The infirmary was silent except for the occasional drip of water somewhere in the darkness. I lay on a thin mattress, my back a canvas of raw, open wounds that refused to heal. Silver burns—the marks of pack justice. The fever had come hours ago, my body burning from within as much as without.

"Mia."

I thought I'd imagined it—that voice, low and hesitant. Then I felt it—cool fingers brushing against my forehead, pushing damp hair from my face.

"Ronan?" My voice cracked, throat raw from screaming.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, I heard the cap of a jar open, followed by the scent of menthol and herbs. The pack's healing salve—reserved for those deemed worthy of mercy.

"You're burning up," he murmured, his hand now moving to my shoulder, carefully avoiding the worst of the wounds.

I felt the cool touch of the salve against my fevered skin, a momentary relief from the constant fire. My heart stuttered—was this an apology? A recognition of his mistake?

"Ronan," I whispered again, reaching for him despite the pain. "Please listen to me. I didn't—"

"Don't." His voice hardened instantly. "Don't use this moment to lie again."

But his hands continued their work, trembling slightly as they applied the salve to each lash mark. I watched his face in the dim light—the conflict etched into every line, the battle between duty and something else... something I dared not name.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on his task.

"Then don't," I pleaded. "Stop this. Investigate properly. You know me—"

The infirmary door burst open, flooding the room with harsh light. Viviana's nurse stood there, her face a mask of urgency.

"Alpha! Miss Viviana—her condition has worsened. The healer says she needs you immediately."

Ronan's hands froze against my skin. For one heartbeat, I thought he might stay—might choose me, just this once.

Then he was gone, withdrawing so quickly I barely felt the absence until the cold air hit my wounds again.

"I'll return," he said, but we both knew it was a lie.

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the darkness once more.

---

A week passed in a haze of pain and neglect. My wounds finally began to heal, though slowly—the silver had done its work well.

I was sitting up for the first time when the pack doctor entered, his expression grave. Behind him stood Ronan, arms crossed, face impassive.

"Miss Montgomery," the doctor began, not meeting my eyes. "I've completed my analysis of Miss Viviana's condition."

Something in his tone made my stomach clench.

"Viviana's wolf is fading," he continued. "The poison you administered triggered a rare genetic blood disorder. Without intervention, she will lose her wolf entirely—and possibly her life."

"That's not possible," I whispered. "I didn't—"

"It's not your fault," the doctor interrupted smoothly. "The poison simply awakened a dormant condition in her bloodline. But there is a solution."

He turned to Ronan, who stepped forward. "You are a genetic match. A bone marrow transplant from you could save her."

"I?" I stared at them in disbelief. "But I'm not even—"

"Not a relative," Ronan finished. "But you're something more. A fated mate genetic equivalent. Your bone marrow could work where others couldn't."

I shook my head, understanding dawning with horror. "No. No, I won't do it."

Ronan's eyes flashed dangerously. "This isn't a request, Mia."

"I'm still recovering," I protested. "The wounds—"

"Are healing," he cut in. "And Viviana doesn't have time to wait."

I looked between them, searching for any sign of compassion. Finding none, I tried a different approach.

"And if I refuse?"

Ronan stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "Then your family will be exiled from pack lands. All of them. Your parents, your siblings—cast out as rogues with no protection."

---

The extraction room was cold and sterile, lights blinding against white walls. I lay strapped to a table, wrists and ankles secured with the same silver-infused restraints.

"No anesthesia," the doctor explained, preparing a needle longer than any I'd ever seen. "It interferes with the potency of werewolf marrow."

I turned my head away, tears streaming silently down my temples into my hair.

Ronan stood beside me, his hand gripping mine—not in comfort, but to prevent me from thrashing as the needle pierced my hip bone.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I turned to him, searching for any hint of the man who had once promised to cherish me forever.

"Is this what you want?" I whispered as the needle pushed deeper. "To save her at the cost of me?"

His eyes didn't waver. "She needs this."

The pain exploded through me, white-hot and all-consuming. I screamed as the needle scraped against bone, extracting the marrow that was part of my essence.

Through the haze of agony, I watched Ronan's face—and saw nothing but concern for Viviana.

Somewhere deep inside me, something broke. My wolf, once so vibrant and strong, retreated further than she ever had before.

*Protect*, she whispered as she faded into darkness. *Protect us both.*

And then she was gone, leaving me hollow and alone as the needle continued its work.

