My knees ached against the cold marble floor of the Pack House ballroom. I'd been scrubbing for hours, the bristles of the brush wearing my palms raw until they burned with every stroke. The full moon hung fat and silver outside the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor I'd cleaned three times already.

Tonight was Bryce's eighteenth birthday. His Alpha ceremony.

I pushed a strand of dark hair from my face with the back of my wrist, careful not to touch my skin with my wet, reddened hands. The ballroom had to be perfect. Alpha Marcus had made that clear this morning when he'd found me in the kitchen helping Mom with breakfast.

"The Omega girl will prepare the ballroom," he'd said, not even looking at me. "Alone."

I was Hazel Mitchell, the orphan the Bloodmoon Pack had taken in out of charity. The girl with no wolf, no status, no future. Just an Omega who owed everything to the Knights.

The sound of heels clicking against marble made me freeze.

"Still scrubbing, little mouse?" Sloane Chapman's voice dripped with false sweetness. She stood in the doorway, her crimson dress hugging curves I'd never have, her auburn hair cascading in perfect waves. Everything about her screamed power, breeding, strength.

Everything I wasn't.

I kept my eyes down. "Almost finished, Miss Chapman."

"Sloane," she corrected, stepping closer. "Soon to be Luna Sloane. You should practice saying it."

My chest tightened, but I nodded. Sloane had arrived at the pack six months ago, and everything had changed. Bryce had changed. The boy who'd once nearly died protecting me from Rogues in the mountains now barely looked at me. When he did, his gray eyes were cold.

"What's this?" Sloane's foot connected with the bucket beside me. Dirty water exploded across the floor, soaking into my only clean dress—the pale blue one Mom had scrubbed by hand last night.

I gasped, scrambling back as the cold water spread.

"Oh, how clumsy of me." Sloane's laugh was light, musical. "But then again, what does it matter? It's not like anyone will see you tonight anyway. Omegas belong in the kitchen, not at ceremonies."

"I'll clean it up," I whispered, my throat tight.

"Hazel."

Bryce's voice cut through the room like a blade. I looked up to find him standing in the archway, dressed in the formal black suit that made him look every inch the Alpha he was about to become. Tall, broad-shouldered, devastating. His dark hair was swept back, and those gray eyes—the ones that used to look at me with warmth—were flat.

"Bryce," Sloane purred, gliding to his side. "I was just checking on the preparations."

His gaze moved from her to me, kneeling in the spreading puddle, my dress ruined. For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face. Then it was gone.

"Clean this mess," he said, his voice empty. "And stay out of sight during the ceremony. The visiting Alphas don't need to see... this."

This. Like I was something shameful.

"Yes, Alpha," I managed, the title bitter on my tongue. He wasn't Alpha yet, but he would be in an hour.

Sloane's smile was triumphant as she looped her arm through his. They left without another word, her laughter echoing down the hallway.

I cleaned the mess. Changed into my old gray dress that had been patched so many times it was more thread than fabric. Then I hid in the shadows of the kitchen doorway as the ceremony began.

The ballroom filled with wolves from neighboring packs, all dressed in their finest. Alpha Marcus stood at the center beneath the skylight, the full moon's light pouring down like a spotlight. And Bryce—Bryce stood beside him, his jaw set, his shoulders squared.

The shift happened fast.

One moment Bryce was human. The next, bones cracked and reformed, fur rippling across skin like black water. His wolf was massive, midnight-dark with eyes that burned gold instead of gray. The crowd gasped, murmuring approval. A strong Alpha wolf. A worthy heir.

Then those golden eyes found me.

The world stopped.

A scent hit me like a physical force—pine and leather and something wild that made my heart slam against my ribs. It wrapped around me, through me, pulling at something deep in my chest that had always been empty.

Vanilla and wildflowers. That's what I smelled like to him, I realized with sudden, terrible clarity.

Mate.

The word whispered through the bond I'd never known existed, and I saw the recognition in his wolf's eyes. The pull. The inevitability.

The ballroom had gone silent. Everyone felt it—the snap of a Fated Mate bond locking into place.

Bryce shifted back, his chest heaving, his eyes still locked on mine. For three heartbeats, hope flared in my chest like a desperate flame.

