I dragged a damp rag across the polished oak table, scrubbing at an invisible smudge. Five years. I had occupied the Luna’s seat for five years, but no one in the pack actually viewed me as their female leader. To them, I was just my Alpha’s unpaid senior nanny.

There was only one reason for this treatment. I had no wolf.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor. Damon Blackthorn strode into the dining room. He carried the overwhelming, suffocating pressure unique to an Alpha, his broad shoulders easily filling the doorway. His large hand enveloped the small fingers of our son, Noah, the future heir to the Blackthorn Pack.

Neither of them wanted a wolfless freak as the mother of the next Alpha. They walked right past me and claimed the chairs I had just finished cleaning.

"Dad, I have a parent-teacher conference tomorrow," Noah said, swinging his legs beneath the table. "Can you come?"

Damon pulled his phone from his suit pocket, his thumb swiping across the screen. "Elders from the neighboring packs are visiting tomorrow. I have meetings scheduled until late evening. Sorry, Noah."

Noah groaned, slapping his hands flat on the wood. "What am I supposed to do then? I don't want to be the only kid in class without a parent there."

I paused my cleaning. My heart gave a tiny, hopeful flutter. I opened my mouth to offer. I was always free. I spent my days waiting in this massive, empty house, desperate for any chance to act like a real mother to him.

"Then let Aunt Vivian Ashford go," Noah declared, cutting me off before I could make a sound.

My teeth clicked together. I swallowed the words burning in my throat.

"She was your partner at the pack gala last time," Noah continued, a bright, eager smile breaking across his face. "Dad, go ask Aunt Vivian. She'll definitely want to do it."

Vivian Ashford.

The name tasted like rust on my tongue. I remembered that gala perfectly. Damon had chosen Vivian as his dance partner instead of his own wife, leaving me standing alone by the punch bowl while they glided across the floor. The entire Vale family became the laughingstock of the pack that night. Whispers had followed me into every corner of the ballroom.

My father, Edmund Vale, had been furious.

*"You useless embarrassment,"* my father had spat at me after the guests left, dragging me down the hall by my arm.

He shoved me inside the estate’s windowless confinement room. The heavy iron door slammed shut, plunging me into absolute pitch-black. To a normal werewolf, a night in the dark was a mild reprimand. But I wasn't normal. A childhood accident had left me with crippling claustrophobia.

In that suffocating space, I had scratched the metal door until my fingernails cracked. I gasped for air that felt thick and heavy, screaming until my vocal cords gave out. I nearly fainted from the sheer panic, curled into a tight ball on the freezing stone floor.

Damon knew absolutely nothing about the punishment. He didn't know about my fear of the dark. He never bothered to ask why I left the hallway lights on every single night.

I stared down at the table, keeping my expression entirely blank as I moved the rag in slow, sweeping circles.

Damon lifted his gaze from his phone. His dark eyes locked onto my face. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and a sudden, inexplicable irritation flared in his posture. He hated my silence. He hated my lack of reaction. To him, my quiet endurance was just another sign of weakness.

"Fine," Damon told Noah, his tone sharp. "I'll tell Vivian. She can accompany you to the conference."

"Yes!" Noah cheered. He hopped off his chair and sprinted down the hallway toward his bedroom, his sneakers squeaking against the floorboards.

The dining room grew uncomfortably quiet.

I wrung out the rag over a decorative bowl, watching the dirty water pool at the bottom. I turned around, keeping my hands firmly at my sides.

"Maybe..." I started, keeping my voice soft, tentative. "Are you busy for lunch tomorrow, too? We could eat together."

Damon stared at me as if I had just suggested we surrender our territory to rogues. His brow furrowed, casting dark shadows over his sharp cheekbones.

"Serena, do you honestly think you are more important than the pack elders?"

He shoved his chair back. The wooden legs screeched harshly against the floor. He stood up, towering over me, his Alpha aura pressing down on my shoulders like physical weights.

"I have trade agreements to finalize. I have border disputes to settle. And you want me to drop everything for a lunch date?"

