The dawn was gray and unforgiving, much like the ache that settled deep in my marrow. I knelt on the damp earth of the sacred grove behind the Black Moon Pack house, my knees pressed into the cold soil. I am Celine Stone, the last daughter of a bloodline that has stitched the wounds of werewolves for centuries, yet the only life I couldn't seem to save was my own.

I closed my eyes, gripping the moonstone pendant that rested against my collarbone. It was warm, pulsing with the last of my mother’s magic. I reached out with my senses, finding the tether that bound me to Drake. His wolf was a flickering shadow, a dying ember that I had to fan into a flame every single month.

"Live," I whispered, the word scraping my throat.

Silver light bled from my fingertips, sinking into the ground and traveling through the unseen bond. The pain was immediate—a sharp, tearing sensation as my vitality was siphoned away to patch the cracks in his aura. I gasped, sweat beading on my forehead despite the morning chill. For five years, I had done this. For five years, I had been the silent battery keeping the Alpha of the Black Moon Pack from crumbling into dust.

When the ritual ended, I slumped forward, trembling. My vision blurred. I needed a hand to help me up. I needed my mate.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path. I looked up, hope fluttering in my chest like a trapped bird.

Drake stood there. He looked magnificent, his dark hair tousled, his shoulders broad and powerful—strength that I had just poured into him. But his eyes, once warm silver, were cold and hard as flint.

"Drake," I breathed, reaching a shaking hand toward him. "The ritual… it’s done."

He didn't take my hand. He didn't even break stride. He brushed past me, the hem of his coat whipping against my cheek. "I have a council meeting, Celine. Don't be late for the gathering tonight."

He left me kneeling in the dirt, drained and empty.

***

The monthly pack gathering was usually a time of unity, but tonight, the air in the dining hall was thick with tension. I wore a high-collared dress to hide the bruising on my neck where the energy transfer had left its mark. As the Luna, my place was at the head table, at Drake’s right hand.

But as I approached, the chatter in the hall died instantly.

Drake entered, but he wasn't alone. Clinging to his arm was Sabrina Willis. Her red hair was a cascade of fire, her green eyes gleaming with a triumph I didn't yet understand. She wore a dress that left little to the imagination, and the scent radiating off her was overpowering—a cloying, floral perfume that made my healer’s instincts recoil. It smelled synthetic, masking something rotten underneath.

Drake walked her straight to the head table. Straight to my chair.

"Drake?" I stepped forward, my voice trembling slightly. "That is the Luna’s seat."

Sabrina looked at me, then up at Drake, her lower lip trembling in a practiced pout. "Oh, Alpha, I didn't mean to intrude. I just… I feel so safe near you."

Drake turned to me. The look on his face wasn't just indifferent anymore; it was hostile.

"Sit elsewhere, Celine," he commanded.

The pack gasped. To displace a mate was a grave insult. To displace a Luna was political suicide.

"Drake, please," I whispered, conscious of the hundred pairs of eyes watching us. "Don't do this."

His eyes flashed. The air in the room grew heavy, crushing the breath from my lungs. He used the Alpha tone—a vibration that forced submission from every wolf in the room.

"I said, sit elsewhere!" his voice boomed, hitting me like a physical blow.

My knees buckled. My wolf whimpered in submission, forced to obey the command of her Alpha despite the agony of her mate's betrayal. Humiliated, I turned and found a seat at the far end of the table, near the Omegas. I watched as Sabrina slid into my chair, her hand resting possessively on Drake’s arm, whispering honeyed poison into his ear.

***

The walk to our bedroom felt like a funeral procession. When Drake finally came in, smelling of her perfume, I couldn't stay silent.

"How could you?" I asked, my voice cracking. "I am your wife. I am your mate. You humiliated me in front of the entire pack."

Drake unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He looked at me with a sneer I didn't recognize. "You humiliate yourself, Celine. You’re weak. You’re always tired, always pale. Look at you."

