The moment Beta's voice crackled through the phone, I was tracing the embossed lettering on Peter Riegert's business card-my thumb catching on the raised ink as if it were a scar.

"Alpha Riegert approved your resignation, Secretary White, but he thought it was for... someone else. Should I-"

"Leave it," I cut in, my voice as steady as the letter opener lying on my desk. "He'll figure it out."

The line went silent, save for the distant howl of wind against the penthouse windows.

Five years as Peter's shadow, Five years of filing reports and fetching coffee. Now, all that remained of me here was a half-packed box and the taste of iron in my mouth.

"But you're his right hand,"

Beta protested. "He depends on-"

"Werewolves depend on the moon," I whispered.

"But even the moon sets."

I hung up before they could respond.

The penthouse stared back at me with empty corners.

My eyes fell on the bookshelf where I'd hidmanor a vial of Peter's blood, taken from a paper cut he'd dismissed as trivial.

Now, it felt like a relic from another life.

Eight years.

That's how long I'd carried this secret: Peter Riegert, alpha of the North Ridge pack, had sunk his teeth into my neck once in a drugged frenzy, and I'd let him.

Not just because I loved him, but because his bite had awoken something in me-something wolfish, something that craved his scent, his touch, his very essence.

My mind wandered to the first time I'd seen his eyes flash gold.

It was at the Riegert manor, during a full moon gala.

He'd been arguing with his sister Madeline, and when he turned to leave, his pupils dilated into slits.

I'd thought it a trick of the light, but then came the night he was drugged.

His fists had raked the wall behind me, leaving gashes in the drywall, and his tooth had grazed my throat-so close to the mark that would make me his.

"Take the money," he'd said the next morning, sliding a black card across the sheets.

"I can't give you more than this. Emma..."

Emma Brown.

His fated mate, the she-wolf who'd left him to "find herself" in Silverstone pack. I'd heard the stories: how Peter had howled at the moon for months, how he'd refused to take a second, how his wolf pined for her scent.

And now she was back, her Instagram filled with pictures of them under fireworks, his arm around her waist, his eyes soft in a way they'd never been for me.

A growl rumbled in my chest, unexpected and feral.

I pressed a hand to my sternum, feeling the vibration.

Since that first bite, my senses had sharpened-smells became overwhelming, sounds deafening, and the urge to run under the full moon nearly irresistible.

Peter must have sensed it, too; he'd always been stricter with me during lunar cycles, as if afraid of what I might become.

As I folded the last of my clothes, a knock rattled the door.

Peter stood there, snowflakes melting in his raven hair.

His eyes-normally a deep brown-flickered gold when he saw the box.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to the old manor," I said, forcing a smile. "The rental downtown."

His jaw tensed, the muscle ticking. "I'll drive you."

The ride was silent, save for the radio playing a soft ballad.

But I could hear his heart thudding, smell the anxiety rolling off him in waves.

When we stopped at a traffic light, he turned to me, his gaze intense. "Why now? Emma's-"

"-back, and you're complete," I finished, staring out at the snow.

"It's time, Peter. For both of us."

He opened his mouth, but his phone buzzed.

Emma's name lit up the screen, accompanied by a picture of her pouting.

"Hey, baby, come build a snowman with me!" her voice trilled the speaker.

Peter's shoulders relaxed at the sound, and something in my chest snapped.

"Let me out here," I said, reaching for the door.

"Alexa-"

But I was already gone, dragging my box through the snow.

The cold didn't bother me anymore; my wolf blood kept me warm.

That's when the electromobile hit me, sending me sprawling.

Pain exploded in my calf, but when I looked down, the wound was already knitting together.

I limped the rest of the way to my dingy apartment, the moon high in the sky.

As I bandaged the last of the scrape-now just a pink line-I found Peter's business card in my pocket.

I held it over a candle, watching the edges curl and blacken.

My phone pinged.

It was a text from Peter

:?"Don't be a fool. Find a normal man, not a beast like me."

I deleted the message, then opened the window.

The full moon bathed my face, and for the first time, I let out a low howl.

I smiled, tilting my head back to the stars.

Peter Riegert, may your moon always be full-but know that mine has risen, and I walk in its light alone.

The scent ofsomething sickly sweet hit me before I even reached Peter's office.

Through the cracked door, Emma Brown straddled his lap, her nails raking through his hair.

"You waited hours for these?" she purred, pressing a macaron to his lips.

Peter's laugh rumbled, a sound I'd only ever heard when he was truly amused.

"For you, I'd wait moons." His nose nuzzled her wrist, and I caught a flash of gold in his eyes as he inhaled her scent.

Five years I'd spent suppressing this-since the night his bite awoke the wolf in me.

Now, watching him nuzzle another she-wolf, the beast inside thrashing against my ribcage.

The clock ticked.

Ten minutes to the pack meeting. I rapped on the door, my knuckles white. "Alpha Peter Riegert, the pack meeting-"

Emma pouted, her fingers sinking into Peter's shirt. "Don't go, alpha."

