The servants' quarters smelled like mildew and despair. I slept on stone that leached the warmth from my bones, curled around myself like the animal they'd made me. The collar chafed my neck raw. Every morning, I woke to the taste of iron and shame.

My duties started before dawn. Scrubbing floors in the Alpha suite—my old rooms, where I'd once woken in silk sheets with Greyson's arms around me. Now I crawled on hands and knees, brush in hand, while Camille watched from the bed we used to share.

"You missed a spot," she said, pointing with one delicate finger. Her belly curved beneath a silk nightgown, round and perfect. The scent that rolled off her was thick and cloying—vanilla and something else, something that made every wolf in the pack go soft and protective around her.

I scrubbed harder. The water in my bucket had gone cold an hour ago.

Camille stretched like a cat, one hand resting on her stomach. "Greyson says the pup kicked last night. Can you imagine? Our child, growing strong."

I said nothing. Speaking without permission meant punishment.

She rose from the bed, moving with deliberate grace. Her foot caught the edge of my bucket. Water and dirty suds flooded across the floor I'd just cleaned.

"Oh," she said, her voice dripping false concern. "How clumsy of me. You'll need to start over."

This happened every day. Sometimes it was wine. Sometimes dirt tracked in from the garden. Always something to make me do it again, to keep me on my knees where she wanted me.

The pack treated me like I was invisible. Or worse—like I was something to be avoided, a curse that might spread if they got too close. They spat when I passed. Mothers pulled their children away. Warriors who'd once taken orders from me now looked through me like I was glass.

Only Camille saw me. And she never looked away.

A week into my servitude, I found myself alone in the kitchen after midnight. My hands shook as I reached for a piece of bread from the counter. I hadn't eaten in two days. The collar made it hard to swallow, but I had to try.

"Stealing now?"

I spun. Camille stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall light. Without the crowd, without Greyson, her smile was different. Sharper.

"That's not a real pregnancy," I said. The words came out before I could stop them.

Her laugh was soft and terrible. "No. It's not."

The admission hit me like a fist. "How—"

"A scent charm. Very expensive. Very convincing." She moved closer, circling me like prey. "Dr. Thorne helps with the rest. Monthly check-ups that say exactly what Greyson needs to hear. It's amazing what people will believe when they want to."

"He'll find out."

"Will he?" She tilted her head. "Who's going to tell him? You? The mad rogue who tried to kill me?" She pulled something from her pocket. A syringe. The liquid inside glowed faint purple in the dim light. "We can't have you getting any ideas. Can't have you shifting or linking with anyone who might listen."

I backed away. My spine hit the counter. "Camille, please—"

"You took everything from me." Her voice went cold. "You took my place. My mate. My life. And you were so good at it, weren't you? Perfect little Luna, so devoted, so pure." She grabbed my arm with strength that shouldn't have been possible. "Now it's my turn."

The needle pierced my neck. Liquid fire poured into my veins.

I screamed. My body convulsed, muscles seizing as the wolfsbane spread through my system. It felt like being burned from the inside out, like every cell was dying and being reborn in agony. I hit the floor, thrashing, while Camille stood over me and smiled.

"That should keep you weak for a while," she said. "Sweet dreams, sister."

The days blurred after that. Camille's performance grew more elaborate. She stumbled in the hallways, pressing her hands to her eyes. She knocked over a vase and claimed she couldn't see it. She wept in Greyson's arms about the darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision.

"It's a curse," she sobbed during dinner, her voice carrying through the dining hall. "That rogue brought it with her. I can feel it, Greyson. I'm going blind."

The pack murmured. Eyes turned to me where I stood against the wall, waiting to clear plates.

Greyson's jaw tightened. "We'll fix this."

Two days later, I was summoned to his office.

He sat behind his desk, every inch the Alpha. The man who'd once held me through nightmares was gone. This was someone else wearing his face.

"The Summit is in three weeks," he said without preamble. "After it concludes, Dr. Thorne will perform a procedure."

I waited. Speaking felt dangerous.

"You brought this curse into my pack. You're poisoning my mate, threatening my unborn child." His eyes were flat. Empty. "So you'll pay the price. Your corneas will be removed and transplanted to Camille. It's the only way to save her sight."

The words didn't make sense at first. Then they did, and the world tilted.

"You're going to blind me."

"You did this to yourself." He stood, moving to the window. "Be grateful I'm letting you live at all."

I touched my neck where the collar sat. Where his mark used to be. "I never cursed her."

