Janette POV

The atmosphere in the pack house had curdled, shifting from a cold, tolerable indifference to active, suffocating hostility. It had started with whispers—sidelong glances that ceased the moment I turned my head—but now, the disdain was blatant.

I was buried in paperwork in Garrison’s home office, relegated to yet another administrative task because the Alpha couldn't be bothered with the tedium of running his own territory.

"Where is the report on the northern border patrol?" Garrison’s voice boomed against the mahogany walls as he strode in. He wasn't alone. Keyla trailed in his wake like a sleek, predatory shadow.

"It's right on top," I said, my hand trembling slightly as I pointed to the blue folder on the desk. "I organized the entire stack by date this morning."

Garrison snatched up the folder and flipped it open. His face darkened, a storm cloud settling over his features. "This is empty, Janette."

"What?" I rushed forward, panic flaring in my chest. "No, that's impossible. I filed those papers myself."

Keyla leaned against the doorframe, idly examining the sheen of her manicured nails. "Maybe she misplaced them, Garrison. It’s a lot of responsibility for someone... of her limited capacity."

I frantically searched the desk, shuffling through stacks of correspondence. The papers were gone. I knew I had filed them. I had double-checked. I wasn't crazy.

"I didn't lose them!" I insisted, my voice rising an octave in desperation. "Someone removed them."

"Are you accusing my staff?" Garrison snapped, slamming the folder shut. "Or are you simply incompetent and looking for a scapegoat?"

The Alpha tone in his voice hit me like a physical slap. My knees buckled, instinct warring with my pride. It was the *Command*—the biological authority he held over everyone in the pack. When an Alpha was truly angry, our very DNA forced us to submit.

"I... I'm sorry," I stammered, the apology tasting like bile. "I'll find them. They have to be here."

"Don't bother," Garrison growled. "Keyla, do you have copies of the border stats from your father's pack?"

"Of course," Keyla purred, pulling a sleek tablet from her designer bag. "I believe in always being prepared, Alpha."

Garrison looked at me with pure, unadulterated disgust. "Get out. You're useless to me here."

I ran. I ran until my lungs burned and the humiliation tears dried on my cheeks, ending up in the one place that still felt like sanctuary—my mother’s healing hut at the edge of the forest.

I found Mom hunched over her worktable, examining a withered plant under the harsh light of a magnifying lamp. Usually, this place smelled of dried sage and lavender, but today, the air was sharp and acrid, stinging my nostrils.

"Mom?"

She jumped, her hand instinctively flying behind her back to hide the specimen. "Janette. You're early."

"What is that smell?" I asked, wiping my eyes.

Mom hesitated, then sighed, her shoulders slumping. She pulled the plant back into view. It was a purple flower, beautiful but deadly, its veins black and rotting.

"Wolfsbane," I gasped, the word heavy on my tongue. "That is strictly forbidden within pack lands."

"I found it buried near the water supply for the warriors' barracks," Mom said grimly. "This wasn't wild growth. Someone planted it intentionally."

"Who would do that?"

"Someone who wants to weaken the pack from the inside," Mom said. She looked at me, her eyes narrowing with a healer's intuition. "I went to the main house earlier to deliver Garrison’s tonic. I ran into Keyla."

"And?"

"She was sweating. Not from heat, but from adrenaline," Mom explained. "And beneath that cloying perfume she wears... I smelled soil. Fresh, damp soil. And the faint, metallic tang of Wolfsbane sap."

My blood ran cold. "You think Keyla is poisoning the warriors?"

"I think Keyla is doing whatever it takes to prove that this pack is vulnerable without her resources," Mom said darkly. "And to prove that you, the current Luna, are failing to protect them."

"We have to tell Garrison."

Mom shook her head sadly. "He won't hear us. Not without irrefutable proof. He is blinded by the merger. By her."

"So we just let her win? We let her kill people?"

"No," Mom said, her voice fierce. "I'm going to find the source. I found tracks leading toward the old hunting cabin in the north woods. I'm going there tonight to collect samples."

"I'll come with you."