Peter's gaze flicked to me, cold as winter snow. "Postpone it."

"But the elders-"

"Do I need to repeat myself, Alexa?"

His voice dropped, the growl in it making my wolf cower.

"Nothing is more important than my mate."

Mate.

The word sliced through me.

So that's what she was now-his fated mate, the one his wolf had howled for.

Not me, the half-blood secretary he'd kept in the shadows.

In the pack meeting room, the air was thick with rage.

"A she-wolf distraction?"

one elder snarled, his eyes glowing amber.

"Tell your alpha he owes us an apology."

I stood there, letting their snarls wash over me.

My calf scar throbbed, a reminder of the night I'd limped through the snow.

When Peter finally arrived three hours later, his scent reeked of Emma's perfume, and his eyes still held the haze of post-mating contentment.

Emma found me in the break room, her smirk razor-sharp.

"Five hundred coffees, Alexa. Mine? Ice, no sugar."

The hummed, steam fogging my vision.

By the time I carried the last tray, my hands shook.

Emma took one sip, then hurled the mug at my head.

Ceramic cracked against my skull, blood pouring into my eye.

More mugs rained down, shards slicing my arms, my neck.

Coffee mixed with blood, staining the floor like a pack's kill.

"Alpha!" Emma wailed, falling into Peter's arms.

"She knew I'm in heat-she tried to poison me!"

Peter's gaze landed on me, not on my wounds, but on Emma's fake tears.

"You've worked for me Five years," he growled, "and you still can't serve a she-wolf properly?"

My wolf howled in my chest, demanding I shift, demanding I rip out his throat.

But I just looked up, blood dripping from my brow. "Yes, alpha."

As he carried Emma away, her laughter trailed behind.

I stayed on the floor, the taste of blood and coffee bitter on my tongue.

My wounds itched, already knitting-thanks to the wolf blood in me.

But the real damage wasn't physical.

He'd chosen mate.

And I? I was just the half-blood secretary.

The office whispered around me, but I didn't care.

As Peter carried her away, my nails dug into the tile. Hot tears spilled,.

Colleagues laced with pity-sidled up.

"I heard Miss Brown ask for ice," one whispered.

"Why turn on you?"

Another snorted, her eyes flashing gold.

"She's an alpha's mate now. Can't you smell the claim on her? "

Once, Peter had bared his fangs at a rival alpha who'd snapped at me.

Now, he tossed me to the wolves for Emma's whim.

That night, his call came as I peeled off blood-stained clothes.

"Bring sugar and medicine" he ordered, his voice a low growl.

At his villa, the air reeked of Emma's scent.

The willow tree I'd loved was gone, replaced by sunflowers-Emma's favorite.

In the doorway, Peter's gaze flicked to my forehead wound, his pupils dilating.

"Why didn't you heal?"

I shake my head.

He pressed a card into my palm, his touch colder than usual.

"Emma's just. . Take this, get patched up. Her welcome here needs your touch."

Inside, Emma's whine cut through the door: "Peter, my cramps-"

"Coming, love." His voice melted, the alpha's edge gone.

I stood in the snow, laughing softly.

When I'd collapsed from heat cramps, he'd sent an assistant.

Now, Emma got his full moon. My wolf howled in my chest.

Three days to plan the banquet. Emma's demands were savage: rare orchids that only bloom under full moons, desserts laced with wolfsbane honey. I ran from florist to bakery, my wolf growling at the injustice, at the way Emma's scent clung to every detail.

As I arranged moonlit lilies, my phone buzzed.

It was Madeline"How's my bro treating you? Tell him to stop being a jerk!"

I deleted the message, staring at the flowers.

They smelled like the night Peter first kissed me-wild, dangerous, gone too soon.

The banquet hall smelled of champagne, but under it all-Emma's sickly-sweet lavender, Peter's cedar musk.

I lingered in the shadows, watching her float through the crowd, diamonds dripping from her ears like frozen tears.

"Miss Brown, you glow like the full moon!" a beta fawned.

"Alpha's welcome feast is legendary."

Another laughed, too loudly: "Remember when that wolf tried to court Emma? Alpha Peter him banished from the pack lands!"

Their words were silver bullets, piercing my already bleeding heart.

Across the room, Peter knelt to adjust Emma's gown, his fingers brushing her ankle-a gesture he'd never shown me, not in Five years.

His alpha aura rolled off him in waves, thick with adoration for her.

Emma's gaze met mine, her smile a snarl.

She glided over, heels clicking like a predator's claws.

She purred, pinching my chin. "My dress is filthy. Hold it."

I bowed my head, nails digging into my palms.

"I'll have them laid-"

"Did I ask for excuses?"

Her scent spiked with aggression. Peter materialized at her side.

"Problem, love?" he rumbled, nuzzling her neck.

"She won't hold my train," Emma pouted, pressing into him.

"Still sore about the coffee, I suppose."

Peter's eyes met mine, cold as winter.

"It's your job, Alexa. Five years, and you still can't serve properly?"