Damon looked like he was about to shift right there, rage pulsing under his skin, the Alpha's aura filling the room like a storm.

Sloane was radiating a different aura, one that would make one tremble to the core.

This woman used to bow her head, keep quiet, obey her Alpha's every order. But now? Sloane Veyra, his Luna, stood tall with fire in her eyes. She didn't lower her gaze, didn't flinch under his dominance.

For a moment, he felt like the Luna he thought he knew had been replaced by a stranger.

And that shook him more than claws ever could.

Lyra hurried between them, wringing her hands. Her voice trembled, soft but insistent.

"Sloane, thank the Moon for the thirty-day cooling period. You frightened me just now! Don't worry, I'll find another to care for Alpha Damon. And Caleb, he's just a pup. He didn't mean what he said. Don't hold it against him. Kids don't know how to hide their feelings."

Sloane knew Lyra was a manipulative creature, she tried to act timid, but from inside she was a feral cat.

Damon's snarl faded into a cold, bitter laugh. So that was it. Sloane dared to challenge him because the Council's law gave her thirty days. If she vanished before then, the bond wouldn't sever. The thought that she might slip free sent a ripple of unease through his chest.

But unease turned to irritation, then to fury.

"This woman tried to trick me, a fool." Damon growled internally.

She hadn't learned a damn thing after all these years, still playing her games, still testing his patience.

"Fine!" His voice cracked like thunder, laced with Alpha command. "Bring it on. But you know the deal, there is no coming back from this. And if it is, then it will have to go through my way."

"Who do you think you are?" Sloane's lips curved into a sharp, humorless smile.

"Whoever breaks first, loses. And I don't lose, Damon."

The ancient law chafed her like silver chains, if not for it, she'd already be free of him. But if the Moon wanted her patience tested, then she'd endure it.

She turned on her heel, tossing one last look at the trio.

Caleb immediately darted behind Lyra, his little body trembling. He thought his mother was coming to snatch him away.

But Sloane only smirked, a cold edge in her eyes, and walked off.

Lyra looked nervously at Damon. "Alpha. aren't you going to stop her?"

"She's just in a mood," Damon said with a dismissive wave, though his jaw tightened. "I am not going to give her attention. She does these kinds of things to gain attention, and I have none to spare. Once she realises that there is nothing I will do, then she will come crawling back to me. That would be a scene to behold."

"You're the Alpha," Lyra urged softly. "Sometimes even you must bow a little."

Damon let out a low, mocking chuckle. His claws half-formed, curling against his palms.

"Me? Chase after her? No. I am Alpha Blackthorn. I don't do such things. She will come back, and I can guarantee you that."

But even as he said it, the echo of her defiance burned through him like a challenge in the blood.

**

Back at the hospital, Sloane threw herself into work.

Her research on moon-healing, the way lunar cycles affected shifter recovery, was nearly finished, so she passed it along to her mentor.

Not long after, the head of the department summoned her.

The woman had guided generations of wolves in both medicine and spirit.

She adjusted her spectacles, looking at Sloane with quiet warmth.

"This paper's strong. It ties perfectly to the aid mission the High Council is sending abroad." She sighed. "Too bad your family situation complicates things."

Sloane's eyes lit up. "Doctor, do you mean. there's an opportunity to train overseas?"

She nodded. "Right in your field of study. But you've always turned down the summons, haven't you? Seven, eight times by now. I almost stopped offering, assuming you have better things to do. I am really sorry."

Shame flickered across Sloane's face. She'd always hurried home to cook for Damon and tend to Caleb. She had become a mere shadow of those two.

And truth be told. she had considered it.

But it was her heart that was linked to Blackthorne's.

No more.

"Doctor," she said, voice steady, "I want to accept your proposal this time."

"You're saying, you're actually leaving?" The doctor was stunned.

Sloane took a deep breath. "I've disappointed you before. But give me this chance, and I'll prove myself worthy. I won't let you down."

