The cold winds of Nightshade Valley swept through the dense forest, carrying with it whispers of ancient secrets. As the thugs tore into my flesh, their claws raking through my skin like daggers, my beloved mate, Rowan Blackwood, was out celebrating a decade of rekindled love with Selene, his first love. While they dined under the moonlight, I lay broken and battered, watching my own life drain into the cursed earth of Silverclaw Forest. Desperate, I tried to reach out through our pack bond, my mental voice pleading in agony. But all I received in return was cold indifference: "This won't make me return. I won't be home tonight, you foolish pup."

A twisted relief settled in my chest when he didn't come. Had he, I knew I would've faced a far worse fate. Rowan was never one for mercy, especially toward a mate he loathed.

Three days later, he was the center of attention once again, Alpha Rowan, the renowned tracker and forensic expert of Lunarclaw Pack. His sharp senses and unerring instincts had earned him a reputation as the best in the realm. This time, he was summoned to investigate a string of murders that had thrown the entire territory into chaos.

He stood there, analyzing the scene with practiced precision, speaking about the victim's last moments as if they were a puzzle to be solved. What he didn't know was that he was dissecting the death of his very own mate, the one whose presence he could barely tolerate.

I was no longer a living, breathing wolf but a mangled body, tossed aside in the wilderness like carrion for scavengers. My shredded form lay hidden beneath debris, forgotten in the aftermath of violence.

Until Kellan, the village elder, stumbled upon me while walking his old wolf. The creature sniffed around, tugging at what appeared to be a discarded black bag. It wasn't long before Kellan realized the horrifying truth, the bag wasn't filled with waste, but my remains. A human leg bone poked out, sending the old man into a frantic panic.

The nightmare spread like wildfire. Bodies were discovered all across the region, victims of a brutal spree. The Moonlit Hunters, a specialized team of warriors and trackers, were assembled to solve the mystery. And at the forefront of the investigation? None other than Rowan Blackwood, the alpha with a nose as sharp as his blade.

Standing in the center of the latest crime scene, Rowan moved through the wreckage, analyzing the blood trails and claw marks with an eerie calm. The air was thick with the metallic scent of death, but his focus never wavered.

"This is no ordinary attack," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes followed the blood spatters on the trees. His brow furrowed in concentration as he crouched low, inspecting deep gashes in the earth. "Whoever did this had a purpose. This was calculated."

Caden Storm, the leader of the Moonlit Hunters, stood beside Rowan, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Our victim's a she-wolf, likely under thirty, from the looks of her bones," Caden muttered, his voice heavy with suspicion. "But why? Who would want to tear her apart like this?"

Rowan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he surveyed the scene once more, his instincts twitching with unease. "This wasn't just a random act of violence," he finally said. "Someone had a vendetta, and they're just getting started."

He was right. The deaths weren't random, and I, his long-forgotten mate, was only the beginning of a much larger tragedy.

A glimmer caught Rowan's eye, a piece of evidence half-buried beneath a pile of leaves. A ring, coated in dried blood. Rowan crouched and lifted the ring, his sharp eyes narrowing as he inspected it.

Caden's voice turned low and cautious. "Rowan, isn't that ring… similar to yours?"

Rowan paused, briefly taken aback. He examined the band again, noting the design. "It looks like it," he admitted, turning the ring over in his hands. "But it's probably just the same style. These rings were common once."

With the ring now sealed in evidence, Rowan's mind wandered. He stood by the forest's edge, lost in thought, before instinctively dialing my number. The phone rang in the stillness before he abruptly hung up, convinced it was all a mistake.

"Typical," he muttered under his breath. "She always finds a way to play the victim."

He never doubted his conviction, not for a second. Rowan was certain that nothing could be wrong. After all, the engraving on our wedding rings had been erased, long lost to time. But he had overlooked one small fact, engraved memories, like mine, can be hidden… but never truly erased.