The scent of rosemary and seared steak filled the kitchen, a smell that usually brought comfort, but tonight, it only fueled the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. I hummed a soft, trembling tune—one of the few things my grandmother had left me—as I arranged the garnish on the plate. It was our third anniversary. Three years of silence. Three years of sleeping in the guest room while my mate, Alpha Ryker Davis, pretended I didn’t exist.

But tonight, I had hope. I had prepared his favorite meal. Maybe, just maybe, the Moon Goddess would finally soften his heart.

The heavy oak doors of the pack house burst open, slamming against the walls with a violence that made me jump. A gust of wind swept through the hallway, carrying a scent that made my blood run cold. It was heavy, floral, and suffocatingly sweet. Artificial roses.

I stepped out of the kitchen, the heavy silver tray trembling in my hands. There, standing in the entryway, was a vision of perfection that haunted my nightmares. Natalia. My older sister. She was supposed to be in France, but here she was, her blonde hair cascading over a designer coat, her blue eyes sparkling with a triumph I knew too well.

"Ryker!" she cried out, her voice a melodic lure.

Ryker appeared at the top of the stairs. He froze, his dark eyes widening as they locked onto her. The cold indifference he always wore around me shattered, replaced by a raw, hungry desperation. He didn't even look at me. He rushed down the stairs, moving faster than I had ever seen him move toward me.

"Natalia?" he breathed, inhaling deeply. "You’re back."

He reached her in strides, bypassing me completely. In his haste to get to her, his shoulder clipped mine. It wasn't an accident; he simply didn't care that I was in his path. The impact sent me stumbling. The silver tray slipped from my fingers, crashing onto the marble floor with a deafening clang. Fine china shattered. The steak, the rosemary, the three years of hope—it all lay ruined in a heap of grease and porcelain.

Ryker didn't flinch. He had Natalia in his arms, burying his face in her neck, inhaling that masked scent as if it were oxygen. "I knew it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion I had craved for a thousand days. "My true mate."

Natalia looked over his shoulder, her eyes locking onto mine. A slow, cruel smirk spread across her lips. She had won.

Finally, Ryker pulled back slightly, turning his head to glare at me. His eyes were hard, devoid of any warmth. "Clean up this mess, Angelina. You’re ruining the moment."

He turned his back on me, guiding Natalia toward his office—the Alpha suite I was never allowed to enter.

The next morning, the sun rose grey and bleak. I hadn't slept. I was still scrubbing the phantom grease from my hands when the summons came. The Alpha commanded everyone to the Meeting Hall.

I stood on the dais, my legs trembling so hard I thought they might give way. The entire Silverfang Pack was watching. Hundreds of eyes, some pitying, most mocking. Ryker stood center stage, radiating power and authority. Natalia stood beside him, her hand resting possessively on his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt.

The silence in the hall was suffocating until Ryker’s voice boomed, laced with the terrifying weight of the Alpha Tone. It forced every wolf in the room to lower their heads in submission, including me.

"For three years, this pack has suffered under a false union," Ryker announced, his voice echoing off the stone walls. He turned to me, his expression stony. "I did my duty. I took the substitute. But the Moon Goddess has returned what is mine."

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. *No. Please, no.*

He took a breath, and the air around us crackled with power. "I, Alpha Ryker Davis, reject you, Angelina Rogers, as my mate and Luna."

The words hit me like a physical blow. A scream tore from my throat, but it was drowned out by the sound of my own soul fracturing. The bond, however one-sided it had been, was violently severed. It felt as though a serrated knife was being dragged through my chest. I collapsed to my knees, clutching my stomach as bile and blood rose in my throat.

I retched, vomiting a splatter of crimson onto the polished floor. The pain was blinding, a white-hot agony that seared my veins.

Through the haze of tears and pain, I saw Natalia. She wasn't looking at Ryker. She was looking down at me, her smile beatific and terrifying.

"Get her out of my sight," Ryker commanded, his voice devoid of pity. "She is stripped of her rank. From this day forward, she is an Omega. Take her to the basement."

Two warriors—men I had once cooked for, men I had healed—grabbed me by my arms and dragged me away. I was too weak to fight. They stripped the Luna ring from my finger and tossed me into the damp, moldy darkness of the Omega quarters.

Hours later, I was on my hands and knees again, this time in the main hallway, scrubbing scuff marks with a rag and a bucket of freezing water. My chest still burned with a hollow, aching void where the bond used to be.

"Did you hear?" a guard whispered to a maid a few feet away, not bothering to lower his voice. "Ryker isn't waiting. He plans to mark Natalia at the Moon Festival next week."

"Finally," the maid replied, stepping over my wet rag as if I were part of the flooring. "A real Luna."

I scrubbed harder, the rough bristles tearing into my skin, wishing I could scrub away the pain as easily as the dirt.

The annual Moon Festival was supposed to be a celebration of the Goddess and the pack’s unity. For me, it was a parade of humiliation. The air was thick with the scent of roasted venison and pine, mingled with the laughter of pack members who pretended I was invisible. Or worse, those who stared with open disgust.