She frowned. "And what of your Alpha? Your pup?"

She didn't know much of the Alpha beyond whispers of his coldness. To her, it seemed like Sloane was forever weighed down by a husband and child too heavy for her spirit.

"I can help you with them." she whispered.

Sloane blinked.

She sighed. "No need to hide it, child. If your Alpha or your son suffer some. mental issues, there's no shame in seeking help."

Sloane thought back to the Hall that morning, the severed bond papers, the look on Damon's face. A bitter smile touched her lips.

"They're. yes, you could say their minds aren't well."

The doctor's eyes softened with even deeper sympathy.

"But I severed the bond today."

She froze. "You. what?"

For a heartbeat, she seemed conflicted, then nodded firmly. Life was forward motion, not chains.

"Then don't worry about anything else. Pack your satchel. At dawn, you leave for Shadowcrane territory."

Relief and fire lit Sloane's chest. "Thank you so much. I'll never be able to repay you for this."

The doctor blinked again. Was it just her imagination, or did Sloane's aura gleam brighter now, like a Luna bathed in moonlight, finally remembering her own power?

**

Sloane boarded the plane the next morning, feeling a little lighter than usual. There was nothing holding her back. This was her new beginning.

No Damon, no Lyra, and no Caleb.

Her favorite smell was of freedom, and she was never going to get bored of it.

As soon as she settled into her seat, she pulled out her notes of case studies on lunar healing patterns, already preparing for the work ahead.

But an hour into the flight, the speakers crackled with urgency:

"Emergency in the Alpha's cabin. If there are any Healers or Doctors onboard, please assist immediately."

The cabin erupted in a ripple of panic. Human passengers thought something had gone wrong with the vessel itself, but Sloane knew better, the scent of fear rolled thick through the air, sharp as iron.

A flight attendant rushed down the aisle. Sloane rose at once, her Luna's aura steady. "I'm a healer from the Blackthorn territory. I'll help."

Relief washed over the attendant's face as she led Sloane toward the front.

But the moment they entered the business-class section, Ava bristled. The air was suffocating with dominance.

Bodyguards in black stood like statues along the walls, their silver eyes glinting. Their stares were blades, warning her that one wrong step could mean blood.

Sloane kept her head lowered, respecting their rank, and followed the attendant deeper inside.

At the center, a boy no older than eight clutched his throat, gasping, his cheeks flushed crimson. His small claws scratched at his skin in panic, his shift threatening to break loose under the stress.

This was unusual. Shifting happens once the wolf turns eighteen.

Sloane's heart clenched. He was not ready for the pain of shifting. Without hesitation, she darted forward, scooping him into her arms with the speed of instinct.

She laid him flat, murmuring low in the old tongue, her palms glowing faintly with the Moon's blessing. A quick spray of her herbal mist cleared his throat passage, and then she pressed firm against his belly to help force the blockage out.

Immediately, a growl ripped through the room.

One of the bodyguards bared his teeth, his voice a snarl. "What do you think you're doing? If anything happens to Master Volkov, you'll answer with your life!"

The bodyguard looked at Sloane with furious eyes, veins bulging, he was one step away from shifting on the spot.

The moment he lashed out, Solane was circled by the overgrowing Beta energy. It was easier for her as a Luna, but the scene was terrifying.

"Ex." as she opened her mouth to speak, another commanding voice echoed in the cabin.

"Stand down."

The bodyguards froze mid-step, their heads bowing low, instantly cowed by the weight of the voice. They backed off without another sound.

Sloane turned slowly, her pulse steady, though Ava stirred uneasily inside her.

The figure who approached wasn't like the rest. He wore only a black shirt, the top buttons undone, revealing glimpses of taut muscle and the faint marks of old scars. Tall, lean, carved from shadows, his sharp features carried a cold, unreadable power. Even the beads on his wrist, wolfbone polished smooth, seemed more talisman than ornament.

His gaze locked on her, as cool and ruthless as an Alpha's command.