Then his father's hand landed on his shoulder. Sloane stepped closer, her expression sharp.

Bryce's jaw clenched. He looked away.

"I, Bryce Knight," his voice rang out clear and cold, "reject Hazel Mitchell as my mate."

The words hit like a fist to the gut.

"A weak, wolfless Omega cannot carry the Knight bloodline."

Pain exploded through my chest—not physical, but worse. Soul-deep. Like something vital was being ripped out of me, shredding as it went.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Bryce pulled Sloane against his side, his arm around her waist. "Sloane Chapman will be my Luna."

The pain intensified, white-hot and consuming. My legs gave out. I hit the floor hard, my vision blurring as the severed bond screamed inside me.

Through the haze, I saw Bryce watching me. His expression was carefully blank, but his hands were fists at his sides.

Then Sloane kissed him, and the last thread of hope inside me died.

The nausea hit me the moment I opened my eyes.

I barely made it to the small sink in the corner of my basement room before my stomach emptied. Again. This was the third morning in a row.

I gripped the chipped porcelain, my knuckles white, and tried to breathe through the waves of sickness. The servants' quarters smelled like mildew and old stone, nothing like the warm bedroom I'd had before. Before the rejection. Before everything fell apart.

When the heaving finally stopped, I splashed cold water on my face with shaking hands. My reflection in the cracked mirror looked hollow—dark circles under my eyes, cheekbones too sharp, skin too pale.

Then it hit me.

My period was late. Two weeks late.

No. It couldn't be.

But my hand moved to my stomach anyway, pressing against the flat surface beneath my thin nightgown. I was a latent wolf. Wolfless. The chances of conception should have been nearly impossible.

Except Bryce wasn't just any wolf. He was an Alpha. And for three precious months before Sloane arrived, before everything changed, we'd been... close. The Fated Mate bond had been pulling us together even before his shift, even if neither of us had understood it then.

A baby. Bryce's baby.

Hope fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird. An heir. The pack needed an heir. If I was carrying the future Alpha, Bryce would have to accept me. He'd have to protect us. The bond might be severed, but blood—pack blood—that was sacred.

I had to tell him.

I dressed quickly in my gray servant's dress, my hands fumbling with the buttons. The morning sickness had passed, leaving me light-headed but determined. This changed everything. It had to.

The Pack House was quiet as I climbed the stairs from the basement. Most wolves were still sleeping off last night's training session. My feet made no sound on the polished floors I'd scrubbed a hundred times.

Bryce's office was on the third floor. I'd only been there once since the rejection, to deliver his father's papers. The memory of his cold dismissal burned, but I pushed it away.

This was different. This was about our child.

I was ten feet from his door when Sloane appeared.

She materialized from a side hallway like a nightmare made flesh, her auburn hair perfectly styled even at this early hour, her green eyes sharp.

"Well, well." Her smile was all teeth. "The little mouse is out of her hole. Lost, are we?"

My throat went dry. "I need to speak with Bryce. It's important."

"Important?" She stepped closer, and I caught her scent—roses and something chemical, artificial. "What could possibly be important enough for an Omega to disturb the future Alpha?"

I shouldn't have said it. Every instinct screamed at me to stay silent, to walk away. But desperation made me stupid.

"I'm pregnant," I whispered. "With his child. Please, I just need five minutes—"

Sloane's expression transformed. The false sweetness vanished, replaced by something vicious and cold. Her eyes glittered with malice.

"Wait here," she said, her voice suddenly gentle. "I'll let him know."

She slipped into the office before I could respond, closing the door behind her.

I waited, my heart hammering. Through the thick wood, I heard muffled voices. Sloane's light laugh. Then Bryce's voice, sharp with anger.

The door slammed open.

Bryce stood in the doorway, and the rage rolling off him made me step back. His gray eyes were wild, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.

"You dare," he snarled, stalking toward me. "You dare come here with this lie?"

"It's not a lie—"

"Sloane told me everything." He was so close now I could feel the heat of his anger. "The Rogue you've been meeting in the woods. The money you've been stealing. And now this? Trying to trap me with another male's bastard?"