Dressed in a drab, oversized servant’s uniform that hung loosely on my thinning frame, I balanced a tray of champagne flutes. My hands trembled. Every clink of glass against glass sounded like a judgment. I kept my eyes on the grass, navigating the crowd, trying to avoid the dais where Ryker sat. He looked regal, powerful—and completely captivated by Natalia, who was preening in a silver gown that clung to her curves.

"Angelina."

The sharp hiss of my name made me freeze. A hand clamped around my upper arm, nails digging into the tender flesh. I didn't need to look up to know it was my mother, Margaret. She didn't smell like a mother; she smelled like cold ambition and expensive perfume.

"Come with me," she ordered, her voice low and dangerous. "Now."

She dragged me away from the festivities, behind the heavy canvas of the supply tents where the music faded into a dull thrum. I stumbled, nearly dropping the tray, but she slapped it out of my hands. The glasses shattered, sparkling shards littering the dirt.

"Look at you," she spat, her face twisted in a sneer. "Pathetic. You couldn't hold an Alpha's attention for three days, let alone three years. You’ve shamed this family, Angelina. You’ve made us a laughingstock."

"Mother, please—" I started, but she shoved me backward.

"I am fixing your mess," she interrupted. "If you can't be a Luna, you can at least be useful currency."

She gestured into the shadows. A figure stepped out, and my blood turned to ice. It was a Lycan, but not like the noble warriors of the stories. This man was hunched, his skin covered in grime and weeping sores, his aura reeking of rot and madness. He was a feral outcast, someone the pack usually killed on sight.

"He needs a mate to breed with," my mother said coldly, as if she were selling a used car. "He has a small territory on the southern border. It’s a strategic buffer zone. He agreed to the alliance in exchange for... you."

"No," I whispered, backing away until my spine hit a tree. "You can't do this. I’m your daughter."

"I have one daughter," Margaret replied, her eyes devoid of love. "Natalia. You are just a burden."

She shoved me toward the feral male. He grinned, revealing yellow, jagged teeth, and lunged. His hand, sticky and hot, clamped onto my wrist. Pure terror surged through me, overriding my exhaustion. My free hand scrabbled against a nearby table, fingers closing around the neck of a heavy wine bottle.

I didn't think. I swung.

The bottle connected with the side of his head with a sickening crack. Red wine exploded like blood. The Lycan roared, stumbling back and releasing me. I didn't wait to see if he fell. I turned and ran, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I tore through the underbrush, gasping for air, heading toward the safety of the main bonfire. But just as I broke through the treeline, a figure stepped into my path.

Natalia.

She stood perfectly still, blocking my way. She wasn't surprised. She was smiling.

"Going somewhere, sister?" she asked, her voice smooth as silk.

"Mother... she tried to..." I gasped, pointing back at the darkness.

"Oh, I know," Natalia said, stepping closer. "But we can't have you running off and ruining the mood, can we? Ryker needs a reason to get rid of you permanently. Simply being an Omega isn't enough."

Before I could react, Natalia reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, dark vial. She shoved it into the pocket of my apron. Then, with a violent jerk, she ripped the bodice of her own silver gown, exposing her shoulder. Her claws elongated, and she raked them down her own cheek, drawing three lines of bright red blood.

Then, she screamed. It was a bloodcurdling sound of fake terror.

"Help! Guards! Ryker!"

"Natalia, stop!" I cried, reaching out, but guards were already swarming us. Ryker burst through the crowd, his Alpha aura flaring so hot it nearly brought me to my knees.

"She attacked me!" Natalia sobbed, collapsing into Ryker’s arms, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She’s working with the rogues! She tried to kill me because she wants you back!"

"Liar!" I screamed, but a guard backhanded me, sending me sprawling into the dirt.

Ryker looked at Natalia’s bleeding face, then at me. His expression was terrifyingly blank. "Search her."

The Beta ripped my apron off, reaching into the pocket. He pulled out the vial Natalia had planted. He uncorked it and sniffed. "Rogue scent masking agent. And wolfsbane."

A collective gasp went through the crowd. In the werewolf world, conspiring with rogues was treason. Using wolfsbane was a death sentence.

"I didn't!" I pleaded, looking at Ryker. "She planted it! My mother tried to sell me to a feral! Please, Ryker, look at me! I was your wife for three years!"

Ryker didn't look at me. He looked at the vial, then at Natalia’s tears. When he finally turned his gaze to me, there was nothing left—no history, no pity, not even anger. Just cold, hard duty.

"Angelina Rogers," he announced, his voice booming over the crackle of the bonfire. "For the crime of treason and attempted murder of the future Luna, I sentence you to exile."

Exile. It was usually a chance to survive as a rogue. But Ryker wasn't finished.

"You are to be taken to the Dead Zone," he commanded.

The crowd went silent. The Dead Zone was a frozen wasteland north of our territory. No shelter. No food. Only madness and death. It was an execution without the blade.

"Ryker, please," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. "You’re killing me."

He turned his back, wrapping his arm around Natalia. "Take her away. If she returns, kill her on sight."

Two warriors grabbed my arms, dragging me backward toward the waiting SUV. I watched my family—my mother smirking in the shadows, Natalia burying her face in Ryker’s chest—get smaller and smaller. I didn't scream anymore. I simply let the darkness take me.