Sloane cleared her throat, forcing calm. "Are you his father?"

The child's breathing had eased, his small body finally relaxing against her. The danger had passed, but he needed rest.

The man shook his head once.

She blinked. "No?"

"My nephew," he said at last. His voice was low, iron-hard, with no room for doubt. "Tell me what is going on with him."

He hesitated a beat, looking at her like she was a fraud and her touching his nephew was another trick for fun, but he added, "You won't be punished. Not when you meant no harm."

Relief loosened the tightness in Sloane's chest. For a moment, she'd truly thought she wouldn't leave this cabin alive.

She couldn't tell him what she noticed until she was sure about that thing. But for now a partial truth would suffice.

"His throat swelled nearly shut," she explained evenly. "Acute inflammation. Likely viral. He needs to be seen in a proper hospital as soon as we land. He's stable now, but keep him from stress, any more strain could trigger another attack."

As if to prove her words, the pup blinked awake, his bronze eyes glimmering as they fixed on her with awe, like she was the only light in the room.

The man gave a single nod, slow and deliberate. "You have my thanks."

Sloane offered a small smile, dipping her head respectfully. "I only did what a Healer must. It's the moon goddess's blessing."

"Still, I believe you deserve a token of gratitude." The man clicked his fingers, and one of the bodyguards gave her a bank card.

"I am sorry, I can't take this." Sloane stuttered.

"It's not a bribe, it's your fees. I hope you can take it." The man insisted, his voice still devoid of any emotion.

"I." she said.

"I insist," he said as he pressed the card into her hand.

Sloane was dumbfounded when she was escorted back to her seat. She was still reeling from the events that took place in the previous hour when she was once again summoned to the cabin.

"Please look after Master Volkov for the time being, that would be very helpful." One of the assistants pleaded.

Sloane agreed, she wanted to earn the money she was given. So that might be the way to ease the guilt.

Still, Sloane took her role seriously and kept her focus on the little wolf's breathing. His color returned, his pulse steadying, the faint rasp in his throat easing. Relief softened her shoulders.

After settling him, she wandered toward the door, gaze flicking over the lavish cabin. The space was opulent, marked by the unmistakable scent of old Alpha bloodlines, polished wood, carved runes etched into the corners, wards humming faintly. The hush inside was almost unnatural, as if the air itself bent in deference.

Through the window, she watched thick clouds roll beneath the plane's wings. For the first time in moons, she felt grounded.

Maybe when she first boarded, she was still mourning the severed bond with Damon, the weight of Caleb's rejection, the loss of a life she'd poured herself into.

But saving this child reminded her that her gifts weren't wasted. She wasn't just a discarded Luna. She was still a healer. Still a wolf with purpose.

That truth swelled inside her, warm and solid.

Suddenly.

A faint rustle stirred behind her.

She tensed.

The sound stopped. Silence pressed in.

Then, another rustle, closer this time. Testing her.

Her wolf pricked its ears. She turned slowly, but nothing greeted her.

Just as she started to face forward again, a small hand tugged gently at her tunic.

She glanced down instinctively.

And found herself staring into wide, yellow-tinged eyes.

The boy broke into a shy, awkward smile. His pale skin glowed in the cabin's lamplight, long lashes fluttering like a hawk moth's wings. When he blinked, those eyes shimmered like sunlight through amber.

Her chest softened instantly. A small pup suffering with that kind of pain.

Sensing her warmth, he nuzzled against her hand like a pup seeking comfort.

"What's your name, little wolf?" she asked, voice gentle.

The boy tilted his head, curls bouncing, and clung tighter to her fingers. His voice came out soft, sweet, still edged with a wolf pup's innocence.

"Jeremy Volkov."

Sloane chuckled and clasped his tiny hand, giving it a playful shake. "I'm Sloane Veyra. I'll be watching over you for now. You can call me Sloane. or Aunt Sloane, whichever you like."

