Luna’s Fate: The Last Silver Werewolf

Torrent's pulse quickened as he was shoved aside by a confused foot soldier rushing past him in the castle's hallway. The air was thick with ash and the acrid stench of blood. Cries and echoes of a battle pierced the night.

"Run! Run, Rent!" a wailing voice ricocheted through the corridor.

He knew that voice. "Mom? Mom! Where are you?!" His legs flew across the hallway, eyes scanning frantically as he turned every corner.

Maybe I'll find her in one of the rooms.

But the deeper he ran, the narrower the hallway became, and the darker the air around him grew. Shadows moved unnaturally. The walls whispered his name.

"Rent! Baby, no! Don't come any closer!" Her voice was trembling now. Desperate.

He froze. Heart thudding in his ears, he reached for the wall—his fingers came away slick and sticky.

Blood.

A cold shiver ran through him. He staggered back and fell hard onto the floor. "Mom!" he screamed as the walls began to close in. Her voice echoed once more, then silence. The air choked him. Blackness.

**

Torrent Bane jolted upright in bed, both hands wrapped tightly around his head. The pain was blinding, pressing at his skull like a vice.

"Shit," he groaned.

Another nightmare. Another morning headache. They were a curse now.

He stumbled out of bed in the pitch-dark room, tripping and swearing until he found the bathroom door. The light snapped on.

"Fuck!" He winced as the harsh brightness seared his eyes. "Darren, dim the lights," he barked.

The light softened instantly. Torrent moved straight to the bathtub and eased into the warm water with a groan.

George always made sure it was ready. It was the only comfort Torrent allowed himself.

Unlike most of his kind, Torrent was mateless. And no matter how many titles or victories he gained, it never filled that void.

His hand trembled as a sharp pain lanced through his head again. He reached for the pills on the tub's edge, fumbling until he popped two in his mouth and leaned back, soaking in silence.

Is this some kind of punishment? Why can't I get peace? What more do I have to do to rid myself of this damn ache?

The bath did little to soothe the unrest in his chest. His mind, restless as ever, returned to the only solution he believed could save him.

A mate.

It wasn't just tradition. It was survival. It was soul-deep.

The first time he witnessed a mating ceremony, he'd been mesmerized. A glowing string—the "lining of hope"—would connect destined pairs. The connection deepened after the bond was accepted and sealed. A bow. A kiss to the head. A mark to the neck. Sacred, powerful, binding.

He'd seen couples laugh as they linked minds. He'd seen them howl together as one. They were no longer just two individuals—they became one force.

But the last one he witnessed had gone wrong.

The were-girl had refused the bond. Called her mate a coward. He had collapsed, screaming, foaming at the mouth. Went feral before their eyes. Lost to the madness.

Torrent had asked his mother how someone could reject their mate. She had no clear answer.

That had terrified him more than the incident itself.

I've come of age... years ago. Yet, nothing. Maybe she's already found me. Maybe she looked into my soul and walked away.

What if I've already been rejected?

He gasped and jerked forward, emerging from the water as if surfacing from a nightmare within a nightmare.

The thought made his chest ache more than any wound. He doesn't need his mate to reject him, he was already mad. A mad ruler feared to snap at any moment.

He stepped out of the tub, walked to the sink, and stared into the mirror. His eyes—normally dark—looked clouded, stormy.

He brushed his teeth, rinsed, and reached for his razor.

That's when a low growl echoed in his mind.

Maybe we snap someone's neck today just for fun, Bale, his wolf, snarled with amusement.

"Oh, good morning to you too," Torrent muttered.

Oh, don't be such a drama queen. It doesn't suit us, Bale huffed.

"You're one to talk—edging me to kill that defaulter in the throne room yesterday."

HE DESERVED IT. You know he did. We both wanted it. Don't lie to yourself. Bale's voice snapped.

Torrent didn't argue.

"Darren, dim light on" Torrent commanded as he strode back into his room. The dim light comes on, brightening the dark room. It was mostly furnished with black furniture. The king-size bed positioned just at the center of the room was the most elaborate furniture.

He entered the walk-in wardrobe and he picked out the outfit he wanted and dressed up in record time-- a black dress shirt with a subtle sheen, black trousers that fit perfectly, silver cufflinks with a wolf head dotted on his shirt sleeve, and Italian leather black shoes. With his black hair to match his dark look, Torrent was ready to get on with the day.

Ready to kill, Bale whispered.

Torrent ignored him and stepped into the hallway, where George was already waiting by his door.

"What's on the agenda?" Torrent asked, voice flat.

George bowed slightly. "Several eligible were-girls have been gathered for your consideration, my Liege. The council believes... it's time."

Torrent grunted. "Of course they do."

He began to walk. George trailed behind, clipboard in hand. "Also, the border scouts reported unusual activity in the northern quadrant—a spike in aura signatures. We've never seen anything like it."

Torrent stopped walking. His jaw clenched. "Aura signatures?"

George nodded. "Similar to what occurs during a first transformation. But wilder. Stronger. The energy was... silver."

Bale stirred violently in Torrent's mind. Silver.

Torrent's chest grew tight. A possibility whispered.

Could it be?

George hesitated. "Should we investigate further?"

Torrent's lips curled into a rare smirk. "Yes. Send a scout team. And George..."

"Yes, my Liege?"

"Make sure they don't scare whatever it is. If it's what I think... we approach carefully."

George nodded and scribbled it down, his thoughts racing. Torrent never smirked.

Mate? Bale howled in his mind.

"Huh! You think?" Torrent replied bitterly.

But a flicker of hope flared in the pit of his chest, whether he wanted it or not.