It wasn’t the pain in my side that woke me. It was the silence. The terrifying, hollow, echoing silence where my soul used to be.

I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights of the Pack Infirmary, the smell of antiseptic burning my nose. Instinctively, I reached inward, trying to brush against the comforting fur of my inner wolf, Luna. I needed her warmth. I needed her to tell me we had survived the surgery.

But there was nothing. Just a cold, empty void.

"Luna?" I rasped, my throat dry as sandpaper. Panic clawed at my chest. "Luna!"

"Shh, save your strength, Isabelle." The voice was smooth, like silk wrapped around a dagger. Alessia Vargas stood over my bed, dressed in the pristine white robes of a Head Healer—robes she had no right to wear. She adjusted my IV drip with a sympathetic smile that didn't reach her cold, dark eyes.

"Where is she?" I tried to sit up, but a searing agony ripped through my right flank. I gasped, falling back against the pillows. "What did you do to me?"

"We saved you," Alessia cooed, patting my hand. Her touch made my skin crawl. "Your wolf had succumbed to Feral Degeneration. She was poisoning your blood, turning you mad. We had to perform the Wolfless Experiment immediately."

"Liar," I wheezed. My gaze darted to the doorway. Rhys stood there. My mate. My Alpha. He was leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Rhys," I pleaded, tears blurring my vision. "Tell her she's lying. Luna was healthy. She was strong."

Rhys finally looked at me, his jaw clenched tight. There was no love in his gaze, only a hard, stony resolve. "You were becoming unstable, Isabelle. Alessia caught it just in time. She replaced the diseased Alpha organ with a synthetic suppressor. It’s for your own good. You’re human now. Safe."

Safe? They had hollowed me out. They had carved the divinity of the Moon Goddess right out of my body.

***

Three weeks later, the silence in my head was still deafening, but the humiliation was louder.

I wasn't recovering in the Luna Suite. I was on my knees in the Master Bedroom—my old bedroom—wearing the scratchy, grey uniform of an Omega servant. My title was gone. My bond was severed. I was no longer Isabelle, the Luna. I was just Isabelle, the help.

"You missed a spot," Alessia said lazily. She was lounging on the king-sized bed, wearing one of Rhys’s shirts. She swirled a glass of red wine in her hand, watching me scrub the floorboards.

I gritted my teeth, dipping the rag into the bucket of soapy water. "I am cleaning as fast as I can."

"Not fast enough." With a cruel smirk, she tilted her glass. The dark crimson liquid splashed onto the beige carpet, inches from my fingers. "Oops. Clumsy me."

My grip on the rag tightened until my knuckles turned white. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shift and tear her throat out, but I couldn't. I was just a fragile human woman now.

"Where is Thea?" I asked, my voice trembling. "I haven’t seen my daughter in twenty days, Alessia. Please."

Alessia laughed, a light, tinkling sound. "Thea is an Alpha pup. She needs strength around her, not a defective, wolfless mother who cleans floors. She's in the nursery. Rhys agrees it's best you keep your distance until you learn your place."

Before I could beg, the heavy oak doors slammed open. Rhys stormed in, his Alpha aura rolling off him in suffocating waves of anger. He didn't even look at me on the floor.

"The diplomat from the Stone River Pack is downstairs," Rhys growled, running a hand through his hair. "He's demanding reparations for the border skirmish last month. He insulted you, Alessia. He called you a stray."

Alessia gasped, playing the victim perfectly. "Oh, Rhys..."

"I nearly killed him," Rhys admitted, his eyes flashing a dangerous feral yellow. "My wolf... he's on edge. But if I don't pay the blood debt now, they'll declare war. We don't have the liquidity, not after the lab equipment costs."

I stood up, wiping my wet hands on my apron. I knew Rhys’s wolf was unstable—Grandfather Albert had warned me. If Rhys killed a diplomat, the Lycan Council would execute him.

"I can pay it," I said softly.

Rhys whipped his head around, looking at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. "You? You have nothing."

"Grandfather Albert left me a private account. The Luna's Reserve," I stated, walking past him to the safe hidden behind the painting—a safe only I knew the combination to. My fingers trembled as I spun the dial. "It was for Thea's future, but... if it saves the pack..."

I pulled out a heavy checkbook and signed the slip for two million dollars. I tore it out and held it toward him.

Rhys snatched the check from my hand. He looked at the amount, then at me. For a second, I expected gratitude. I expected him to see me.

Instead, he sneered. "Hoarding money while the pack suffers? Typical."

He turned his back on me, wrapping an arm around Alessia's waist. "This is the least a defective mate could do to earn her keep. Get back to scrubbing the floor, Isabelle. The carpet is stained."

The nursery smelled of stale air and sickness. It had been twenty days since I held my daughter, twenty days of scrubbing floors while my heart bled. When Rhys finally granted me a five-minute supervised visit, I nearly tripped over my own feet running up the stairs.

