The medical wing fell silent as midnight approached. My body still burned from the wolfsbane, but determination burned hotter. This was it—my final night in Shadowmere territory.

I slid from the bed, wincing as my bare feet touched the cold floor. My legs trembled beneath me, threatening to give way.

"Just a little longer, Anya," I whispered to my wolf. She whimpered weakly in response, a pale shadow of the vibrant spirit she once was.

I changed quickly into the clothes I'd hidden beneath the mattress days ago—dark pants, a black sweater, and sturdy boots. The rejection papers were folded and tucked safely inside my jacket, pressed against my heart like a talisman of freedom.

The servant tunnels were my only chance. Few knew of their existence, a network of narrow passages built generations ago to allow staff to move unseen throughout the massive pack house. As an Omega forced to serve at countless pack functions, I'd mapped every inch of them in my mind.

I pressed my ear against the door, listening for the night nurse's breathing. The steady rhythm of sleep gave me my window. Silently, I slipped into the hallway and made my way to the kitchens.

Behind the massive industrial refrigerator lay the entrance—a small door disguised as a maintenance panel. My fingers trembled as I worked the latch, every small sound magnified in the silence.

"Please," I begged silently as the door finally gave way with a soft creak.

The tunnel beyond was pitch black. I pulled out the small flashlight I'd stolen from the maintenance closet weeks ago, its beam barely penetrating the darkness. The air was stale and thick with dust, making my already labored breathing more difficult.

"We can do this," I encouraged Anya, though she'd retreated so deeply within me I could barely feel her presence.

I moved as quickly as my weakened body would allow, counting the turns that would lead me to the eastern exit—the one furthest from the Alpha's quarters and closest to the territory boundary.

Halfway through, a spasm of pain shot through my chest. I collapsed against the wall, sliding to the ground as my vision blurred.

"No, not now," I gasped, recognizing the symptoms of wolfsbane withdrawal. My body was already fighting the poison, but the process was agonizing.

I fumbled in my pocket for the small pouch of herbs the pack healer had given me months ago—not knowing I'd use them for escape. I crushed the leaves between my fingers and inhaled deeply, the pungent aroma helping to clear my head.

After what felt like hours, I reached the exit that opened into the forest beyond the pack house grounds. Before emerging, I took out another pouch—this one filled with a mixture of crushed sage, rosemary, and pine needles. I rubbed it over my skin and clothes, masking my scent.

The night air hit me like a blessing as I finally stepped outside, the moon hanging low and heavy in the sky. I didn't dare look back at the place that had been my prison for seven years.

Instead, I moved deeper into the forest, staying low and keeping to the shadows. Every step took me further from Alexander, from Vanessa, from the pain of watching my mate love another woman while I slowly died.

I had to reach the train station before dawn. From there, I could make my way to Europe, to the Moonshire Pack where my mother waited, not knowing I was coming. Not knowing I was barely alive.

---

Alexander Blackwood woke with a start, his heart pounding inexplicably in his chest. Beside him, Vanessa slept peacefully, her golden hair spread across the pillow.

Something felt wrong. Ragnar, his wolf, was restless, pacing inside him with growing agitation.

He slipped from the bed and walked to the window, staring out at the territory that was his to command. The feeling persisted—something was missing.

On impulse, he left his quarters and made his way to the medical wing. He told himself he was merely checking on pack business, not specifically on the Omega who had collapsed at his mating ceremony.

The bed was empty.

"Where is she?" he demanded of the startled night nurse who had fallen asleep at her post.

"I—I don't know, Alpha," she stammered, fear evident in her eyes. "She was here when I checked an hour ago."

Alexander's jaw clenched as he strode to the small room that served as Isabella's quarters. The space was sparse, containing little more than a bed and a small dresser. But on the bed lay papers—ancient ritual papers he recognized immediately.

The words of rejection were written in a shaky hand, but the intent was clear.

Ragnar howled inside him, a sound of such anguish that Alexander physically staggered. Why would his wolf react this way to an Omega's departure?

As he picked up the papers, a scent caught his attention—faint but distinctive. Night-blooming jasmine, delicate yet somehow essential. A scent he'd been ignoring for years.

"Assemble the trackers," he growled into his pack mind-link. "Now."

---

The train station was nearly deserted at this hour. I huddled in the shadows, watching the few late-night travelers with wary eyes. My body shook with withdrawal, each tremor sending fresh waves of pain through me.

"Last call for the midnight express to Geneva," announced a tired voice over the speakers.

I clutched my small bag—containing nothing but a change of clothes, the little money I'd saved, and a photograph of my mother—and forced myself to my feet.

The train waited like a silver promise of freedom. As I climbed aboard, another spasm hit me, nearly sending me to my knees. Anya whimpered, her presence flickering like a dying candle.

"Hold on," I whispered, finding an empty compartment and collapsing onto the seat. "Just hold on a little longer."

As the train pulled away from the station, I pressed my face against the cool glass, watching Shadowmere territory disappear into the distance. The rejection papers burned in my pocket—unsigned but prepared. I would complete the ritual when I was safe, when I was strong enough to survive the severing.