"Three weeks," he said. "Don't make me move up the timeline."

I stumbled back to the servants' quarters in a daze. Three weeks until they took my eyes. Three weeks until there was nothing left of me at all.

I pressed my hands to my face, feeling the shape of my eyes beneath my palms. Soon, there would only be darkness. Soon, I would be truly nothing.

And Camille would watch it happen with that smile on her face.

The cage smelled like rust and old death. I couldn't tell if the blood crusted on the bars was mine or belonged to whoever had been here before me. My wrists were raw from the chains, silver-laced and burning. Every bump in the road sent fresh agony through my body.

They'd drugged me before loading me into the caravan. Something that made my thoughts swim and my limbs heavy as stone. I couldn't fight. Couldn't speak. Could barely breathe through the gag they'd shoved in my mouth.

Through the canvas covering the cage, I caught glimpses of other caravans. Banners from different packs. The Summit. Greyson was taking me to the Summit.

A warrior's voice drifted back from the front. "Alpha says we're trading her to Blackthorn. Heard he likes breaking rogues."

Laughter. Cold and casual.

"Better her than us dealing with her."

I closed my eyes. Blackthorn. I knew that name. Everyone did. Alpha Silas Blackthorn ran a pack on the northern border, and the stories about what he did to rogues made even hardened warriors go quiet.

This was it, then. Greyson wasn't even going to take my eyes himself. He was going to trade me away like garbage, let someone else finish what he'd started.

The caravan stopped. Voices outside. The canvas was ripped back, and harsh sunlight stabbed into my eyes. Hands grabbed the cage, dragging it off the wagon. I hit the ground hard, my shoulder slamming into the bars.

They left me there. In the dirt. Behind the Blood River encampment, hidden from view like something shameful.

I could hear the Summit in the distance. Alphas greeting each other. The formality of it all. Once, I would have been at Greyson's side for something like this. Once, I would have mattered.

The drug was wearing off. Slowly. My thoughts were clearing, but my body still wouldn't obey. I tried to shift, tried to call for Luna, but there was nothing. Just silence where my wolf used to be.

Time passed. I didn't know how much. The sun moved across the sky. My throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper.

Then I smelled it.

Vanilla. Rich and warm, cutting through the stench of my own blood and fear. It wrapped around me like a blanket, like safety, like something I'd forgotten existed.

Footsteps. Fast and purposeful.

The tent flap tore open.

A man stood there, backlit by the setting sun. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His eyes were wild, glowing with his wolf just beneath the surface. He stared at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"Moon Goddess," he breathed.

He moved toward the cage, and I flinched. Couldn't help it. Every instinct screamed that men who looked at me like that brought pain.

But he stopped. His hands were shaking.

"I've been looking for you," he said, his voice rough. "Years. I've been looking for years."

I didn't understand. Couldn't process what he was saying.

He gripped the cage door. The metal groaned. His eyes met mine, and something in my chest pulled tight. Recognition. Not of his face, but of something deeper. Something that felt like coming home.

"Hold on," he said.

Then he threw his head back and roared.

The sound shook the earth. It wasn't a command. It was a challenge. A declaration. Every wolf in the Summit would have heard it, would have felt it in their bones.

He shifted. One moment, a man. The next, a massive black wolf, bigger than any I'd ever seen. His fur was midnight dark, his eyes burning gold.

He tore the cage door off its hinges like it was paper.

Shouts outside. Running footsteps. Greyson's voice, sharp with fury. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The black wolf stood over me, his body a wall between me and the tent entrance. A growl rumbled from his chest, so deep I felt it in my ribs.

Greyson burst in, Beta Kane at his heels. His face was twisted with rage. "Reynolds. Step away from my property."

The black wolf's growl turned into a snarl. He didn't move.

Other Alphas were gathering outside now. I could hear them. Smell them. The whole Summit was watching.

The black wolf shifted back. He stood there, naked and unashamed, his body still positioned between me and Greyson. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of absolute authority.

"Mine."

One word. But it changed everything.

Greyson's laugh cut through the tension like a blade. Sharp. Mocking.

"You want her?" He stepped closer, his boots crunching on gravel. "You want this broken thing? This mad rogue who can't even shift?"

The black wolf—Reynolds, Greyson had called him—didn't flinch. His body stayed between us, a wall of muscle and barely contained fury.

"She's yours," Greyson said, his voice dripping contempt. "Take her. I'm done wasting resources on damaged goods."

Something in my chest cracked. Damaged goods. That's all I was to him now.