"Thea?" I whispered, pushing open the door.

My baby was curled into a tight ball in the center of her crib. Her breathing was ragged, a wet, rattling sound that made my skin cold. I reached through the bars, my hand brushing her forehead. She was burning up. The heat radiating from her small body wasn't just a fever; it was an inferno.

"Mommy?" Her eyelids fluttered open. Instead of her usual soft brown irises, a flicker of molten gold flashed in the dim light.

My breath hitched. Gold. That was the sign of an Alpha wolf surfacing. But Thea was only two. It was too early. Far too early.

"She's shifting," I gasped, turning to where Rhys stood by the door, his arms crossed. "Rhys, look at her eyes. She's trying to shift. Her body can't handle it yet. We need a specialist from the city immediately."

Rhys pushed off the doorframe, frowning, but before he could take a step, Alessia glided between us. She placed a calming hand on his chest, her touch possessive.

"Oh, Isabelle," she sighed, shaking her head with pity. "Always so dramatic. It’s just a seasonal flu. The fever causes hallucinations and light sensitivity. I’ve already administered a cooling draft."

"It is not the flu!" I screamed, pointing at the crib. "Look at her! Her wolf is clawing to get out! If you don't stabilize her, the energy will burn her organs!"

"Enough!" Rhys’s voice boomed, making Thea whimper. He glared at me, his eyes cold. "Alessia is the Head Healer. You are a wolfless servant who is hysterical from grief. You are projecting your own brokenness onto our daughter."

"Our daughter?" I choked out. "You’re letting that woman kill her!"

"Get out," Rhys commanded, pointing to the hall. "Your visit is over."

I was dragged out by two Delta guards, my fingernails scraping against the doorframe as I screamed Thea’s name.

I couldn't go back to the Omega quarters. Not yet. Panic was a living thing inside me, gnawing at my ribs. I knew what I saw. I knew pack medicine. I needed proof.

Waiting until the guards turned the corner, I slipped into the shadows of the hallway. My human feet were silent on the carpet as I crept toward the infirmary. The door was ajar.

I moved to the counter where Thea’s chart lay open. Beside it was a tray of vials filled with a murky, violet liquid. I picked one up, squinting at the label. It was handwritten: *Growth Blocker - Subject T.*

I uncorked it and sniffed. Even without my wolf senses, the scent was unmistakable. Acrid. Bitter. Metallic.

Wolf-bane.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," a voice purred from behind me.

I spun around, nearly dropping the vial. Alessia leaned against a cabinet, a cruel smile playing on her lips. She didn't look worried. She looked amused.

"You're poisoning her," I whispered, horror icing my veins. "You're suppressing her wolf with wolf-bane. That’s why she’s burning up. Her wolf is fighting the poison."

Alessia walked forward, snatching the vial from my trembling fingers. "Suppessing? No. I'm experimenting. Alpha bloodlines are so... resilient. It’s fascinating to see how much chemical stress they can endure before they snap."

"I'll tell Rhys," I hissed, stepping back. "I'll show him this."

"Go ahead." Alessia laughed, a dark, hollow sound. "He’s high on my pheromones, Isabelle. I could tell him the sky is green and he’d believe me. But if you say one word, I’ll double the dose. She’s strong, but she won’t survive the night if I decide to speed things up."

She leaned in close, her breath smelling of mint and malice. "Now, run along, little Omega. It’s my birthday party tonight. I don't want you ruining the mood."

Two hours later, the sky tore open. Thunder shook the foundations of the Pack House, rattling the single small window of the Omega quarters where I was locked in.

The storm mirrored the chaos in my soul. Outside my door, I could hear the muffled thumping of bass from the main hall. They were celebrating. Rhys was toasting the woman who was murdering his child.

I pressed my ear against the cold wood of the door, straining to hear anything from the upper floors.

Suddenly, a sensation hit me—a phantom pain in my chest, sharp and agonizing. Even without my wolf, the maternal bond screamed.

*Thea.*

In my mind’s eye, I saw her. Her small back arching off the mattress. Her bones cracking as the forced shift ripped through her fever-weakened body. She was seizing.

"Help!" I pounded on the door with both fists. "Someone help her! Rhys! Please!"

The music grew louder, drowning out my screams. The storm raged outside, and upstairs, alone in the dark, my daughter began to die.

The glass shattered against my elbow, sending a spiderweb of pain shooting up my arm, but I barely felt it. The only thing I could feel was the phantom tether in my chest, pulling me toward the nursery. Toward Thea.

Rain lashed against my face as I scrambled through the broken window of the Omega quarters, dropping onto the muddy grass below. My surgical scar—the jagged line where Alessia had stolen my wolf—burned like fire, but I forced my legs to move. I ran around the side of the Pack House, the bass of the party music thumping against the walls like a second, cruel heartbeat.

They were celebrating. While my baby was dying, they were popping champagne.