Darkness surrounded me, a void so complete I thought I might dissolve into it. Time lost all meaning as I drifted, my wolf curled into a tight ball deep within my consciousness. She had retreated so far I could barely feel her presence—a faint flicker where once burned a fierce flame.

Then, slowly, sensation returned. The antiseptic smell of disinfectant. The steady beep of monitors. The ache in my hip where the needle had extracted my marrow.

I opened my eyes to a sterile white ceiling, my throat dry and raw.

"Ah, you're awake."

A nurse appeared in my field of vision—not Maggie, but someone I didn't recognize. Her face was neutral, professional, as she checked my vitals.

"How long?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"Three days." She adjusted something on the IV dripping into my arm. "You slipped into a coma from the shock and blood loss."

Three days. Three days since they'd taken something vital from me to save someone who had never cared if I lived or died.

"The Alpha will be informed of your awakening," she said, her tone suggesting this was both a courtesy and a warning.

She checked my chart, her eyes widening slightly. "There's something else you should know."

I turned my head toward her, too weak to sit up.

"During your blood work, we discovered you're pregnant. About six weeks along."

The words hung in the air between us. Pregnant. A tiny life growing inside me—our child. Ronan's and mine.

A flicker of hope ignited in my chest, warm and bright against the cold despair that had become my constant companion. A baby. Surely this would change everything. Surely Ronan would see beyond Viviana's lies when faced with his own flesh and blood.

"Does he know?" I asked, my hand instinctively moving to my still-flat stomach.

"Not yet. I'm required to inform him immediately of any changes in your condition."

The door opened before I could respond. Ronan strode in, his presence filling the small room. The nurse immediately stepped back, bowing her head slightly.

"Leave us," he commanded.

She exited without a word, leaving us alone in the sterile silence.

"You're awake." His voice was flat, neither relieved nor concerned.

"Ronan," I whispered, tears filling my eyes. "I have something to tell you."

He approached the bed slowly, his face unreadable. "The nurse mentioned you have news."

"I'm pregnant." The words tumbled out, desperate and hopeful. "We're having a baby."

For a moment—just a moment—something flickered in his eyes. Then his expression hardened, jaw clenching.

"Viviana told me about your... activities with the rogue wolf from the northern territories."

My heart froze. "What? There was no—"

"She showed me messages. Meeting locations." His voice was ice. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"No, Ronan, that's not—"

"You try to poison her, and now you think a child will regain you your position?" He stepped closer, looming over me. "Do you really think I would believe anything that comes from you now?"

I reached for him, my fingers trembling. "This is your child. Our child."

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist with bruising force. "I've ordered a paternity test once the... thing... is born."

The thing. Not our child. Not our baby. The thing.

He released my wrist and stepped back, straightening his jacket. "Rest well, Mia. You'll need your strength for what's coming."

The door closed behind him with a soft click that echoed like a gunshot in my ears.

---

Days passed in a blur of medication and silence. I lay in the sterile room, one hand always resting on my stomach, whispering promises to the life growing inside me that I would somehow find a way to protect.

The door opened one afternoon while I slept. I sensed a presence—not the brisk efficiency of nurses or the cold authority of Ronan, but something else. Something that made my wolf stir uneasily.

"She's prettier when she's asleep, don't you think?"

Viviana's voice sliced through the room. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

"No response? How boring."

I felt her approach the bed, her perfume cloying and sweet. Then she leaned close, her breath warm against my ear.

"I know you're awake, little Luna. Or should I say, former Luna?"

My eyes flew open. Viviana stood beside me, looking radiant in a pale pink dress that emphasized her delicate frame. Gone was any trace of illness or weakness.

"You're not sick," I whispered.

She smiled, all pretense gone. "No, darling. I never was."

"The blood disorder—"

"A convenient fiction." She shrugged elegantly. "One that worked perfectly."

"Why?" My voice cracked. "Why are you doing this?"

Viviana leaned closer, her perfectly manicured nails trailing across my blanket-covered leg. "Because he doesn't love you. He loves the idea of being a savior, and right now, I'm the damsel and you're the villain." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Even if you tell him, who will he believe?"

She straightened, smoothing her dress. "Enjoy your stay here, Mia. I hear the food is terrible."

With that, she turned and glided toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. "Oh, and congratulations on the pregnancy. I'm sure Ronan will make a wonderful father... once he's convinced it's actually his."