Elizebeth POV:

I woke up to a boot in my ribs.

I wasn't in the snow. I was in the guest hallway, dumped there like a bag of trash.

"Get up," a guard grunted.

I scrambled up, clutching the folded robe. The master suite door opened.

Floyd walked out. He radiated power, smelling of rain and ozone—a scent that used to be my home. Now, it just made my stomach turn.

Jaylah followed, wrapped in silk.

I held out the robe, head bowed, exposing the raw skin around the suppression ring.

Jaylah snatched the fabric. She inspected it, her manicured nails digging into the velvet.

"It smells," she sniffed. "Like Omega. And blood."

"I can clean it," I whispered.

"Don't speak," Floyd snapped. He looked at Jaylah, his expression softening in a way that gutted me. "We'll buy a new one in the Holy City. Silk. Only the best."

"But what about this?" Jaylah pointed to the corner of the balcony.

Lying on a patio chair was a gray scarf.

My breath hitched.

It was gray wool, woven with strands of my own wolf fur—shed from my first shift, years before the sacrifice. A Mate Gift. I gave it to him when we were teenagers.

"That old rag?" Floyd glanced at it. "Trash it."

"No," the word slipped out.

Floyd turned, eyes narrowing. Gold flashed in his irises. "You dare countermand me?"

"It... it has value," I stammered. "Please, Alpha."

Jaylah laughed. "Value? It looks like something she pulled out of a dumpster." She picked it up with two fingers.

"Get rid of it," Floyd ordered the guard.

"Floyd, please!" I stepped forward, reaching out.

He caught my wrist. His grip was iron. A jolt of electricity—the Mate spark—arced between us. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

Then the wall slammed back down. He shoved me.

"Do not touch me, Wolfless," he spat. "You disgust me."

He grabbed the scarf from Jaylah and tossed it over the balcony railing.

I watched it fall. It landed in the mud of the training grounds. A heavy patrol truck rumbled around the corner. I watched, helpless, as the massive tires rolled directly over it, grinding the wool and my fur into the muck.

Something inside me didn't just break. It died.

I tried to reach out through the Mind-Link, one last desperate attempt.

Floyd... please see me.

Static. A wall of gray noise. He had blocked me out.

"Go," Floyd commanded. "Before I expedite your rejection."

I turned and walked away. No tears. You can't cry over a stranger.

Elizebeth POV:

"She never learns, does she?" Jaylah's voice drifted from the room.

"She is a simple creature," Floyd replied. "Useful for chores. Nothing more."

Useful.

Suddenly, a Beta guard sprinted down the hallway. "Alpha! It's Elder Ryan. Jaylah's mother. She collapsed during the ritual!"

Jaylah screamed. Floyd moved with Alpha speed, a blur of motion. I was shoved into the wall as they rushed past.

I should have hidden. But curiosity—or stupidity—drew me to the pack hospital.

The smell of antiseptic and wolfsbane was choking. In the VIP room, Jaylah's mother, Elder Mara, clutched her chest, looking pale.

"Dark magic backlash," the Pack Healer murmured, sweating. "She tried to bless the territory, but her energy was too weak. Internal hemorrhaging."

"Do something!" Floyd growled, punching the wall. Plaster rained down.

"We need blood," the Healer said. "Pure blood. Ancient bloodline to stabilize the magic. She's Rh-null."

The Golden Blood.

Rare. In this pack, only two people had it. Elder Mara... and me. A trait of the White Wolf lineage.

Jaylah's eyes snapped to me in the doorway. A predator spotting a wounded rabbit.

"Elizebeth," Jaylah sobbed, the tears fake but effective. "She matches."

Floyd turned.

"Is this true?"

I backed away. "I... I'm anemic, Alpha. The silver ring... it weakens my production. If I give blood now..."

"My mother is dying because she tried to protect your home!" Jaylah shrieked.

"It's not faintness," I whispered. "It's my life force."

Floyd closed the distance in two strides. He grabbed my arm, fingers bruising my bicep.

"You ruined the robe," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Consider this payment."

"Floyd, please. I'm weak. I can't."

"You are an Omega. Your life exists to serve."

He dragged me toward the empty bed.

"Alpha," the Healer interjected weakly. "She is frail. The volume required might..."

"Take it," Floyd ordered. "Take what is needed."

I was thrown onto the bed. I didn't fight. You cannot fight an Alpha biologically. My body betrayed me, going limp under his will.

I stared at the ceiling tiles as the nurse strapped me down. Just a blood bag with a pulse.

Moon Goddess, just let me sleep.

Elizebeth POV:

"No anesthesia," the Oracle rasped from the corner. A shriveled hag Jaylah kept on payroll. "Chemicals taint the magic."

Floyd nodded. "Do it."

The nurse approached. The needle was thick, designed for rapid extraction. The tip was dull gray.

Silver-coated alloy. To keep the wound from healing too fast.

"No," I gasped. "Not silver."

The needle pierced my skin.

A scream tore from my throat. It felt like liquid fire injected directly into the marrow. The silver seared the entry point, cauterizing and burning simultaneously.

My body convulsed against the straps.

"Hold her still!" Floyd barked.

He didn't hold my hand. He pinned my shoulder, his weight crushing me into the mattress so they could drain me dry.

I watched the bag fill. Crimson. My life.

The room spun. Black spots danced in my vision. My heart fluttered—a bird dying in a cage.

"That's enough," the Healer said, his voice underwater. "She's going into shock."

"Is Mara stable?" Floyd asked.

"Yes."

Floyd released me instantly. He didn't check the wound. He turned his back and went to comfort Jaylah, releasing his pheromones—cedar and musk.

That scent was biologically mine. And he was using it to soothe the woman who wanted me dead.

The nurse unstrapped me. "You can go," she muttered, avoiding my eyes.

I tried to sit up. The world tilted. I hit the floor.

"Get up," Floyd said, annoyed. "Stop acting."

I couldn't.

"She's cluttering the room," Jaylah complained.

Floyd looked at me with pure disgust. "Guard. Take her to the old isolation ward. Don't let her die in the hallway; it looks bad for the image."

Two warriors dragged me out.

They threw me into a disused cell at the end of the dark wing. It smelled of rust and old fear.

I lay on the dusty mattress, shivering. The silver burn in my arm throbbed.

In the silence, something shifted.

For five years, I had loved him. But as the cold seeped into my bones, that love didn't fade. It curdled.

I didn't love Floyd Meyers anymore. I hated him.