The kitchen smells like cinnamon and pine, the scents of the Moon Festival mingling with the sharp tang of my anxiety. I'm Aspyn Spencer, and tonight I'm not preparing for the celebration as the Alpha's mate. I'm here as a servant.

My hands ache from scrubbing pots all afternoon while the pack house buzzes with excitement above me. Seven years. Seven years of being Desmond's fated mate, and still no mark on my neck. The other she-wolves whisper when they think I can't hear. Unmarked. Unwanted.

I hoist the crate of wine bottles, the wood digging into my palms. It's heavy, but I've learned not to ask for help. The stairs creak under my weight as I climb toward Desmond's office. My wolf stirs uneasily inside me, a constant ache of longing for a mate who refuses to claim us.

I pause outside his door, catching my breath. That's when I hear it.

"Seven years, Marcus." Desmond's laugh cuts through the wood like a blade. "Seven years without marking her, and I'm still standing. Told you I'd win that wager."

The crate slips. I try to catch it, but my fingers have gone numb.

Glass explodes across the hallway floor. Red wine spreads like blood across the hardwood, and I can't move. Can't breathe.

A wager.

The door flies open. Desmond fills the frame, his dark eyes narrowing when he sees me standing in the wreckage. He's beautiful in that cruel way of his—sharp jaw, broad shoulders, every inch the Alpha. But right now, all I see is a stranger.

"Do you have any idea how much that wine cost?" His voice is ice.

Marcus appears behind him, his face pale. "Alpha, maybe—"

"Get out," Desmond snaps, and Marcus vanishes.

Desmond's hand closes around my upper arm, dragging me into his office. The door slams. I stumble, catching myself on the edge of his desk, and something inside me breaks open.

"A wager?" My voice cracks. "I was a bet?"

"Aspyn—"

"Seven years." The words tear out of me. "Seven years I've waited for you to mark me, to claim me, and it was all just some sick game to prove you're stronger than the Moon Goddess?"

His jaw tightens. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." My hands are shaking, but I force the words out. The rejection ritual. It's the only way to break a mate bond. "I, Aspyn Spencer—"

His eyes flash red.

The Alpha Command hits me like a physical blow. My throat seizes. My body locks in place, every muscle frozen under the crushing weight of his dominance. I can't move. Can't speak. Can't even breathe properly.

Desmond steps closer, and I hate that even now, even after everything, my traitorous wolf whimpers at his nearness.

"Listen very carefully," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow feels more threatening than a shout. "If you ever try to reject me, if you ever try to leave this pack, I will personally escort your father to the border and throw him to the Rogues. Do you understand?"

Tears burn my eyes, but I can't even blink them away.

"Viktor's been very patient about those gambling debts," Desmond continues, circling me like a predator. "But patience has limits. Your father's only alive because I allow it. Because you're mine, even without a mark."

The Command releases. I collapse against the desk, gasping.

"Get cleaned up," he says, already turning away. "The Festival starts in an hour. You'll be serving tonight."

"Serving?" The word comes out broken.

"Did I stutter?" He doesn't even look at me. "Khloe will be sitting beside me on the dais. You'll make sure our guests are taken care of. Now go."

The Moon Festival is a blur of lights and laughter that feels like mockery. I move through the crowd in a simple black dress—servant's attire—while everyone else wears their finest. The visiting dignitaries from neighboring packs fill the great hall, and there, on the raised platform, Desmond sits with Khloe draped across his lap like a trophy.

She's wearing the Luna's crown. The one that should be mine.

I carry a tray of wine glasses, keeping my eyes down. My wolf has retreated so deep inside me I can barely feel her anymore. Maybe that's a mercy.

"Oh, clumsy me!" Khloe's voice rings out, sickeningly sweet.

I look up just in time to see her knock her wine glass off the armrest. It shatters at the base of the dais, red liquid spreading across the white marble.

"Aspyn, darling," she coos, her fingers tangling in Desmond's hair possessively. "Be a dear and clean that up, won't you? On your knees, please. We wouldn't want anyone to slip."

The hall goes quiet. Every eye turns to me.

Desmond says nothing. Does nothing. Just watches with those cold, dark eyes.

I set down my tray. My legs feel like they might give out, but I force myself to kneel on the marble. The wine soaks into my dress as I pull a cloth from my apron and start wiping.

Somewhere above me, Khloe laughs.