I kept my chin level, refusing to shrink away from his anger. "It's just an hour, Damon."

"The steak you made tonight was completely unpalatable," he snapped, completely ignoring my plea. His voice echoed off the high ceilings. "It was tough and overcooked. Your cooking is getting worse by the day."

I bit the inside of my cheek. I had spent three hours marinating that meat, carefully following the recipe his mother had given me.

"If you can't even handle these simple things," Damon said, his voice dropping into a lethal, icy register, "I don't mind replacing the Luna. The pack needs a capable leader, not a maid who can't even grill meat properly."

He didn't wait for a response. He turned on his heel and marched out of the room. The heavy oak front door slammed shut a minute later, rattling the glass in the windowpanes.

I stood alone in the center of the dining room.

He didn't remember. Tomorrow wasn't just a day for visiting elders or parent-teacher conferences.

Tomorrow was our fifth wedding anniversary.

I tossed the dirty rag onto the table. A strange numbness washed over me, starting from my chest and spreading to my fingertips. I didn't cry. Tears were a luxury I had abandoned years ago. Instead, a dry, hollow laugh slipped past my lips. Five years of trying to be perfect, five years of swallowing my pride, and I was still just a placeholder.

The silence of the house pressed in on me, heavy and mocking.

Then, a voice echoed inside my mind.

It didn't come from the hallway. It didn't come from the open window. It echoed directly inside my skull. The tone was smooth, dark, and utterly foreign.

*"If he won't spend the anniversary with you, why not find someone else? There are plenty of wolves."*

I froze. My hands gripped the edge of the table. I spun around, scanning the empty room.

"Who's there?" I whispered.

Only the ticking of the grandfather clock answered me.

"How could I?" I blurted out to the empty room. My knuckles turned white against the polished oak table. "Only Damon Blackthorn is my Alpha. A pure werewolf should only love their Fated Mate for life."

No response. The grandfather clock ticked in the corner.

"Show yourself," I demanded, spinning around.

Silence.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my temples. This wasn't the first time. That strange, dark whisper had plagued my mind multiple times over the past few weeks. It always struck when Vivian Ashford was around.

Just two weeks ago, Vivian had strutted into our estate for a dinner meeting.

She bypassed the guest chairs entirely. She slid right into my designated seat at Damon’s right hand. She leaned over, pressing her chest against his arm while pointing at a map on the table.

I didn't cause a scene. The Ashford family controlled the werewolf commercial markets. Damon needed their trade routes. A proper Luna didn't disrupt her Alpha’s business. I quietly moved to the lower end of the table.

Vivian swirled her wine glass. She looked down the mahogany surface at me.

"Serena," Vivian said, a sickly sweet smile stretching her red lips. "You look exhausted. Running this house must be so taxing for an ordinary human."

"I manage just fine," I replied.

"Do you?" She tilted her head. "Because the person truly suited for Damon has always been me. Everyone in the pack knows it."

I kept my eyes on my empty plate. "Damon chose me as his wife."

"Out of obligation," Vivian countered. "Wolfless werewolves deserve to die. You drag down the entire pack's strength."

She took a sip of her wine, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"If I gave birth to a pup like that," Vivian added, "I'd strangle it myself at birth. It's a mercy, really."

My fingers curled into my palms. My nails dug into my skin.

Then, the voice slithered into my mind.

*"Stare at that dining knife."*

I blinked, my eyes darting to the silver blade resting beside my napkin.

*"Pick it up. That spoiled brat can't fight you. Kill her."*

A foreign heat rushed through my veins. My muscles tightened. An unknown, violent energy pulsed under my skin, begging to be released. My hand twitched toward the silver handle. My fingers brushed the cold metal.

"Enough," Damon snapped.

I flinched, pulling my hand back.

He didn't look at me. His gaze remained fixed on the map. "Stop with the pointless talk. Let's discuss next year's partnership map."

The strange energy evaporated instantly. My shoulders slumped. I felt entirely drained, as if I had just run ten miles.