"No!" Mom grabbed my hands, her grip surprisingly strong. "You must stay visible. If we both disappear, it looks suspicious. Go to the dinner tonight. Hold your head high. Let me handle this. I am the Healer. Even an Alpha must respect my word when I present evidence."

I didn't want to leave her. A sense of dread coiled in my stomach, distinct from the usual anxiety of facing Garrison.

"Be careful, Mom."

"Always, my little wolf."

That evening, the dinner was a torture session. Keyla sat at Garrison's right hand, in the seat that should have been mine. She had "accidentally" spilled red wine on my pale silk dress earlier, forcing me to change into an old, ill-fitting gown that pinched at the waist.

"Such a shame about the dress," Keyla announced loudly to the table of Elders. "But I suppose not everyone has the grace to carry off silk."

The Elders chuckled low in their throats. They were old men who respected power above all else, and they sensed the shift in the wind. They were placing their bets on Keyla.

I sat in silence, picking at my food. My skin felt hot. Too hot. For weeks, I had been feeling strange surges of fever, followed by sharp, grinding pains in my bones. I had dismissed it as stress, but tonight, it felt like fire in my veins.

Keyla leaned in, dropping her voice so only I could hear. "Enjoy the meal, Janette. It might be your last one at this table."

I looked up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were cold, dead things, void of any wolf humanity.

"You won't get away with it," I whispered. "My mother knows."

Keyla’s smile didn't waver, but her pupils dilated, swallowing the iris. "Does she? That's unfortunate."

A chill went down my spine, instantly freezing the feverish heat in my blood. I suddenly realized why Keyla was so calm.

"Excuse me," I said, standing up abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"Sit down, Janette," Garrison commanded, not looking up from his steak.

"I need air," I gasped, panic clawing at my throat.

"I said sit down!" His voice boomed, laced with a crushing weight of Alpha power.

My body froze. My muscles locked up against my will, betraying me. I was forced back into the chair, tears of frustration stinging my eyes. I was a prisoner in my own body, held captive by the man who was supposed to cherish me.

I sat there for two hours, unable to move a muscle, while my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. *Mom,* I called out in the Mind-Link, sending the thought like a desperate prayer. *Mom, answer me.*

Silence.

Just a vast, terrifying silence where my mother’s warm presence used to be.

Janette POV:

The scream that tore from my throat didn't sound human. It was the raw, guttural sound of a wounded animal dying in a trap.

I found her in the herb garden.

She wasn't planting. She was lying face down in the dirt, her basket overturned like a spilled omen.

"Mom!" I fell to my knees, skidding through the mud, grabbing her shoulders to turn her over.

Her skin was gray. Her lips were stained a dark, unnatural violet. The smell of Wolfsbane was so potent it made my eyes water and my throat close up.

"No, no, no," I sobbed, shaking her limp form. "Wake up. Please, Mom, wake up!"

I pressed my ear to her chest. Silence. The heart that had loved me when no one else did had stopped beating.

"What is this racket?" Garrison’s voice cut through my grief like a lash.

He stood on the patio, coffee cup in hand, looking down at me as if I were a pest.

Keyla was beside him, wrapped in a silk robe that I recognized. It was mine. The one I had worn on my wedding night.

"She's dead!" I screamed at him, my voice cracking. "My mother is dead!"

Garrison walked down the steps, his face pale but irritatingly composed. He knelt beside the body, checking for a pulse with clinical detachment.

"Wolfsbane," Keyla said, covering her nose with a delicate hand. "Disgusting. Why would the Pack Healer have such a dangerous poison on her? Unless..."

She let the sentence hang in the air, poisonous and sweet.

"Unless what?" I snarled, my vision blurring with red rage. "You did this! She found out about you!"

"Janette!" Garrison snapped. "Control yourself."

"She killed her!" I lunged at Keyla, my fingers curling into claws, ready to tear that stolen robe from her skin.

"Enough!"

Garrison used the Alpha Voice. It hit me like a physical blow to the chest, a crushing weight that slammed me into the earth, knocking the air out of my lungs. I collapsed into the dirt beside my mother’s body, gasping, unable to lift my head against the sheer gravity of his command.

