My knees are raw beneath my jeans, the skin scraped bloody from three hours of scrubbing the pack house floors. The Omega supervisor—a bitter she-wolf named Marge who seems to relish my fall from grace—stands over me with her arms crossed, critiquing the streak patterns in the marble.

"A Luna who can't even clean properly," she mutters. "Pathetic."

I don't respond. The pill from this morning has wrapped my thoughts in cotton, but somewhere beneath the chemical fog, something is stirring. My wolf. Faint, like a whisper through static, but there.

Remember this, that whisper says. Remember her face.

"Lila." Justin's voice cuts through the hallway. "My office. Now."

Marge steps aside with a smirk. I push myself to my feet, my legs trembling with exhaustion, and follow my Alpha—my mate, though the word tastes like poison now—down the corridor.

He doesn't look at me when I enter. He's reviewing documents at his desk, his jaw tight with stress. The Lycan King's visit has him on edge. Good.

"The King arrives in two days," he says, still not meeting my eyes. "And you've made this pack look like a circus with your... behavior."

Behavior. As if my resistance to being drugged and demoted is somehow unreasonable.

"Since you clearly can't lead," he continues, his tone dripping with disdain, "you will guard. Ensure the pack is alert and ready for emergency drills at all times before the King arrives. No exceptions. I want every wolf sharp, prepared, vigilant."

He finally looks up, his eyes cold. "Do you understand?"

The order is deliberately vague. Ambiguous. He's setting me up to fail, giving himself ammunition for whatever punishment he's planning next. But as I stand there, swaying slightly from exhaustion and drugs, that whisper in my mind grows louder.

Alert. Emergency drills. At all times. No exceptions.

My lips curve into something that might be a smile if it reached my eyes. "Yes, Alpha. I understand perfectly."

Something flickers across his face—suspicion, maybe—but he dismisses me with a wave.

I bow my head and leave, that spark of rebellion catching fire in my chest.

---

At exactly 3:00 AM, I stand in the security room of the pack house, my finger hovering over the red button that controls the territory's emergency alert system. The system designed for catastrophic threats. Rogue invasions. Natural disasters.

Emergencies.

I press it.

The sirens split the night like the world is ending. The sound is deafening, primal, designed to trigger every wolf's fight-or-flight instinct. Through the windows, I watch lights flare on in houses across the territory. Wolves pour into the streets in various states of undress, some already half-shifted, their eyes wild with panic.

Justin crashes through the pack house doors in nothing but boxer shorts, his hair standing on end, Summer stumbling behind him in one of my old silk robes. The sight of her wearing my clothes adds a layer of satisfaction to this moment.

"WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?" Justin's roar barely carries over the sirens.

I calmly reach over and silence the alarm. The sudden quiet is almost as jarring as the noise.

"Emergency drill, Alpha," I say, my voice steady and clear. "As you ordered."

His face goes purple. "I ORDERED NO SUCH—"

"You ordered me to ensure the pack is alert and ready for emergency drills at all times before the King arrives." I meet his eyes, my expression perfectly neutral. "No exceptions. Those were your exact words."

The pack members are gathering now, confused and angry, their sleep-deprived faces turning toward their Alpha for explanation. Marcus, the Beta, looks particularly murderous, his eyes bloodshot from what I know was a late patrol shift.

Justin's jaw works soundlessly. He can't punish me. Not without admitting his order was poorly thought out. Not without looking weak in front of the pack.

"Three AM is hardly—"

"At all times, Alpha," I repeat softly. "You were very clear."

Summer tugs at his arm, whispering something, but he shakes her off. The pack is watching. Waiting. Some of the younger wolves are starting to smirk, recognizing the trap I've laid.

Justin's Alpha aura flares, pressing against everyone in the vicinity, but I don't flinch. The drug in my system dulls its effect, and my wolf—my beautiful, suppressed wolf—is laughing somewhere deep inside.

"Dismissed," Justin finally snarls at the pack. "Everyone back to bed."

As they disperse, grumbling and exhausted, he turns to me with murder in his eyes.

"My office," he hisses. "Dawn."

---

When I arrive at his office six hours later, he's waiting with Summer at his side. She's wearing the Luna's keys on her belt now, and the sight makes my wolf snarl weakly.

Justin tosses a small leather pouch onto the desk. It lands with a pathetic clink.

"The Alpha delegation from the Mountain Ridge Pack arrives tomorrow night," he says, his smile cruel. "You will prepare the welcome feast."

I stare at the pouch. Even from here, I can tell it contains maybe twenty silver coins. Barely enough for bread and water, let alone a feast worthy of visiting Alphas.

"This is your budget," he continues. "No more. If you fail, you'll be locked in the basement until the King's visit is over. We can't have you embarrassing us further."

Summer's smile is vicious. She thinks I'll beg. They both do.

I pick up the pouch, feeling its insulting weight in my palm. That spark in my chest blazes brighter.

"Of course, Alpha," I say quietly. "I'll prepare a feast they'll never forget."

And I will. Oh, I absolutely will.

The pack hunters look at me like I've lost my mind.

