Chapter 5

Natalya's POV

In the Green Peaks Pack, power is everything. Strength, obedience, and conformity are the only currencies that matter. If you belonged to the pack—the strongest of them all—you were expected to act as a soldier, a pawn in a larger game. Respect and recognition weren’t freely given; they were prizes earned by enduring relentless challenges and bending to archaic traditions.

I didn’t belong. No matter how hard I tried to blend in, no matter how far I went to meet their expectations, I was always the outlier. Green Peaks prized raw ability above all else, and I lacked the gifts they revered: the ability to shift, to emit emotional scents, or to mind-link. In their eyes, I wasn’t a wolf. I was something else.

Eighteen years ago—so the story goes—I was discovered as an infant, naked and crying in the cold under a shrub near the Green Peaks village. My adoptive parents told me that when they found me, my moonlit eyes glowing against the night, they felt an immediate connection. They believed I was a blessing, someone special. They raised me as their own, lavishing me with love and care. My childhood was filled with happiness: climbing cliffs, chasing the wind across sprawling meadows, and laughing as snow blanketed the forests each winter.

But as I grew older, the cracks in my idyllic world began to show.

My peers whispered behind my back. They spread rumors that I was cursed, a misfortune sent by the Moon Goddess to test the pack’s resolve. Some feared me. Others simply hated me. Over time, the warmth of my childhood was replaced by cold isolation. Scorn and rejection became my constant companions.

Despite it all, I tried to prove myself. I hunted for the pack. I defended the village. I served loyally, hoping my deeds would overshadow my differences. But no matter how much I gave, I was met with disdain. In Green Peaks, my worth was measured by what I was not—and I was nothing to them.

Yet even the darkest nights have an end.

Now, I sit in a room far from Green Peaks, wrapped in the warmth of a place I never imagined would welcome me. The Alekseev estate—a sprawling fortress of luxury and history—has become my sanctuary. The lycans, the sworn enemies of my kind, have given me something the pack never did: acceptance.

I still don’t understand it. They claim I don’t smell like a werewolf but like a lycan. It’s baffling, almost laughable, but I’m too tired to question it. For the first time in my life, I feel seen. I feel valued.

And it’s all because of him—Vladimir Alekseev.

He found me that night, a shivering wreck in the snow, and offered me a hand when I was at my lowest. He didn’t just save me from the cold; he saved me from myself. He brought me to his home, told me to enjoy the festivities in honor of his ascension as King of the Gray Fields Kingdom, and ensured I was cared for. His kindness was effortless, his presence magnetic.

If he hadn’t appeared that night, I might not be here now. It wouldn’t have been the cold that killed me—it would’ve been the loneliness. The ache of never being enough, of never being loved.

Now, as sunlight spills through the blinds, I let myself bask in the surreal beauty of this moment. The distant cityscape glimmers under a blanket of snow, and the mansion grounds stretch endlessly below. Near the ancient bridge leading to the estate, a group of young lycan girls laugh and play, their black coats stark against the white snow.

One of them spots me through the window. “She’s awake!” she shouts, pointing enthusiastically.

The others follow suit, waving and calling up to me. “Good morning, ma’am! What’s your name again?”

Their cheerful voices make me smile—a small, unguarded moment of happiness I haven’t felt in years. “I’m Natal—”

A soft creak from the guestroom door interrupts me. I turn and find myself staring at Vladimir.

He stands tall in the doorway, his presence filling the room effortlessly. He’s dressed in a black three-piece suit, though he’s left the jacket behind. The crisp white shirt clings to his broad chest, the top buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of taut muscle. His dark hair is slightly tousled, and his feet are bare, a detail that feels oddly intimate.

He approaches, and I notice the finer details of his face: the curve of his lips, the sharp angle of his jaw, the glint of greenish-blue in his eyes. He looks at me, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

“Did you sleep well?” His voice is a low baritone, steady and warm.

I nod, suddenly shy under his gaze. “I did. How about you?”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he crosses his arms. “I’m glad to hear it. And I was out yesterday, handling kingdom matters. Why? Did someone trouble you in my absence?”

His concern catches me off guard. “No, not at all,” I assure him quickly. “Your people have been nothing but kind. They’re… wonderful.”

His expression softens, and before I can react, he pulls me into an embrace. His scent—earthy, clean, and warm—wraps around me, calming the storm inside. His hands move gently along my back, grounding me. “Good,” he murmurs against my neck, his breath a soft caress. “You belong here, Natalya. Stay with us.”

My heart stutters. “What?”

He leans back, just enough to meet my eyes. “Stay,” he repeats, his tone earnest. “If there’s somewhere you need to go, I’ll take you. But staying here—with me—would make me happy.”

I search his face for any hint of jest, but his eyes hold only sincerity. Tanya’s voice whispers in my mind, her tone urgent yet gentle: This is your chance. This is the life you’ve been waiting for.

She’s right. For the first time in years, I feel something close to hope.

“So…” Vladimir prompts, his voice low.

I take a deep breath, letting the moment sink in. “Okay,” I say, smiling as relief washes over his face. “I’ll stay.”