My hand moves to my stomach without thinking—a protective gesture I've developed over the past few weeks. The secret I've been carrying, the tiny life growing inside me that Desmond doesn't know about. His pup. The Alpha heir.

I press my palm flat against my belly, and for just a moment, I let myself imagine a different world. One where the father of my child actually wanted us both.

But that world doesn't exist.

This one does. And in this world, I'm on my knees, cleaning up after the woman who stole my life, while my mate—the father of my unborn pup—sits above me like a king on his throne.

The Moon Goddess must be laughing.

The healer's cottage sits at the edge of pack territory, tucked between ancient oaks that shield it from prying eyes. I wait until well past midnight before slipping out of the pack house, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Elena answers on the first knock, her silver hair loose around her shoulders. She takes one look at my face and pulls me inside.

"How far along?" she asks, guiding me to the examination table.

"Eight weeks. Maybe nine." My voice shakes. "I need to know if... if everything's okay."

Her hands are gentle as she examines me, but her expression grows more troubled with each passing minute. Finally, she steps back, wiping her hands on a clean cloth.

"The pup is alive," she says, and relief floods through me so fast I nearly sob. "But Aspyn, this pregnancy is high-risk. The stress you're under, the lack of a mate mark—your body doesn't know if it's safe to carry this child. Your wolf is confused, weakened."

I press my palm to my stomach. "What do I do?"

"Tell Desmond." Elena's voice is firm. "An Alpha heir changes everything. He would have to—"

"No." The word comes out sharp. "You don't understand. If Khloe finds out, she'll—"

"She'll what? Harm the Alpha's heir?" Elena shakes her head. "Desmond wouldn't allow—"

"Desmond doesn't care." The truth tastes bitter. "He made me a wager, Elena. Seven years of proving he's stronger than the mate bond. You think he'll suddenly care about a pup he never wanted?"

Elena's face softens with something that looks like pity, and I hate it. "Then what will you do?"

"Survive." I slide off the table. "Just... help me keep the baby safe. Please."

She sighs, moving to a cabinet filled with bottles and herbs. "Prenatal vitamins. Take them as iron supplements if anyone asks. And Aspyn?" She presses the bottle into my hands. "If anything feels wrong—bleeding, cramping, anything—you come to me immediately. Promise me."

I promise, even though we both know I might not be able to keep it.

A week later, I'm crammed into the back of an SUV with luggage piled around me like a barrier. Desmond insisted on inspecting the northern border, and of course, Khloe had to come. For status, he said. To show the neighboring packs his chosen Luna.

I'm here to handle logistics. To carry bags and set up camp like the glorified Omega I've become.

Khloe sits in the front passenger seat, her laugh grating as she touches Desmond's arm. I focus on the trees blurring past the window, one hand resting protectively over my stomach beneath my jacket.

The attack comes without warning.

One moment we're driving through dense forest. The next, a massive gray wolf slams into the side of our vehicle. The SUV swerves violently. I'm thrown against the door, my head cracking against the window.

Glass shatters. Metal screams.

Rogues pour out of the trees like shadows given form—at least a dozen of them, their eyes wild and hungry. Our driver shifts immediately, bursting through the windshield to meet them. Desmond's roar shakes the air as he throws open his door.

"Stay in the car!" he shouts, but I don't know if he's talking to me or Khloe.

Khloe screams, high and piercing, as a Rogue lunges at her window. Desmond shifts mid-leap, his massive black wolf form crashing into the attacker. They roll away in a tangle of fur and fangs.

I try to open my door, but it's jammed. Another impact rocks the SUV. I'm thrown forward, then back, my seatbelt cutting into my chest. Through the broken windshield, I see chaos—wolves tearing into each other, blood spattering the forest floor.

A Rogue breaks through the back window.

I scream, scrambling away, but there's nowhere to go. Claws rake across my arm. Pain explodes white-hot and blinding. The Rogue grabs my jacket, dragging me through the shattered window.

I hit the ground hard. Rocks and roots dig into my back as the Rogue looms over me, saliva dripping from its jaws.

Then I'm falling.

The ravine appears out of nowhere—a steep drop hidden by underbrush. I tumble down, my body slamming into rocks and tree roots. Something in my leg snaps with a sound that makes my stomach turn.

I land at the bottom in a heap, pain screaming through every nerve. Blood soaks through my jeans, hot and sticky. My leg is bent at an angle that's all wrong.