Reynolds shifted back to human form. His voice was low, dangerous. "Name your price."

Greyson's smile widened. He'd been waiting for this. "The eastern border. Five miles of Silver Lake territory. Sign it over, and she's yours."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd of Alphas outside. Five miles was a fortune. Hunting grounds. Water rights. Power.

Reynolds didn't hesitate. "Done."

The word hit me like a slap. He was buying me. Trading land for a broken omega he didn't even know. Why?

Greyson's expression flickered—surprise, then something uglier. He'd expected negotiation. Expected Reynolds to walk away. Instead, he'd lost territory and looked weak doing it.

"Beta Kane will draw up the papers," Greyson said, his jaw tight. "Take her and go."

Reynolds moved. He crouched beside the ruined cage, his hands reaching for me. I flinched hard, my body slamming back against the bars. Every instinct screamed danger. Men who touched me brought pain.

He froze. His hands hovered in the air, not touching, not forcing.

"I won't hurt you," he said. His voice was soft. Careful. Like I was something precious instead of broken. "I'm going to carry you out of here. Is that okay?"

No one had asked my permission for anything in five years.

I managed a tiny nod.

His arms slid under me, gentle as a whisper. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, cradling me against his chest. The vanilla scent wrapped around me, warm and safe. My body went rigid, waiting for the pain that always came.

It didn't come.

He carried me through the crowd. Alphas stepped back, their faces a mix of curiosity and disgust. I kept my eyes down, my fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. He was warm. Solid. Real.

When we reached his caravan, he set me down on soft cushions inside. Not a cage. A bed. Blankets that smelled like pine and winter air.

"Rest," he said. "We'll be home soon."

Home. The word felt foreign.

The journey blurred. I drifted in and out of consciousness, my body finally giving in to exhaustion. When I woke, we were moving through gates. Silver Lake Pack territory.

The pack house was nothing like Blood River. It was smaller, warmer. Lights glowed in windows. Wolves moved through the grounds without fear, without the rigid hierarchy that had ruled my old life.

Reynolds carried me inside and up a staircase. He pushed open a door to a room that stole my breath. Soft carpet. A massive bed with clean white sheets. Windows overlooking a forest that stretched forever.

"This is yours," he said, setting me down on the bed. "No one will come in without your permission. Not even me."

I stared at him. At this stranger who'd traded land for a broken omega. Who spoke to me like I mattered.

"Why?" The word scraped out of my throat.

His eyes met mine. Gold and warm and impossibly gentle. "Because you're my mate. My true mate. And I've been searching for you for a very long time."

The world tilted.

He moved toward me with a cloth and water basin. "Let me clean your wounds."

His hand reached for my arm. I jerked back so hard I nearly fell off the bed. My heart hammered. My breath came in short gasps.

He pulled back immediately. No anger. No frustration. Just patience.

"Okay," he said softly. "Okay. I won't touch you."

He set the basin on the nightstand and backed toward the door. Then he grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the closet.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Sleeping here." He gestured to the floor by the door. "So you know you're safe. So you know I'm not going anywhere."

He settled onto the floor, his back against the wall. A powerful Alpha, sleeping on hardwood to make a broken omega feel safe.

Over the next two days, he proved it wasn't an act. He brought me food and set it on the nightstand, never forcing me to eat. When I finally reached for the bread with shaking hands, he smiled like I'd given him the world.

He spoke to me in low, soothing tones. Told me about his pack. About the forest. About nothing and everything. Never demanding answers. Never pushing.

On the third morning, there was a commotion downstairs. Shouting. The sound of someone being dragged.

Reynolds stood, his body going tense. "Stay here."

He left. I heard his voice, sharp with command. Then another voice. One I recognized.

Dr. Thorne.

My blood went cold. I crept to the door, pressing my ear against it.

"I didn't have a choice!" Thorne's voice was high with panic. "She threatened my family!"

"Tell me everything." Reynolds' voice was ice. "Now."

"The pregnancy—it's fake. Scent charms and herbs. I've been lying in every report. And the wolfsbane injections—Camille ordered them. To keep the omega weak. To keep her wolf dormant."

Silence. Heavy and terrible.

"What else?" Reynolds growled.

"Files," Thorne gasped. "Old files about the Moonshadow Luna's death. Greyson tried to burn them, but I saw—it wasn't rogues. It was his father. He orchestrated the whole attack."

The floor disappeared beneath me.

My mother. Greyson's father had killed my mother.

And Greyson knew.