The cold wasn't just a temperature anymore; it was a living thing. It had teeth, and for the last two days, it had been chewing on my bones.

I stumbled, my boots—thin, cheap things meant for scrubbing floors, not trekking through the Dead Zone—sinking deep into the snow. I couldn't feel my toes. I couldn't feel my fingers. The only thing I could feel was the phantom pain in my chest where Ryker had severed our bond, leaving a gaping, ragged hole that the freezing wind whistled through.

I fell again. This time, I didn't try to get up. The snow was deceptively soft, like the down pillows in the Alpha suite I had never been allowed to sleep in. It whispered to me, promising sleep. Promising an end to the humiliation.

*Just close your eyes, Angelina,* I thought. *No one is coming. No one cares.*

A twig snapped. Then a low, guttural growl vibrated through the ground beneath my cheek.

I forced my heavy eyelids open. Shadows were detaching themselves from the treeline. Gaunt, mangy shapes with yellow eyes that glowed with hunger. Rogues. Not the noble kind who sought freedom, but the feral kind who had lost their minds to the wild.

There were five of them. They circled me, their ribs showing through patchy fur, saliva dripping from their jaws. They smelled of rot and old blood.

The leader, a grey wolf with a missing ear, lunged. I didn't even flinch. I just closed my eyes, waiting for the teeth.

But the bite never came.

A thunderous roar shook the very air, followed by the sickening sound of snapping bone. Something massive and hot slammed into the snow beside me, spraying ice across my face.

I gasped, my eyes flying open. Standing over me was a monster. A wolf the size of a small horse, with fur as black as the void and a thick snarl of scar tissue running down his flank. He moved with a speed that defied physics. The feral rogues didn't stand a chance. The black wolf was a blur of violence, tearing through them with efficient, brutal precision. In seconds, the snow was painted red.

The last rogue turned to flee, but the black wolf caught him by the spine, silencing him with one decisive crunch.

Silence fell over the clearing, heavy and metallic. The black wolf turned toward me. I shrank back, expecting him to finish what the others had started. He was terrifying, radiating a power that felt ancient and dark.

But as he lowered his massive head, his amber eyes weren't filled with bloodlust. They were filled with… worry?

He chuffed softly, nudging my frozen shoulder with his wet nose. The heat radiating from his body was intoxicating. He crouched low, whining until I understood. He wanted me to climb on.

With the last of my strength, I dragged myself onto his back, burying my hands in his thick fur. As he took off, running effortlessly through the deep drifts, I let the darkness finally take me.

***

Warmth. That was the first thing I noticed. The crackle of fire. The scent of pine, sage, and old paper.

I blinked, my vision blurry. I was lying in a bed—a real bed, with heavy quilts tucked around my chin. The room was rustic, built of logs and stone, illuminated by the golden glow of a fireplace.

"She wakes," a voice rasped. It sounded like dry leaves skittering over pavement.

I tried to sit up, but a gentle hand pushed me back down. "Easy. You’ve been frozen halfway to the grave."

The man sitting beside the bed was intimidating. He had dark hair that fell into his eyes and a jagged scar running from his jaw down his neck, disappearing into his shirt. It was the same scar I had seen on the wolf. He held a mug of something steaming.

"Drink," he ordered. His voice was deep, rough, but not unkind.

I took a sip. It was herbal tea, laced with honey. It burned pleasantly going down. "Who… who are you?" I rasped.

"Parker," he said simply. "And you are safe here."

From the shadows of the room, an older woman shuffled forward. She was tiny, her back bent with age, her white hair braided down to her waist. Her eyes were milky white—blind.

She reached out, her wrinkled fingers hovering over my face before gently touching my cheek. A strange shiver went through me, not from cold, but from recognition.

"The Moon Child," she whispered, a smile breaking across her weathered face. "She has finally come home."

I looked at Parker, confused. "I… I don't understand. I'm just an Omega. I was exiled."

Parker didn't look at his grandmother. He kept his intense amber gaze on me. "You're not an Omega here, Angelina. Here, you're just a survivor."

Over the next few weeks, the cabin became my world. Parker was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. He changed the bandages on my frostbitten toes with hands that were calloused yet impossibly gentle. He cooked thick venison stews that filled the hollow ache in my stomach.

One evening, as he was applying a cooling salve to the windburn on my face, his thumb brushed against my jawline. A spark, electric and sharp, jumped between our skin.

My breath hitched. Inside my chest, deep in the place where my wolf had been silent and dormant for twenty years, I felt a flutter. A thump. A second heartbeat.

My wolf. She was stirring.

She had never responded to Ryker. Not once in three years. But now, under the touch of a scarred rogue in a cabin at the edge of the world, she was waking up.

I looked up at Parker, my heart hammering against my ribs. He froze, his hand still on my cheek, his pupils blowing wide. He felt it too.

"Rest," he said abruptly, pulling his hand away and standing up. His voice was strained, as if he were fighting a leash. "You need to heal."

He walked out into the snowy night, leaving me breathless and terrified by the sudden, undeniable truth: I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was coming alive.