The words hit like physical blows. "What? No! Bryce, I would never—"

"Don't." His voice dropped to something deadly. "Don't say my name."

Behind him, Sloane watched from the doorway, her smile small and satisfied.

"There's no Rogue," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "The baby is yours. It has to be. I haven't been with anyone else, I swear—"

Bryce grabbed a crystal vase from the hall table. It was filled with green glass flowers, delicate and expensive. He held my gaze as he raised it high and smashed it against the marble floor.

Green shards exploded across the white stone, glittering like broken emeralds.

"Walk to me," he said, and his voice changed. Deepened. The Alpha Tone—a command that bypassed thought, that seized control of my body like invisible chains. "Prove your submission."

No.

My body moved against my will. One foot lifted, hovering over the field of glass.

"Bryce, please—" Tears streamed down my face. "Please, the baby—"

"Walk."

My foot came down.

The glass bit deep, and I screamed. Pain exploded through my sole, hot and sharp. But my body didn't stop. The Alpha Tone drove me forward, step after agonizing step.

Blood bloomed across the white marble like red flowers.

I sobbed, my hands instinctively wrapping around my stomach, trying to protect the life inside me as I stumbled forward. Each step was agony. The glass sliced deeper, shredding skin and flesh.

"Stop, please stop—"

But I couldn't stop. My body belonged to him, commanded by his Alpha voice.

Five steps. Six. Seven.

I reached him finally, collapsing at his feet, my blood pooling around us both. I looked up through my tears, searching for any hint of the boy who'd once saved my life in the snow.

His eyes were empty.

"Clean this up," he said, stepping over me. "And stay away from my office."

He walked away, Sloane's hand slipping into his.

I knelt in my own blood and broken glass, my feet screaming, my heart shattered, and felt the first flutter of something dark and cold taking root where hope used to be.

The basement room felt smaller every day. Or maybe I was just shrinking, folding in on myself like paper catching fire.

I sat on the edge of my cot, rewrapping the bandages on my feet. The cuts were healing slowly—too slowly for a normal wolf, but I wasn't normal. I was nothing. The gauze came away pink with fresh blood, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

The baby. I had to think of the baby.

My hand moved to my stomach, still flat, still showing no sign of the life inside. But I felt it. A flutter. A presence. Something that was mine and mine alone now.

Footsteps thundered down the basement stairs.

I looked up as two Gamma guards filled my doorway. I recognized them—Jacob and Sam, wolves who used to nod at me in the hallways. Now their faces were blank, professional.

"Hazel Mitchell," Jacob said, his voice flat. "You're to come with us."

My stomach dropped. "Why? What's happened?"

"Alpha's orders."

They didn't give me time to put on shoes. Jacob grabbed my arm, hauling me up, and pain shot through my torn feet as they hit the cold floor. I gasped, stumbling, but Sam caught my other arm.

They dragged me up the stairs, through the Pack House, and out into the courtyard.

The morning sun was too bright. I squinted against it, my heart hammering as I took in the scene.

Alpha Marcus stood near the fountain, his expression carved from stone. Sloane was beside him, her green eyes glittering with satisfaction. And there, on the steps leading to the main entrance, stood Bryce.

His gray eyes found mine, and I searched desperately for something—anything—in them. But they were empty. Dead.

Then I saw her.

"Mom!"

She was on her knees in the center of the courtyard, her hands bound behind her back. Her graying hair hung loose around her face, and her eyes—God, her eyes were terrified.

"Hazel, no—" she started, but one of the guards cuffed her across the mouth.

I lunged forward, but Jacob and Sam held me fast. "Let her go! What are you doing?"

"The Mitchell woman has stolen from the pack," Alpha Marcus announced, his voice carrying across the courtyard. A crowd was gathering—pack members drawn by the commotion, their faces curious, hungry for drama. "Jewelry worth thousands. She used the money to pay gambling debts to Rogues."

"That's a lie!" I screamed, struggling against the guards. "She would never—"

"The evidence is clear," Sloane said, stepping forward with a folder. She opened it, displaying what looked like financial records, photographs of jewelry I'd never seen. "Your mother has been stealing for months. The pack has been more than generous in taking you both in, and this is how you repay us?"