"Aunt Sloane," he said solemnly, as though sealing a pact.

She nodded in approval, and his grin broke wide, dimples flashing like twin moons.

Too pure. Too bright. Sunshine wrapped in fur and skin.

The chamber was clearly designed for him, wolf toys scattered about, rune-marked blocks, carved wooden figurines of beasts.

While she checked his pulse again and listened to his breathing, she played with him, her hands quick and practiced. Years of dealing with Caleb's moods had made her patient; with this little one, it was effortless.

Soon, Jeremy was gazing at her with unguarded admiration.

"Auntie, you're amazing! Way cooler than my uncle!"

Sloane arched a brow, lips curving in a teasing lilt. "Is that so? Then, since you lost, it's time to take your medicine."

Jeremy obeyed without fuss, gulping down the herbal draught like a warrior in training.

By then, the plane began its descent.

A pack of bodyguards filed in silently to escort the pup away.

Ava gave a soft pang of reluctance. Still, she offered Jeremy a warm smile and lifted her hand in farewell.

He waved back, reluctant but trusting.

And just like that, the moment ended. She told herself it was over, just another episode in her journey.

She straightened her shoulders, packed her satchel, and stepped back into her true calling: the medical relief mission waiting below.

On the third day, just as Sloane finished scrawling the last notes on her healing reports and prepared to return to her quarters, a familiar scent drifted on the wind.

She froze mid-step.

Down the street, a towering man stood, broad-shouldered, dressed in black, unmistakably a war trained Beta. His stance was too deliberate, he wasn't there by chance. He was waiting.

Sloane's heart skipped.

Moon above... don't tell me saving that little wolf dragged me into pack politics. I can't afford to be tangled in another Alpha's mess.

The man approached, but instead of hostility, his head dipped low in respect. His tone was formal, deferential, something she wasn't used to hearing anymore.

"Miss. Veyra, don't be afraid. I am not here to harm you. Mr. Volkov needs your help."

Sloane blinked, unease prickling her skin.

Her thoughts leapt to the boy on the plane.

"Did something happen to Jeremy?" she asked sharply.

The bodyguard's face turned grave, voice carrying the weight of an oath.

"It would be best if you came with me and saw for yourself."

All sorts of things ran through Sloane's mind, and she rushed with the bodyguards. They entered the Volkov's estate and it was not something that Sloane hadn't seen.

She was not interested in luxuries or show off, she had lived her life as a decent wolf and would love to do that in the future too.

She was escorted straight to a room, and when Sloane entered it, she felt like she was teleported into a war zone.

The whole room was torn into pieces, and the orchestrator of the whole mess was growling in anger.

Solane's eyes widened as she noticed his little claws coming out, but as soon as they came, they were gone.

What the hell is wrong with him, Sloane wondered.

And on the other corner, the man was standing, still aloof, but anger radiating from him.

"Call him! Ask him how much time it will take," Dominic growled, his eyes focused on Jeremy.

Seeing Dominic's serious expression, Sloane jumped between them, trying to protect Jeremy from his uncle's wrath.

"He is a kid," Solane reasoned.

Dominic squinted his eyes.

"Don't worry honey. I am here." Sloane whispered to Jeremy.

The child who was ready to tear everyone apart smiled and ran to hug Solane.

"Don't touch," Dominic gritted his teeth. His Alpha aura flared, making people wince.

The temperature of the room dropped drastically; every eye was focused on Sloane and Dominic.

Ignoring Dominic and others' stares, she went down to hug him, and he preened like a cat under her touch.

Everyone's heart stopped; they were waiting for the bomb to blow, but to all their surprise Dominic chuckled.

The dead weight of the situation was weighing heavily on all the staff.

Sloane sat on the edge of the bed, one hand brushing gently through Jeremy's hair, whispering soft reassurances until the boy's trembling finally gave way to the steady rhythm of sleep. Around them, people lingered in tense silence, their eyes darting toward the tall figure in the corner.