What I didn't know was that miles behind me, Alexander had already found the papers. And that Ragnar's howl of distress had shattered the night, setting in motion a hunt I never expected.

The train journey blurred into a haze of pain and fleeting consciousness. Each mile that carried me further from Shadowmere felt like both victory and agony. Anya's presence flickered within me like a candle in a storm, sometimes so faint I feared she had finally left me.

"Just a little longer," I whispered to her, though I wasn't sure if she could even hear me anymore.

Three train changes, two taxi rides, and one final desperate walk through unfamiliar forest later, I found myself stumbling along the border of Moonshire territory. The ancient pack lands called to something deep within me—a memory of safety from childhood visits, perhaps, or simply the promise of my mother's arms.

My vision swam as I crossed the boundary line, the scent markers of the Moonshire wolves both foreign and somehow familiar. The wolfsbane still burned through my veins, but something else burned alongside it now: hope.

The small cottage appeared through the trees like a mirage, smoke curling from its chimney against the dawn sky. My mother's home. I hadn't seen her in seven years—not since Alexander claimed me as his mate but chose Vanessa instead, keeping me prisoner in all but name.

My legs finally gave out just yards from her door. I collapsed onto the dew-damp grass, my bag spilling open beside me. The photograph of my mother fluttered out, her smiling face the last thing I saw before darkness claimed me.

"Isabella? Goddess above—Isabella!"

The voice pierced through layers of unconsciousness, familiar and beloved. Strong arms lifted me, cradling me against a chest that smelled of home.

"Mom," I managed to whisper before slipping away again.

Fragments of awareness came and went. Cool cloths on my forehead. Bitter herbs on my tongue. Urgent voices speaking in hushed tones.

"...wolfsbane poisoning, Eleanor. The worst case I've ever seen."

"Will she survive, Elara?"

"That depends on her wolf. And how much more her body can endure."

I drifted through darkness and pain, occasionally surfacing to catch glimpses of my mother's worried face or the weathered hands of an older woman I didn't recognize. They worked tirelessly over me, applying poultices that burned and salves that soothed.

"Anya," I called into the void within me. "Anya, please answer me."

For the first time in years, I felt her stir—not with the pain and weakness I'd grown accustomed to, but with something like curiosity. Like hope.

The unfamiliar woman—Elara, I presumed—placed her palms directly over my heart, murmuring words in an ancient language I couldn't understand. Warmth spread from her touch, seeping through my skin and into my veins, seeking out the poison that had nearly destroyed me.

"Her wolf is responding," Elara said, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. "Bring the lunar water."

My mother's tear-streaked face appeared above me, her hands trembling as she held a small vial of silvery liquid to my lips.

"Drink, my darling. This was collected under the full moon at the sacred pool. It will help Anya find her way back."

The liquid tasted of starlight and secrets, cool and electric on my tongue. It slid down my throat and ignited something deep within me—something I thought had died the day I lost my unborn pup.

Anya stirred more strongly, her presence growing from a flicker to a steady glow. I could almost see her in my mind's eye—her silver fur matted and dull, streaked with the scars of our suffering, but her eyes... her eyes were clearing.

Through the night they worked over me, Elara applying ancient poultices to my arms where the wolfsbane had blackened my veins, my mother bathing my forehead and whispering encouragements. The lunar-infused salves seemed to seek out Anya directly, coating her silver-flecked fur with healing light.

When dawn broke again, I opened my eyes to clarity for the first time in what felt like forever. My mother sat beside me, her head drooping in exhausted sleep. Elara stood at the window, her silhouette outlined by the rising sun.

"You're very lucky," she said without turning. "Another day with that poison in your system and we would have lost you both."

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice raw.

She turned then, and I saw a face lined with wisdom and power. "Don't thank me yet, child. You've survived the night, but your journey to healing has only just begun." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And I suspect your Alpha won't let you go so easily."

Within me, Anya stirred again, stronger this time. For the first time in seven years, I felt a glimmer of hope that we might actually survive.

---

Meanwhile, in Shadowmere territory, Vanessa paced the length of Alexander's study, her white nightgown flowing behind her like ghostly wings.

"She could be telling our secrets to rival packs as we speak," she hissed, watching Alexander pore over maps of the surrounding territories. "That Omega has always been unstable. Dangerous."

Alexander's jaw tightened. "She's hardly a threat, Vanessa. She's weak, probably sick from whatever made her collapse at our ceremony."

"Then why are you so intent on finding her?" Vanessa asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.

He didn't answer immediately, his fingers tracing the route to the European territories. Ragnar's distress had only grown stronger since Isabella's disappearance, a constant pressure behind his ribs that made no sense to him.

"Pack law," he finally said. "No one leaves without permission."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed. She moved to stand behind him, her hands sliding over his shoulders in a possessive caress.

"Of course, my love," she murmured. "I'm only concerned for our pack's safety." She pressed a kiss to his temple, but her mind was already elsewhere, calculating.

Later that night, she slipped away to meet a shadow at the edge of pack territory—a mercenary wolf with cold eyes and a reputation for discretion.

"Find her in Moonshire," Vanessa instructed, pressing a pouch of gold into his palm. "And make sure she never returns to trouble us again."