Above me, the sounds of battle continue. Snarls. Screams. Khloe's voice, crying for Desmond.

I reach for the mind-link, that golden thread that should connect me to my mate. It's there, faint and frayed, but there.

*Desmond,* I push through the bond, my mental voice breaking. *Please. I'm hurt. Our pup—*

The link goes dead.

Not blocked. Not ignored.

Deliberately severed.

I lie there in the dirt, bleeding and broken, and feel the exact moment my mate chooses someone else over me. Over our child.

Above, Khloe's crying gets louder. I hear Desmond's voice, rough with concern: "I've got you. You're safe."

And I realize—he's not coming.

He was never going to come.

The pain in my stomach is different from the agony in my leg. Sharper. Deeper. Wrong in a way that makes my wolf howl inside me.

I can hear them above—Khloe's theatrical sobbing, Desmond's low murmur of comfort. The sounds of battle are fading, Rogues retreating into the forest. And I'm down here, bleeding into the dirt, with something vital tearing apart inside me.

*Desmond.* I try the mind-link again, weaker this time. *Please. The baby—*

Nothing. Just that wall he's built between us, solid as stone.

Footsteps crunch through the underbrush above. For one desperate second, I think it's him. That he's coming. That he heard me.

"Alpha, we need to—" Marcus's voice cuts off. "Moon Goddess. Aspyn!"

Not Desmond. Never Desmond.

Marcus slides down the ravine, his face going pale when he sees me. "Hold on. Just hold on."

He's lifting me, and the movement sends fresh waves of agony through my body. I try to tell him about the baby, but the words won't come. Everything's getting fuzzy at the edges, darkness creeping in.

The last thing I hear before I pass out is Khloe's voice, bright and cheerful: "Is everyone okay? That was so scary!"

I wake up to white walls and the antiseptic smell of the infirmary. For a moment, I don't remember. Then it all crashes back—the attack, the fall, the mind-link going dead.

My hand flies to my stomach.

Elena's there instantly, her face telling me everything before she says a word. "Aspyn, I'm so sorry. I tried everything, but—"

"No." The word comes out broken. "No, no, no."

"The trauma was too severe. Your wolf was already weakened, and the impact—" Her voice cracks. "There was nothing I could do."

Empty. I feel empty, like someone's scooped out everything inside me and left just a shell. My wolf is keening, a sound of pure grief that only I can hear.

The door opens.

Desmond walks in, and the first thing I notice is the scent clinging to him. Khloe's perfume—that sickly sweet jasmine she wears. It's all over him, like she's marked him as hers.

He looks tired. Annoyed, even. "Marcus said you were awake. How are you feeling?"

How am I feeling?

I stare at him, this man who's supposed to be my mate, and I don't recognize him. Maybe I never did.

"The Rogues did a number on you," he continues, moving closer to the bed. "Elena says you'll need a few days to heal. Think you can be back to work by the end of the week? We've got the Summit coming up, and I'll need—"

"Our baby is dead."

The words hang in the air between us.

Desmond goes still. "What?"

"I was pregnant." My voice sounds strange, distant. "I tried to tell you. Through the mind-link. When I was bleeding at the bottom of that ravine, I begged you to help us. But you blocked me out."

His face drains of color. "You were—"

"Eight weeks." I touch my stomach, the flatness of it now obscene. "I lost our pup because you were too busy comforting Khloe to hear me screaming for help."

"Aspyn, I didn't—" He reaches for me, and I flinch back so hard I nearly fall off the bed.

"Don't touch me."

"If I had known—"

"You didn't want to know!" The words rip out of me. "You built a wall in the mind-link. You chose her over me. Over our child. You let me lie there bleeding while you carried her to safety."

"She was in danger—"

"She wasn't even hurt!" I'm shaking now, seven years of submission cracking apart. "I was dying, Desmond. Your mate and your pup were dying, and you picked her."

He opens his mouth, closes it. For once, he has nothing to say.

"Get out," I whisper.

"Aspyn—"

"Get. Out."

He leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm alone with Elena and the ruins of everything I thought I could survive.

Elena's hand finds mine. "What do you need?"

I close my eyes, feeling my wolf retreat even deeper, so deep I'm afraid she might never come back. "I need to disappear."

She squeezes my hand. Doesn't argue. Doesn't tell me it'll get better.

Because we both know it won't. Not here. Not with him.

Not ever.