"I am tired because I give everything to you!" I cried, stepping toward him. "My blood, my energy—"

"Enough!" He grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. "I don't want to hear about your pathetic rituals. You think you save me? Sabrina… she makes me feel alive. She makes me feel like a true Alpha. You just make me feel like a patient."

He shoved me back. I stumbled, catching myself on the dresser. The cruelty in his eyes shattered something deep inside me, something that had survived five years of pain but couldn't survive this.

"She is poisoning your mind, Drake," I whispered, tears finally spilling over.

"Get out," he hissed. "Sleep in the guest room. I can't stand the sight of you tonight."

I fled the room, my heart in tatters. As I stumbled into the hallway, I nearly collided with a solid, warm chest.

Clark Andrews stood there, his body rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The Beta’s kind brown eyes were dark with a fury I had never seen before. He had heard everything. He looked at the closed door of the Alpha’s bedroom, then down at me, his expression softening into a heartbreak that mirrored my own.

"Luna," he whispered, his voice thick with suppressed rage. "He doesn't deserve you."

The whisper started low, like the rustle of dry leaves before a storm, until it grew into a roar that deafened me. We were gathered in the pack’s assembly hall, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and anticipation. Drake stood at the podium, his hand resting possessively on the small of Sabrina’s back. She looked radiant, her red hair catching the light like a halo of fire, but her smile was a blade aimed directly at my heart.

“My pack,” Drake’s voice boomed, rich with pride I hadn’t heard in years. “Tonight, we celebrate the future. Sabrina carries my pup.”

A collective gasp sucked the air from the room. Sabrina produced a glossy black-and-white image, holding it up like a trophy. It was an ultrasound, the graininess undeniable proof to everyone watching. Murmurs erupted instantly, eyes darting between the beaming Omega and me—the barren Luna who had failed her one duty. I sat frozen, my hands clenching the fabric of my dress until my knuckles turned white.

“Finally, a true heir,” an elder muttered loud enough for me to hear. “Perhaps the Moon Goddess has corrected her mistake.”

The shame was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest. I knew Sabrina. I knew the scent of deception that clung to her like cheap perfume, but Drake was blind to it. He looked at her belly with a reverence he used to save for me. I wanted to scream, to tear the lie from her throat, but I had no voice here. Not anymore.

I slipped away before the applause could crush me completely. My destination wasn’t the sanctuary of my room, but the sterile quiet of the pack clinic. Dr. Marcus Reid was waiting for me, his face grim as he ushered me into the examination room. The lights hummed overhead, a stark contrast to the raucous celebration I had left behind.

“Are you sure about the timing, Celine?” Marcus asked softly, adjusting the ultrasound machine.

“Just check, Marcus. Please.” My voice trembled.

The gel was cold against my skin. I held my breath, staring at the monitor, praying to a Goddess I felt had abandoned me. And then, there it was. A tiny, rhythmic flutter. A heartbeat.

Marcus let out a breath he’d been holding. “It worked. The final round of IVF… Celine, you’re pregnant.”

Tears blurred my vision, hot and fast. I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t barren. I carried the true heir of the Black Moon Pack. My hand hovered over my flat stomach, a fierce protectiveness surging through my veins.

“But listen to me,” Marcus said, his tone turning sharp. He gripped my shoulder. “Your levels are erratic. Your body is exhausted from the healing rituals you perform on Drake. If you continue to stress yourself, or if Drake… if he continues to treat you this way, you will lose this pup. You are walking a razor’s edge, Luna.”

“I won’t lose it,” I whispered, wiping my eyes. “I won’t.”

I left the clinic with a secret burning inside me, a tiny spark of hope in the encroaching darkness. I had to tell Drake. Once he knew, once he realized I carried his child, the spell Sabrina had cast over him would surely break. He would protect us. He had to.

But when I returned to the pack house, the atmosphere had shifted from celebration to debauchery. The dining hall was transformed. Drake sat at the head of the table, a throne-like chair that usually accommodated both of us. Now, Sabrina sat on his lap, feeding him grapes as if they were ancient royalty.