I convinced myself I was losing my mind. The stress of this marriage was finally breaking my brain. I needed a doctor.

The next morning, I grabbed my purse from the hallway console. I had an appointment at the pack clinic.

The front door swung open. Noah bounded inside, giggling wildly. Vivian followed right behind him, carrying a stack of designer shopping bags.

"Mom, bring fruit," Noah ordered. He dropped his jacket on the floor and kicked his shoes off. "Pour some tea for Aunt Vivian."

I stepped over his discarded coat, picking it up. "Noah, hang your things up. And I can't right now. I booked a hospital appointment for today. I need to leave."

Vivian scoffed. She tossed her glossy hair over her shoulder and dropped her bags on the sofa.

"Still dreaming of curing your wolf?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"I am going for a regular checkup," I said.

"Stop dreaming," Vivian mocked. "Without your bloodline and luck, you wouldn't even be fit to tie my shoes. You are a genetic dead end."

I gripped my purse straps tighter. "This is my house, Vivian. You don't get to speak to me that way."

Vivian smirked. She picked up a glass of cranberry juice from the breakfast cart. She maintained unbroken eye contact with me. With a flick of her wrist, she tipped the rim.

The red liquid splashed directly onto her white silk blouse, staining it instantly.

"Oops," Vivian gasped, feigning horror. "Look what you made me do."

"I didn't even move," I said.

"I have no suitable clothes now," Vivian whined, looking down at Noah. "I guess I can't go to your parent-teacher conference today, sweetie."

Noah spun around. His face flushed red with anger.

"Mom, it's all your fault!" he shouted, pointing a small finger at my chest.

I stared at my own son. "Noah, you watched her pour it on herself."

"You always ruin everything!" Noah yelled. "You make Dad mad, and now you made Aunt Vivian ruin her favorite shirt!"

"Noah, that is enough," I said, stepping forward.

He shrank back, hiding behind Vivian's legs. She placed a protective hand on his shoulder, glaring at me as if I were the threat.

"Don't yell at him," Vivian scolded. "He's just a child speaking the truth."

"He is my son," I snapped.

"Not in any way that matters," she shot back.

Noah grabbed Vivian's hand. "Aunt Vivian, go pick clothes from Mom's room."

"Noah, no," I warned. "Those are my private things. You do not invite people into my bedroom."

"She doesn't deserve to wear pretty dresses anyway," Noah told Vivian, ignoring me completely.

He turned his furious glare back to me.

"My classmates say a monster without a wolf only deserves to wear a maid's dress and kneel on the floor," Noah spat.

The hallway fell dead silent.

A cold, hollow chuckle escaped my throat. I didn't yell. I didn't cry. I just laughed. A dry, scraping sound that echoed off the high walls.

Vivian raised an eyebrow, taking a step back.

"Go ahead," I told them, waving a hand toward the stairs. "Take whatever you want."

I turned my back on my son and walked out the front door.

The clinic waiting room smelled of bleach and old magazines. I sat on the crinkling paper of the examination bed for an hour. My foot tapped against the metal step.

Dr. Thorne finally walked in. He held a manila folder. He didn't offer a greeting. He just stared at the papers, flipping a page, then another.

"Well?" I asked, my patience wearing thin. "Is it exhaustion? Stress?"

He closed the folder. He ran a hand over his tired face.

"Is it a mental breakdown?" I asked, thinking of the dark voice in my head. "Am I going crazy?"

Dr. Thorne pulled a stool over and sat down. He kept his hands folded over the manila folder.

"I wish it were that simple," he said.

"Then what is it?"

"Mrs. Blackthorn, I'm sorry."

He set the report on the metal counter. He refused to meet my eyes.

"What is it?" I pressed. "Just tell me."

"Your blood sample shows severe abnormalities," Dr. Thorne said, his voice entirely flat. "Your white blood cell count is plummeting, and there are markers we've never seen in a werewolf's chart before."

"I don't have a wolf," I reminded him. "My charts are always different."

"Not like this," he replied. "We ran the tests three times to be absolutely certain."