"You want the disposal pile?" Marcus, the head hunter, wipes blood from his hands onto his jeans. Behind him, the day's kill hangs from hooks—fresh venison, rabbit, wild boar. Good meat. Meat I can't afford with Justin's insulting budget.

"The Alpha wants me to honor traditional wolf ways," I say, my voice steady despite the exhaustion pulling at my bones. "What's more traditional than using every part of the hunt? No waste."

His eyes narrow, but he jerks his chin toward the back corner where they keep the roadkill and old game—the stuff destined for the compost heap. Deer struck by cars. Rabbits too long in storage. A wild turkey that's seen better days.

Perfect.

I spend six hours in the pack house kitchen, alone except for the Omega staff who give me a wide berth. The meat is... questionable. But with enough garlic, rosemary, and heavy spices, anything can smell appetizing. I roast it low and slow, letting the herbs mask the slightly off scent. By the time I'm done, the kitchen smells like a feast.

It looks like one too.

The visiting Alpha from Mountain Ridge Pack arrives with his Luna and three high-ranking wolves. Justin greets them in the formal dining room, all false smiles and political posturing. I serve the platters myself, my hands steady, my expression blank.

"This smells incredible," the visiting Luna says, cutting into the venison. "So rustic. So... authentic."

"Our Luna insisted on traditional preparation," Summer purrs from her seat at Justin's right—my seat. She's wearing another one of my dresses. "She's very dedicated to the old ways."

I stand in the corner, hands folded, and watch them eat. The visiting Alpha makes appreciative noises. His Beta asks for seconds. Justin's smile is smug, like he's somehow responsible for this success.

They're halfway through the meal when the visiting Alpha pauses, his fork suspended. "This flavor is quite... unique. What cut is this?"

"Oh, Alpha Justin gave me a very specific budget," I say, my voice soft and respectful. "Twenty silver coins. So I had to be creative." I gesture to the platters. "I used scavenged meat from the disposal pile. Roadkill, mostly. Some older game the hunters were going to compost. Very traditional. Very economical. No waste, as the Moon Goddess intended."

The silence is beautiful.

The visiting Luna's face goes green. Her mate drops his fork with a clatter. One of the delegation wolves lurches from his chair and vomits into the decorative fern.

"You fed us GARBAGE?" The visiting Alpha's roar shakes the chandelier.

Justin's face drains of color. "I—she—this wasn't—"

"We came here in GOOD FAITH," the Alpha snarls, his aura flaring hot and furious. "And you serve us ROTTING MEAT?"

"The budget was very limited," I murmur. "I did my best with what I was given."

The delegation storms out, the Luna still retching, their warriors bristling with insult. The sound of their vehicles peeling away from the pack house echoes through the suddenly silent dining room.

Justin turns to me, his eyes murderous, but before he can speak, Marcus bursts through the doors.

"Alpha. The Lycan King is at our borders."

---

I'm not allowed to greet him. Justin makes that very clear. I'm to stay in the kitchen, out of sight, while he handles the diplomatic nightmare I've created. Fine. I'm too tired to care, the morning's pill turning my limbs to lead.

But even from the kitchen, I feel it when the King arrives.

The air itself changes. Pressure builds in my chest, heavy and electric, like the moment before lightning strikes. My wolf—my silent, suppressed wolf—suddenly lifts her head for the first time in weeks.

Mate.

The word whispers through my consciousness, so faint I almost miss it.

No. That's impossible. Justin is my mate. My chosen mate. The one who wrote me those beautiful letters years ago, the ones that made me believe in love.

Except... when was the last time I actually smelled his scent and felt anything but revulsion?

I press my palm against the kitchen door, my heart hammering. Through the crack, I can see the formal dining room where they've assembled for the King's welcome dinner. Justin at the head of the table, Summer beside him, the pack's high-ranking wolves arranged in order of importance.

And at the center, radiating power that makes every wolf in the room lower their eyes: the Lycan King.

He's massive, even in human form. Dark hair, golden eyes that seem to see through walls. His aura is suffocating, ancient, absolute. This is what a true Alpha looks like. What a real leader feels like.

Justin looks like a child playing dress-up beside him.

"Luna Lila will not be joining us?" The King's voice is deep, controlled, but something in it makes my wolf whine.

"The Luna is... indisposed," Justin says smoothly. "She's been unwell."

Liar.

The King's eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing. The dinner begins. I'm given a plate of scraps—the burnt edges of bread, the fatty cuts of meat—and told to eat in the kitchen. On the floor. Like an Omega. Like nothing.

I sink down onto the cold tile, my back against the wall, and force myself to chew the dry bread. This is my life now. This is what I've become.

Then I smell it.

Pine and winter rain. Crisp and clean and so powerful it cuts through the drug-induced fog like a blade. My wolf surges forward, stronger than she's been in months, and I know—I know—before I even look up.

The kitchen door slams open.

The Lycan King stands in the doorway, his golden eyes locked on me, and the world stops spinning.

"Mate," he breathes, and everything I thought I knew shatters like glass.