I tried to skirt the edge of the room, intending to reach the staircase unnoticed, but Drake’s gaze snapped to me. His eyes were glassy, his pupils dilated—the side effects of the exhilaration he felt, or perhaps something darker.

“Going somewhere, Celine?” His voice cut through the laughter like a whip.

The room went silent.

“I am tired, Drake,” I said, keeping my head high despite the trembling in my legs. “I need rest.”

“Rest?” He laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. “We are celebrating my heir. And you, the Luna who couldn’t provide one, think you can just walk away?”

Sabrina giggled, nuzzling into his neck. “Maybe she’s jealous, Alpha. It must be hard for her, seeing a real woman give you what you need.”

Her words were poison, but Drake drank them down like wine. His expression hardened. The air around him shimmered with the force of his aura.

“Come here,” he commanded.

I didn’t want to move. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to protect the fragile life growing inside me. But the Alpha command slammed into my mind, an irresistible order that bypassed my will. My legs moved on their own, jerky and stiff, dragging me toward the head table.

“Drake, please,” I gasped, fighting the invisible puppet strings. “Don’t do this.”

He ignored my plea. He pointed to the crystal decanter of wine on the table. “Sabrina is thirsty. Since you are no longer useful as a mother, perhaps you can be useful as a servant. Pour her a drink.”

The humiliation was a cold bucket of water. The pack watched—some with pity, most with morbid curiosity. I reached for the heavy crystal decanter, my hands shaking violently. The Alpha tone pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me to bow, forcing me to serve the woman who was destroying my life.

I poured the dark red liquid into Sabrina’s goblet. She didn’t take it immediately. Instead, she looked up at me, her green eyes dancing with malice.

“Careful, Celine,” she purred. “Don’t spill. We wouldn’t want you to ruin the celebration of the future Alpha.”

Drake watched, his face a mask of arrogant satisfaction, completely unaware that the true future Alpha was right there, inches from him, hidden beneath the dress of the woman he was breaking. I set the glass down, the sound echoing in the silence. I had never felt hate before—not truly. But in that moment, as I looked at the man I had saved from death a dozen times, I felt the first cracks in the love that had bound me to him.

The cool night air of the medicinal garden was the only thing keeping me from shattering completely. I collapsed onto the stone bench beneath the weeping willow, my breath hitching in ragged gasps. The humiliation of the dinner still burned on my skin, hotter than the physical wound I had sustained.

I looked down at my hand. A bright red welt stretched across my palm and fingers, blistering where I had grabbed the hot silver tureen to stop it from falling when Drake’s command forced my knees to buckle. I hadn’t dropped the wine, but the soup tureen had seared my flesh. I hadn’t dared to cry out then. A Luna does not show weakness, even when she is being treated like a servant.

"Let me see it."

The voice was low and familiar. I didn't jump; my wolf knew his scent—earth, pine, and safety. Clark Andrews stepped out of the shadows, his face etched with a mixture of sorrow and suppressed rage.

"I'm fine, Clark," I whispered, cradling my hand against my chest. "Go back inside. If Drake sees you here..."

"He is too busy drinking to his 'heir' to notice his Beta is missing," Clark said bitterly. He knelt before me, disregarding the dirt staining his dress slacks. Gently, he took my wrist. His touch was cool, a stark contrast to the angry heat of the burn. "This needs aloe and comfrey. Stay still."

He pulled a small jar from his pocket—one of my own salves I had given the pack warriors. With infinite care, he applied the balm to my blistered skin. The relief was instant, but the ache in my chest only deepened. Here was the man who should have been just a friend, treating me with the reverence my mate had forgotten.

"You cannot keep doing this, Celine," Clark murmured, his eyes locked on his work. "The ritual is tonight. You are already exhausted. Your aura is flickering."

"I have to," I said, my voice hollow. "If I don't, his wolf dies. And if his wolf dies, the pack falls."