"Look at this," Keyla said, pointing to my mother’s apron pocket. She reached in and pulled out a small vial with theatrical precision. "Pure Wolfsbane extract. It looks like she was brewing it. Maybe she made a mistake. Or maybe... she was planning to use it on the Alpha."

"Liar!" I tried to scream, but the Alpha Command held my throat shut like an iron collar. I could only make a strangled whimpering sound.

"This is serious," Garrison said, looking at the vial. He looked at my mother’s corpse with a cold detachment that broke whatever was left of my heart. "We cannot have a scandal. If the Council finds out the Healer was brewing poison..."

"We should bury her quickly," Keyla suggested softly, leaning into him. "To protect the pack's reputation. And Janette's."

"Do it," Garrison said. He stood up, wiping his hands on his pants as if to clean off the contagion of my grief. He looked down at me. "Get her out of here. She's hysterical."

Two warriors dragged me away. I watched my mother’s body get smaller and smaller, leaving trails in the dirt until she was gone.

*

The funeral was a sham. No honors. No pack howl. Just a quick burial in the corner of the cemetery reserved for traitors and outcasts.

I stood by the grave, rain soaking my black dress to my skin. I felt hollow. The pain was so great it had transcended suffering and become a numb void.

Keyla walked up to me as the last shovel of dirt was thrown onto the cheap pine box.

"She shouldn't have gone to the cabin," Keyla whispered, staring at the headstone. "Curiosity kills the cat. Or the wolf, in this case."

I didn't look at her. I stared straight ahead. Inside me, something was burning. A heat that started in my marrow and spread outward. It wasn't the fever of sickness. It was the cold, hard steel of hatred.

"You will pay," I said. My voice was flat, dead.

Keyla laughed. "With what army? You have no allies. You have no family. And soon, you will have no mate."

She was right.

Two days later, I was summoned to the Alpha’s office.

Garrison sat behind his desk. The Elders were lined up against the wall like a firing squad. Keyla was sitting in the corner, looking triumphant.

"Janette," Garrison began, not meeting my eyes. "The pack is in a fragile state. The merger with the Dixon pack is the only way to secure our borders and our economy."

"I know," I said.

"Keyla's father has made... conditions," Garrison continued, shuffling papers to avoid looking at me. "He will not merge with a pack whose Luna is... weak. And whose mother was a suspected poisoner."

"So you're casting me out," I said.

"It's for the good of the pack," Garrison said, trying to sound noble. "But I am not heartless. I have arranged a marriage for you."

I blinked, the absurdity of it stinging. "A marriage?"

"Alpha Sterling of the Black Rock Pack has agreed to take you," Garrison said. "In exchange for mining rights."

Alpha Sterling. He was sixty years old. He had buried four wives, all of whom died under "mysterious circumstances." He was known for his cruelty and his perversions.

Garrison wasn't just rejecting me. He was selling me to a butcher to buy mining rights. I was nothing more than currency to him.

The heat inside me flared. It was agonizing. My bones felt like they were vibrating against my skin.

"I see," I said. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. The Janette who begged for crumbs of affection had died in the garden with her mother.

"You accept?" Garrison looked surprised. He had expected a scene, tears, pleading.

"I accept my fate," I lied.

Because I wasn't going to Black Rock. And I wasn't staying here.

I looked at Garrison, really looked at him, and realized the bond was already dead. He had killed it with a thousand cuts of indifference.

"Set the ceremony," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "Let's get it over with."

Janette POV

The Great Hall was suffocatingly packed. Every wolf in Silver Lake was there to witness the spectacle: the public execution of a weak Luna's status.

I stood in the center of the circle. Dressed in a simple white shift, stripped of all jewelry, I looked less like a Luna and more like a sacrificial lamb.

Garrison stood on the dais. He looked majestic in his Alpha furs, but shadows clung to his eyes. Maybe a sliver of conscience remained, or maybe he just didn't like the political optics of discarding his Fated Mate.

Keyla stood to the side, clad in a crimson dress that clashed violently with the solemnity of the room. She was practically vibrating with anticipation, her smile predatory.