I burst through the side service entrance, dripping wet and bleeding. Two Delta guards were stationed at the bottom of the servants' stairs. They stepped forward, blocking my path, their faces impassive.

"Omega Isabelle," one grunted. "You are confined to quarters."

"Get out of my way!" I screamed, clawing at the Alpha command that used to be in my voice. It came out as a desperate, human shriek. "She’s dying! Thea is dying!"

They didn't move. They were following Rhys’s orders.

Desperation clawed at my throat. I had no wolf, no voice, no authority. But I still had the bond. The mate bond, tattered and rejected, still existed deep in the marrow of my bones. I closed my eyes, gathering every scrap of pain, every ounce of terror, and I hurled it into the void where Rhys used to be.

*Rhys!* I screamed into the mental link, the effort making my nose bleed. *Rhys, listen to me! Thea is dying! Help us! Please, just this once, hear me!*

For a heartbeat, the music downstairs seemed to falter in my mind. I felt him. I felt a flicker of confusion, a hesitation on the other end of the line. He heard me. He was there.

*Rhys, please—*

Then, it happened. A wall of ice slammed down between us. It wasn't a drift; it was a violent, deliberate shut-out. He didn't just ignore me; he crushed the connection. I felt the distinct sensation of him turning away, choosing the sweet, fake scent of his mistress over the agony of his mate.

He blocked me.

"No!" I howled, the sound ripping from my chest.

I threw myself at the guards. I didn't fight like a Luna; I fought like a mother. I bit the hand that grabbed my arm. A heavy fist slammed into my side, right over my healing incision. White-hot agony exploded in my gut, doubling me over, but I used the momentum to scramble past them, crawling up the stairs on my hands and knees.

I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

I crashed into the nursery, the door banging against the wall. The room smelled of ozone and scorched sheets—the scent of a shift gone wrong.

"Thea!"

She was on the floor. She must have fallen from the crib in her convulsions. Her tiny body was arching, her back bowing at an impossible angle. Her skin was gray, burning with a heat that radiated across the room.

I scooped her up, ignoring the way her fever blistered my cold, wet skin. "Mommy's here, baby. Mommy's here."

Her eyes were wide open, the gold of her wolf flickering and dying, leaving behind a dull, flat brown. She was shaking so hard her teeth clicked together.

"Hold on," I sobbed, rocking her back and forth. "Don't go. Please, Thea, don't go. Daddy is coming. He's coming."

It was a lie. We both knew it.

Thea’s gaze drifted past me, toward the door, searching for the Alpha aura that should have been there to anchor her. She let out a small, wet breath. Her hand, tiny and trembling, reached up to touch my cheek.

"Daddy?" she whispered.

Then, the tension left her body. The heat vanished in a single, terrifying second, replaced by a stillness that was heavier than the storm outside. Her hand fell from my face.

"Thea?" I shook her gently. "Baby?"

Silence.

Outside, thunder cracked, shaking the house to its foundations. But inside the nursery, the world had ended.

***

I didn't move for hours. I sat on the floor, holding her cold body against my chest, staring at the shadows dancing on the wall. The party music had finally died down. The storm had passed.

The door creaked open.

Light from the hallway spilled in, blinding me. Rhys stood there. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He smelled of expensive cologne and Alessia’s cloying vanilla perfume. He swayed slightly, a goofy, intoxicated grin on his face.

"What is this drama now, Isabelle?" he slurred, squinting into the dark room. "Alessia said you were throwing a tantrum. Why is the baby on the floor?"

He didn't smell it yet. The death. The drugs Alessia had pumped into him masked everything.

I didn't look at him. I just smoothed Thea’s hair, over and over.

Rhys stumbled forward, annoyance rolling off him in waves. "I’m talking to you. Put her back in the crib. You’re spoiling her."

He reached down to grab Thea’s arm. His fingers brushed her skin.

He froze. The glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the floorboards, splashing amber liquid near my knees.

"Thea?" His voice sobered instantly, the Alpha command trying to assert itself. "Thea, wake up."

She didn't move.

Rhys fell to his knees. He snatched her from my arms, shaking her limp body. "What did you do?" he roared, turning on me, his eyes wild with panic and confusion. "What did you do to her?"

"I called you," I whispered, my voice dead. "I screamed for you."

"Liar!" He clutched Thea to his chest, but he wasn't comforting her; he was hoarding her, as if he could squeeze the life back into her lungs. "You didn't call! I would have known!"

"You blocked me," I said, looking right into his eyes. "You felt me, and you blocked me to go back to her."

Guilt flashed across his face—a quick, ugly thing—before it hardened into rage. He couldn't accept it. He couldn't be the villain in his own story.

"No," he snarled, standing up with Thea’s body, towering over me. "This is your fault. Her blood was weak. She got those defective genes from you. If you hadn't been so hysterical, if you hadn't panicked..."

He backed away from me, looking at our daughter’s corpse with a mixture of horror and disgust. "She was weak stock. Just like her mother."