Clark looked up, his brown eyes searching mine. "The pack is already falling, Luna. A pack led by a madman has no future. You need to protect yourself. You need to leave."

I instinctively placed my other hand over my stomach, where the tiny, secret life fluttered. "I can't leave. Not yet."

Clark’s gaze dropped to my hand on my belly. He paused, a flicker of realization passing through his eyes, but he said nothing. He simply squeezed my uninjured hand, a silent vow of protection. For a moment, in the quiet of the garden my mother had planted, I felt a peace I hadn't known in years.

But peace in the Black Moon Pack was a fragile illusion.

A soft click from the second-floor balcony shattered the moment. I looked up, my heart seizing. Sabrina stood there, framed by the light of the Alpha’s bedroom. She wasn't looking at the moon; she was looking at us. A slow, venomous smile spread across her lips. She didn't say a word, but the way she turned and slinked back into the room made my blood run cold.

"She saw us," I whispered, pulling my hand from Clark's grip. "Go. Please, Clark."

He hesitated, jaw clenched, but the Beta instinct to obey his Luna won out. He vanished into the trees, leaving me alone with the dread coiling in my gut.

Inside the bedroom, the atmosphere had shifted. I could feel it even from the garden—a spike in the air pressure, the static charge of an agitated Alpha. Sabrina was weaving her web.

*"Look at them, Drake,"* I imagined her purring, her voice dripping with false concern. *"Touching hands in the dark. Your Beta and your barren mate. Perhaps that is why she is so cold to you..."*

I wiped my face, steeling myself. The full moon was rising. It was time for the ritual.

I entered the house through the side door, moving silently toward the Alpha’s study where we usually prepared before heading to the grove. The door was ajar.

Drake was pacing, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. His aura was erratic, flaring out in jagged waves that made the air taste metallic. Sabrina sat on the edge of his desk, holding a crystal goblet filled with a dark, viscous liquid.

"Drink this, my love," she cooed, extending the glass. "It will help you focus. It will give you the strength she tries to steal from you."

The scent hit me before I even crossed the threshold. It was sharp, acrid—like burnt sugar and rotting meat. Wolfsbane. But not just the herb; this was a concentrated elixir, the kind brewed in the dark basements of rogue territories. The kind Victor Kane dealt in.

"Drake, no!" I gasped, stepping into the room. "Do not drink that!"

Drake spun around. His eyes were wild, the pupils blown wide. The silver of his irises was muddy, swimming with red veins.

"You," he snarled. The sound was more beast than man. "You dare tell me what to do? After what you were doing in the garden?"

"I was tending to a wound you caused!" I cried, pointing at the glass. "That is poison, Drake! Can’t you smell it? It’s wolfsbane!"

Sabrina laughed, a tinkling, innocent sound. "Oh, Celine. Always so dramatic. It’s just a tonic for vitality. Something to help him since his 'healer' mate is so useless."

She pressed the glass into Drake’s hand. He looked at the dark liquid, then at me. The trust that had once existed between us was gone, eroded by months of manipulation and his own desperation for strength.

"I don't need your permission, Celine," Drake spat. "And I don't need your pity."

He raised the glass and downed the elixir in one swallow.

"No!" I screamed, lunging forward, but it was too late.

A roar ripped from his throat—a sound of raw power and agony. His muscles bulged, tearing the seams of his shirt. The elixir was forcing a surge of artificial energy into his dying wolf, like pouring gasoline onto a fading spark. It wouldn't heal him; it would burn him out from the inside.

He turned to me, and for the first time, I didn't see my husband. I saw a stranger fueled by chemical rage and a jealousy whispered into his ear.

"You think you can betray me with my own Beta?" he growled, his voice vibrating with the Alpha tone, amplified and distorted by the drug. He took a step toward me, the floorboards groaning under the weight of his aura.

I backed away, clutching my stomach, terror icy in my veins. The ritual was meant to save him, but tonight, the man standing before me didn't want to be saved. He wanted to destroy.