palm was warm, calloused from weapons and warfare. His fingers closed around mine with surprising gentleness, and I felt a jolt of something that definitely wasn't just ceremonial magic. Elder Thorne drew the blade across our joined palms. Blood welled up, mine pale against my white skin, his dark and rich. The elder pressed our hands together, and our blood mingled as he chanted the final binding. The magic exploded through me like lightning.