Updated Jan 5, 2026 • ~8 min read
POV: Rory
Morgana found the map in her grandmother’s attic.
Old. Hand-drawn. Dated 1723. Showing Darkwood Forest and the surrounding territories with notations in faded ink.
“Look at this,” she said, spreading it across her kitchen table. We’d moved to her grandmother’s house—safer, warded with old fae magic that kept supernatural threats out.
The map showed the forest divided into sections. Pack territories marked with symbols. And in the center—a large area marked with a skull.
“Cursed Ground,” Morgana read the notation. “Territory of the Banished Alpha. Any who enter are claimed. Any who stay are lost. The forest hunts. The rogue rules. Turn back or die.”
“Darkwood Forest,” I said. “That’s where my cottage is.”
“On the edge. Right at the boundary between cursed territory and pack lands.” She traced the lines. “Your cottage is literally sitting on the border. That’s why the pull is so strong. That’s why you keep being drawn into the forest. It’s cursed to call people in.”
“Fen said he was cursed three hundred years ago. Banished to the forest. Forced to stay.”
“This map is three hundred years old. Look—there’s a note here.” She pointed to small script. “‘In the year 1723, the rogue alpha Fenrir was banished to Darkwood for the crime of refusing to kill his fated mate. The curse: eternal life bound to the forest, unable to leave, unable to die, unable to be free until his true mate chooses him willingly. Let all know—the cursed hunt those who enter. Turn back or become lost to the darkness.'”
“So Fen really is three hundred years old.”
“And he’s been trapped in that forest the entire time. Waiting for you.” Morgana looked up. “Rory, your cottage didn’t just happen to be on the forest edge. Someone put it there. Specifically. Right at the boundary.”
“My father. He built it when I was a kid. Said he wanted space. Quiet. Away from town.”
“He wanted you close to Fen. Close enough that when your wolf woke, you’d be drawn to the forest. To your mate. He was setting you up to break the curse.”
The implications hit hard. My father had known. Had known about Fen. About the curse. About my destiny to be the cursed rogue’s mate.
He’d built our home specifically to facilitate that.
“Did everyone know but me?” I asked bitterly.
“They were trying to protect you. Keep you safe while preparing you for what was coming.”
“By lying. By hiding. By making every major decision about my life without asking me.”
“Yes. And it was wrong. But Rory—look at this.” She pointed to another notation. “‘The curse can only be broken by true choice. The fated mate must know the rogue’s crimes. Must accept his nature. Must choose him freely despite all reasons to refuse. Only then will the forest release him. Only then will he be free.'”
“What crimes? What did Fen do?”
Morgana flipped the map over. On the back, written in different ink, was a list.
Crimes of Fenrir, Rogue Alpha:
- Refused alpha’s order to kill fated mate (Selene of the Moon Pack)
- Fought pack warriors who came to enforce the order
- Killed three wolves in self-defense
- Fled with mate into Darkwood Forest
- When cornered, mercy-killed mate to save her from torture
- Killed two more pack wolves in grief and rage
- Was cursed for his crimes: eternal life in isolation, waiting for redemption
I read it twice. Three times. Trying to understand.
“He killed his first mate.”
“To save her from torture. The pack was going to make an example. Days of agony before death. He mercy-killed her to spare her that pain.”
“And then killed two more wolves.”
“In grief. They’d just forced him to murder the woman he loved. I’d probably murder people too.”
The story was tragic. Horrible. Fen had been given an impossible choice: obey and kill his mate, or refuse and watch her be tortured. He’d chosen mercy. Quick death over slow agony.
And been cursed for it.
Three hundred years of isolation. Of being unable to die. Of waiting for a chance at redemption that might never come.
Until me.
“I’m supposed to forgive him for that? Choose him despite knowing he killed his mate?”
“The curse requires that you know. That you choose him anyway. That’s the only way to break it.” Morgana touched my hand. “But Rory—he didn’t murder Selene. He saved her from torture. That’s not the same thing.”
“He still killed her.”
“And he’s carried that guilt for three centuries. He told you himself. He hates what he did. But he’d do it again to spare her pain.”
I thought about that. About loving someone enough to kill them. To grant them mercy when the alternative was worse.
Could I forgive that? Could I choose someone who’d made that choice?
“There’s more,” Morgana said. She showed me another section. “Darkwood Forest is more than just cursed territory. It’s alive. Sentient. The forest itself enforces the curse. Keeps Fen trapped. Keeps others out. But it also protects.”
“Protects what?”
“Rogues. Outcasts. Anyone who doesn’t fit pack law. The forest has been a sanctuary for three hundred years. Fen isn’t the only one living there. He’s built a community. Small. Hidden. But real.”
“A rogue pack.”
“Exactly. And if you accept him—if you break the curse—you don’t just free Fen. You free everyone under his protection. Give them hope that maybe outcasts can find freedom.”
The weight of it was crushing. I wasn’t just choosing a mate. I was choosing the fate of dozens of rogues. Choosing whether to perpetuate the curse or break it. Choosing to accept or reject the idea that love could redeem even the darkest choices.
“I need to talk to him,” I said. “Ask him about Selene. About what really happened.”
“He’ll tell you. The curse requires honesty. He can’t lie about his past or the choice doesn’t count.”
That night, I walked into Darkwood Forest. Deeper than I’d ever gone. Past the clearings I knew. Into territory that felt wrong. Dangerous. Cursed.
But the forest didn’t attack. Didn’t try to stop me. Like it recognized me. Accepted me.
Because I was Fen’s fated mate. And the curse protected what was his.
I found him in a cabin I’d never seen. Deep in the forest. Hidden by magic and shadows.
“You know about Selene,” he said when he saw me. Not a question.
“I found the map. The crimes list. I know you killed her.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it. All of it. Don’t leave anything out.”
So he did. Told me about Selene. About their bond. About the alpha’s order to kill her because she was human and mate bonds with humans were forbidden.
About refusing. Fleeing. Being hunted.
About the pack warriors cornering them. Offering a choice: he kills her quick, or they take days.
About Selene begging him to do it. To spare her the torture. To end it fast.
About the moment he’d held her. Whispered he loved her. And broken her neck.
Clean. Fast. As merciful as murder could be.
“And after?”
“After, I lost myself. Killed the wolves who’d forced that choice. Raged against the injustice. The pack captured me. The alpha cursed me. Three hundred years in the forest. Alive but not living. Waiting for a mate who might never come. For a choice I might never be given.”
“And now I’m here.”
“And now you’re here. Knowing everything. The curse. The murder. The centuries of isolation.” He met my eyes. “So choose, Aurora. Accept me despite what I’ve done. Or walk away and let me rot here forever. Either way, I’ll understand.”
The choice should have been simple. Walk away from the murderer. The cursed rogue. The stalker who’d watched me since birth.
But looking at him—broken, honest, desperate—I saw something else.
Redemption waiting to happen. Three hundred years of penance. A man who’d chosen mercy over obedience and been destroyed for it.
“I’m not ready to choose yet,” I said.
“I know.”
“But I’m not walking away either.”
“That’s enough.”
I stayed in his cabin that night. Talked until dawn. Learned everything. His past. His pain. His hope.
And when the sun rose, I walked back to civilization knowing one thing for certain:
Whatever I chose, it would change everything.
For both of us.
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