Dominic.

Cold, unyielding, his very presence seemed to tighten the air. Shadows clung to him like armor, and no one dared to step too close. His reputation had already done enough damage, fear preceded him, filling the ruined room far more than the wreckage ever could.

When Jeremy's small breaths evened out, Sloane carefully rose to her feet. She tugged her coat tighter around her shoulders and turned toward the doorway, intent on slipping out quietly.

But before she could take a step, Dominic moved. A wall of muscle and ice, his hand came up to bar her path.

Her heart jolted, but she forced her face into something unreadable. "Move," she said firmly. "I need to leave."

His gaze swept over her, unreadable, but unflinching. "Do you know who I am?" His voice was smooth, deep, yet threaded with something darker.

Sloane let out a sharp breath, rolling her eyes as if the room's tension didn't already weigh like chains. "Yes, I know. Alpha Dominic Volkov, the untouchable heir." She tilted her chin, daring him to argue. "Just because you're rich doesn't mean you get to bully people."

Something flickered across his face, not anger, not amusement, but a quiet calculation. Slowly, Dominic shook his head, as though her defiance was both irritating and oddly fascinating.

"I'm not here to bully you, Miss. Sloane," he said at last, his voice dropping lower, steadier. "I have a proposition in mind."

Sloane's brows arched, suspicion flaring. "A proposition? What proposition?"

Dominic didn't hesitate. "You'll look after Jeremy." His gaze cut toward the sleeping boy, softening only for a fraction of a second before hardening again. "And in return, I'll keep you safe."

For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint creak of the broken window frame in the wind. Sloane's chest rose and fell as she weighed his words. The offer was tempting, too tempting, and Dominic knew it.

She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. "Fine," she said carefully. "But I have a condition."

His eyes narrowed, sharp with intrigue. "A condition?" His tone carried the faintest hint of challenge, as though he expected her to falter.

Sloane met his stare head-on, her own voice low but steady. "Not just here. Not just within these ruined walls, or in this territory." She stepped closer, chin lifting. "If I'm to do this for you, I need your protection everywhere, even beyond your borders."

For the first time, Dominic's lips curved, not quite a smile, but something close, a glint of interest, maybe even respect. His voice was calm, yet dangerous in its certainty.

"Bold," he murmured, tilting his head. "Very bold."

**

Back in the Blackthorn territory.

Damon Blackthorn woke with a pounding skull, sprawled across the leather couch, still in last night's clothes. No blanket, no comfort, just the stale taste of liquor and the stench of the room around him.

On the floor Caleb clutched a pillow in his sleep, face pressed against the carpet. The mess from the night before was brutal, half-empty bottles, overturned glasses, and a dark stain of vomit near the table.

Damon's jaw tightened, shadows cutting hard across his features.

"Where the hell is Sloane? Why hasn't this been cleaned?"

His voice cracked through the silence, harsh enough to rattle the air. But no reply came. Only the faint stirring of Caleb, jolted awake by the sharpness of his father's tone.

The boy blinked, and his face crumpled in pain.

"Ouch! It hurts, it really hurts!"

He clutched his arm, wailing in panic.

Damon's temples throbbed harder. His hangover roared, and the noise clawed at his nerves.

"Stop crying," he snapped, voice like ice. "You are an Alpha. What's wrong?"

Caleb's sobs cut short, replaced with hiccuping sniffles. "Dad. my arm. it really hurts."

The bruises stood out stark against the boy's pale skin, running the length of his arm. He tried to lift it, but the pain twisted his small face, leaving him frozen and trembling on the floor.

For a long moment, Damon only stared, tired, unblinking, unreadable. Then, with a low breath, he leaned back and pulled his phone from his pocket.

The first name in his contacts: Sloane.

His thumb hit the call button without hesitation. As the line rang, his expression remained like stone.

She was working overnight again. Always gone. Always leaving him to this chaos.

She should have quit by now. She should have been here.