The crowd murmured. I saw judgment in their eyes, disgust.

"Please," I begged, looking at Bryce. "Please, you know her. She took care of you when you were sick, remember? When you had that fever and your mother was away, she sat with you for three days—"

"Enough." Bryce's voice was ice. "The debt must be paid."

An engine rumbled at the gate.

A black SUV rolled into the courtyard, its windows tinted dark. The vehicle stopped, and the back door opened.

The man who stepped out made my blood freeze.

He was massive, scarred, with eyes that were more animal than human. His scent hit me—rotten meat and violence. Rogue. But not just any Rogue.

"Viktor Blackwood," Alpha Marcus said, extending his hand. "Thank you for coming."

The Rogue King smiled, revealing teeth filed to points. "Always happy to do business with the Bloodmoon Pack."

No. No, no, no.

"You can't," I whispered, then louder, "You can't do this! Bryce, please!"

Viktor's gaze slid to my mother, and his smile widened. "She'll do nicely. I've been needing a new breeder."

Breeder. The word hit me like a slap. Breeders were Rogue slaves, forced to bear children for males who had no mates, no pack, no humanity left.

"The debt is settled," Alpha Marcus said. "Take her."

Two of Viktor's men moved forward, hauling my mother to her feet. She didn't fight. She just looked at me, tears streaming down her face.

"Mom!" I thrashed wildly, but the guards held me. "Mom, no!"

"Survive," she called out, her voice breaking. "Hazel, baby, please survive—"

They shoved her into the SUV. The door slammed shut.

I screamed, the sound ripping from my throat, raw and animal. I looked up at the balcony where Bryce stood, Sloane's arm wrapped around his waist.

"Please," I sobbed. "Please don't let them take her."

Bryce turned his back.

The SUV's engine roared to life. I watched through blurred vision as it rolled toward the gate, taking my mother, taking everything.

The guards released me, and I collapsed onto the stones, my torn feet screaming, my heart shattering into pieces too small to ever put back together.

The crowd dispersed. The show was over.

I knelt there alone, the sun beating down, and felt something inside me break. Not just my heart. Something deeper. Something that could never be repaired.

Seven days later, Bryce came for me again.

I was in the kitchen, trying to choke down bread I couldn't taste, when his hand closed around my wrist.

"Come on," he said, his voice manic, his eyes too bright. "I need to feel alive."

He dragged me through the Pack House, and I was too numb to fight. Too empty. The baby fluttered in my stomach, and I wrapped my free arm around myself protectively.

Outside, his sports car waited—black, sleek, modified with racing stripes and an engine that growled like a beast.

"Get in," Bryce ordered.

I looked at the passenger seat, then at him. "Bryce, I can't—"

His eyes flashed gold. Alpha command seized my body, and I found myself opening the door, sliding into the leather seat. My hands shook as I reached for the seatbelt.

Sloane appeared at the edge of the driveway, already shifting. Her wolf was auburn and sleek, built for speed.

Bryce grinned, wild and reckless. "Let's see who's faster."

The engine roared. My fingers dug into the armrest as we shot forward, gravel spraying. Sloane's wolf raced alongside us, her paws eating up the ground.

We hit the main road, and Bryce floored it.

The world became a blur. Trees whipped past. The speedometer climbed—sixty, seventy, eighty. The road twisted ahead, hugging the cliff face, and my stomach lurched.

"Slow down," I whispered.

Bryce laughed, high and sharp. "This is living, Hazel. This is what it feels like to be free."

Ninety. One hundred.

Sloane's wolf pulled ahead, and Bryce snarled, jerking the wheel. We swerved into the opposite lane, the cliff edge so close I could see the drop—hundreds of feet to jagged rocks below.

"Bryce, please!" I pressed both hands to my stomach. "Please, the baby—"

He didn't hear me. Or didn't care.

The curve came too fast.

Bryce yanked the wheel, and the world tilted. Tires screamed. The car fishtailed, spinning, and I saw Sloane's wolf leap clear.

Then we were airborne.

For one impossible moment, everything was silent. I felt the baby flutter one last time.

The car slammed into the guardrail, metal shrieking, and my head cracked against the window.

Darkness swallowed everything whole.