The sky was red with dusk as Jude stepped onto the Evergreen stone dais, eyes locked on the waiting crowd. Wolves lined the courtyard—Ever Green soldiers, Mooncrest friends, the curious, and the rebellious. Tension rippled through the air like lightning before a storm.
At his side, Natasha stood wrapped in moon-white silk, her scar obvious, her belly soft and starting to swell. She didn't shrink from their stares. She stood like the wind—calm, but dangerous.
Jude's words carried over the crowd.
"I rejected her," he began, voice even. "I branded her. I banned her."
A whisper spread through the wolves, old scars crackling with memory.
He raised his chin. "And I was wrong."
He turned, facing Natasha fully. The moonlight caught the lines of her face, the scar across her shoulder, the fire in her eyes.
"She is my fated mate. My Luna. The bearer of my child. And I claim her now—before you all."
Gasps.
Low growls.
A few warriors stepped forward, eyes sparkling. Elias among them. "You can't undo your failure with a speech."
Jude stepped down from the dais, his voice a low snarl. "Then challenge me. Right here. Right now."
The crowd held its breath.
Elias's lips curled. But he didn't move.
Neither did anyone else.
Jude's eyes locked with Natasha's again. "You are mine. Not because of a link. Not because of prophecies. But because I chose you. And I'll keep picking you. Even when you don't choose me back."
He dropped to one knee.
"I will fight this pack. I will take down every tradition. I will burn our rules to ash if that's what it takes to stand at your side."
Silence.
Then he reached for her hand.
The moment his skin brushed hers, the crowd broke into howls. Some were cheers.
Others, rage.
But Jude only looked at her.
Waiting.
Raw.
Exposed.
"I love you," he said, so softly only she could hear it.
And Natasha's breath caught.
But she did not smile.
She did not take his hand.
Instead, she stepped back.
The crowd went quiet.
Natasha's hand floated in the space between them, then dropped.
Jude stared up at her, shock flashing across his face before it was replaced by something deeper—shame. But she didn't move. Didn't apologize.
She looked him dead in the eyes. "You want to claim me in front of them? You want to be my mate again, my guardian, the father of my child?"
"I do," he whispered.
"Then earn me."
Jude rose slowly, his shoulders tense. "I've bled for you. I branded myself in exile. I've fought my pack, my instincts—"
"I know," she interrupted, voice firm. "And it's a start. But it's not enough."
He blinked. "What more can I give?"
"Time," she said. "Consistency. Patience."
He opened his mouth, but she raised her hand.
"I believed you once. I ran into your arms like they were home—and you let them turn into fire. You watched me burn. And now you think a public statement undoes that?"
His chest rose and fell with hard, unsteady breaths.
"I don't want another vow," she said. "I want proof. Day by day. Step by step. You say you'll tear down your rules for me? Then do it. You say you'll change? Then change. Not for me. For our child. For yourself."
Jude's throat bobbed. "And if I do?"
She turned her head slightly, the wind pulling her hair. "Then I'll choose you."
That small word—then—held everything.
Hope.
Challenge.
Promise.
He reached for her again, slower now, not to grab, but to anchor.
"Let me try," he mumbled.
"You can try," she said, stepping down from the dais. "But you're not claiming me, Jude."
"Not yet."
She walked away, leaving him standing in the center of the crowd—warriors silent, moonlight washing over his skin.
Jude looked at the blood on his fingers, at the space beside him.
And for the first time since he was made Alpha, he truly understood what it meant to be helpless.
But not lost.
Never again.
Later, in the quiet of the Mooncrest courtyard, Natasha sat on the low stone wall, her hands resting on the curve of her belly. The moon cast her in silver. A breeze whispered across the trees.
She heard Gareth's footsteps long before he spoke.
"I should've stopped him," he said, voice quiet. "When he knelt."
She didn't look up. "Why didn't you?"
"Because I saw your face."
She turned slowly.
And saw his pain.
"I was never going to win," Gareth admitted, moving closer. "Even before Jude returned. I could feel it in your quiet. In the way you looked for him in every shadow."
"I looked for safety," she whispered. "And you gave it."
"You deserved it," he said.
She rose. "I still do."
He stepped forward. "I love you."
Her breath caught.
"Not because I want something," Gareth said. "Not because I think I'm owed you. I love you because I saw every piece of you and didn't flinch. Because I watched you fall and still saw a queen."
Her eyes stung.
"I would have loved the child too," he said, voice soft. "Even if it wasn't mine."
Her hand shook.
"But I won't stay where I'm not chosen," Gareth ended. "Not again."
A pause.
Then Natasha stepped forward and pressed her hand to his chest. "You saved me when no one else would."
He nodded, putting his hand over hers.
"And I will never forget it," she whispered. "But you're right."
He smiled, bittersweet. "Letting go is harder than holding on."
Then he turned, coat whirling, and disappeared into the trees.
Not leaving.
But freeing her.
And himself.
That night, Natasha stood alone at the lake's edge, her bare feet in the sand. Her reflection shimmered on the water—stronger, larger, scarred.
Jude appeared without a sound, staying back until she acknowledged him.
"You waited," she said softly.
"I'll wait forever," he answered.
She turned slowly.
He didn't move closer.
Instead, he held out his hand, palm up.
She stepped up to him.
Took his hand.
He brought it to his lips and kissed her palm.
"I don't deserve you," he whispered against her skin.
"Then stop trying to deserve me," she whispered. "And just love me."
He nodded, holding her hand like it was holy.
The moon rose above them, full and red, casting their shapes as one on the sand.
He didn't kiss her mouth.
Didn't touch her scar.
He just held her.
And for now—
That was everything.