The Elder struck the ceremonial gong. The sound reverberated through the hall, instantly silencing the murmurs of the pack.

"Janette Meyers Gardner," Garrison’s voice boomed, amplified by the acoustics of the hall. "You have failed to uphold the duties of Luna. Your bloodline is weak. Your family is tainted."

The crowd murmured in agreement. I kept my chin high, refusing to cower. I focused on the burning sensation igniting in my chest. It was getting harder to ignore. My inner wolf was thrashing, not in sorrow, but in pure, unadulterated rage.

"For the survival and prosperity of the Silver Lake Pack," Garrison continued, stepping down from the dais to stand directly before me.

Here it came. The words that would sever our souls.

"I, Garrison Gardner, Alpha of the Silver Lake Pack, reject you, Janette Meyers Gardner, as my mate and Luna."

The pain hit me instantly.

It wasn't a metaphor. It felt as though a physical hook had been driven into my heart and was now being wrenched out through my ribs. I gasped, doubling over, clutching my chest. The bond, that golden thread I had tried so hard to nurture, snapped with a violent, psychic backlash.

My knees hit the stone floor with a sickening thud. I couldn't breathe. It felt like I was bleeding out, though there was no blood to be seen.

Garrison stumbled back, clutching his own chest. He looked pale, his composure cracking for a split second. The bond cut both ways. He was feeling the loss of his other half, the rejection of the Moon Goddess’s gift.

But he recovered quickly, straightening up and masking his agony.

Silence filled the hall. They were waiting for me to beg. To cry. To refuse the rejection, which would leave us in a painful limbo.

I forced myself to stand. My legs shook violently, threatening to give way. Sweat poured down my back.

I looked Garrison dead in the eye.

"I, Janette Meyers Gardner," my voice rasped, then gained steel. "Accept your rejection."

*SNAP.*

The final tether broke. The emptiness that followed was vast and cold, like stepping out of a warm house into a blizzard. But it was also... liberating.

I turned my back on him.

"Wait," Garrison called out. "The guards will escort you to your room. You leave for Alpha Sterling's territory at dawn."

I didn't answer. I walked out of the hall, the crowd parting for me like the Red Sea. I saw Keyla’s smile falter. She had wanted to see me broken. Instead, she saw me standing.

Back in my room, I moved with frantic precision.

I didn't pack clothes. I didn't pack jewelry. I went to the loose floorboard under my bed and pulled out the stash I had hidden since Mom died.

Her grimoire. A map. And a small vial of liquid that smelled like rotten eggs and sulfur.

*Scent-masking potion.* An old, dangerous recipe I had brewed in secret.

I drank it in one agonizing gulp.

It burned like acid going down. I gagged, clutching my throat, tears pricking my eyes. Within seconds, I felt my scent—the smell of vanilla and jasmine that identified me—evaporate. To any wolf, I would smell like nothing. Like a ghost.

I threw open the window. The storm outside was raging, thunder shaking the house to its foundations. Perfect. The rain would wash away my tracks.

I climbed out onto the trellis. The wind whipped my hair into my face, blinding me momentarily.

I hit the ground and ran.

I didn't run toward the main road. I ran toward the Forbidden Forest. The territory of the Rogues.

It was suicide. Or it was freedom.

I ran until my lungs burned. I ran until the lights of the pack house were swallowed by the darkness.

Suddenly, a searing pain shot through my spine. It was a thousand times worse than the Rejection.

I fell into the mud, screaming. My bones were shifting. They were breaking and reforming with audible cracks.

It wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't eighteen. I had already shifted years ago.

But this was different. This wasn't my normal, small brown wolf. This was something ancient. Something massive.

My skin felt like it was tearing apart at the seams.

*Let me out,* a voice roared in the cavern of my mind. Not a whisper. A command.

*

Back at the pack house, Garrison was staring out the window. He rubbed his chest absently. The pain wasn't going away. In fact, it was getting worse—a deep, gnawing wrongness that settled in his marrow.

"She's gone," he whispered to the empty room.

He tried to reach for her scent, to track her within the house. But there was nothing. It was as if she had ceased to exist.

Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his heart.