I gripped the edge of the examination table. "Certain of what?"

Dr. Thorne finally looked up. His eyes held nothing but pity.

"We can almost conclude this is an extremely rare, terminal illness."

The sterile white walls of the clinic seemed to close in on me. I was dying. And the only people waiting for me at home were a son who hated me and a husband who wanted me gone.

"Alpha Damon and Miss Vivian are the perfect match."

The whispered words drifted from a bakery stall as I walked out of the clinic. I stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, keeping my head down.

"An Ashford and Blackthorn union?" another voice chimed in from across the street. "The entire wolf kind would grow stronger. We need that kind of power."

"Serena doesn't deserve the Alpha," a third woman scoffed, her tone dripping with disgust. "She's a useless stain on the pack."

My chest didn't ache. My eyes remained completely dry. The crushing weight of despair had finally flattened my heart into nothing.

Damon didn't love me. Noah hated the sight of me. My own family viewed me as a humiliating joke.

Death was a terminal diagnosis, but right now, it sounded like a welcome home.

I returned to the empty estate. I didn't bother packing a bag. I walked straight to Damon’s heavy oak desk, grabbed a silver pen, and pulled out two sheets of thick parchment.

*I, Serena Vale, officially sever my bond and resign as Luna of the Blackthorn Pack.*

I signed the first page.

*I, Serena Vale, officially sever my bloodline ties and renounce my status as a daughter of the Vale family.*

I signed the second page.

I slid my gold wedding band off my finger. I set the ring on top of the letters. The metal clinked sharply against the wood.

I walked out the front door and left the territory behind.

I walked until the paved roads turned to dirt, and the dirt dissolved into overgrown brambles. The trees grew twisted and thick, blocking out the afternoon sun. The Forbidden Zone.

My vision blurred. A sharp spike of pain clawed at my veins. My knees buckled, and the damp earth rushed up to meet my face.

Blackness swallowed me.

"Finally."

A voice pierced the dark.

"I have waited so long for you, Serena Vale."

My eyes snapped open. The smell of burning pine filled my nose. I lay on a lumpy cot inside a drafty wooden cabin.

An old woman sat beside the bed. Her skin resembled cracked parchment. Her eyes were milky white, completely blind, yet her wrinkled hand gently stroked my forehead.

I shoved myself backward against the wooden headboard.

"Elder Selene?" I gasped.

The missing High Priestess.

"Damon is tearing the territory apart searching for you," I said, my voice hoarse. "The entire pack is looking. Why are you living in the Forbidden Zone?"

Elder Selene offered a serene smile. She didn't remove her hand from my face.

"Because the Moon Goddess told me to wait here," she murmured.

"Wait for what?"

"For a werewolf who will decide the future of our entire kind," Selene said. "And that person is you."

A bitter laugh scraped my throat. "You found the wrong person. I have a terminal illness. I'm going to die."

Selene shook her head. "I am blind, child, but my heart is not. Tell me the truth. Have you been hearing another voice recently?"

My muscles locked. I stared into her sightless eyes.

"Do you feel your body changing?" she pressed. "Is your blood mutating?"

"The doctor said my cells are failing," I whispered.

"Human doctors know nothing of divinity," Selene countered, her voice ringing with sudden authority. "These are not symptoms of death. They are the signs of the Moon Goddess's divine power awakening inside you."

I gripped the coarse blanket. "Power? I don't have a wolf."

"You possess the strongest divine power in the entire wolf realm," Selene said. "It has merely been sleeping. But the slumber is over. On the next full moon, you will gain supreme strength."

My heart slammed against my ribs. "When is the next full moon?"

"Tonight."

I shook my head, refusing to accept the impossible. "This is a fever dream. The sickness is making me hallucinate."

Selene pulled her hand away from my forehead. "Your power is already reaching out. Close your eyes, Serena. Listen. You are tied to the earth. Tied to the pack."

"I don't understand."

"Listen," she commanded.

I squeezed my eyes shut. A sharp crackle of energy split my skull. The wooden walls faded away. The scent of pine vanished, replaced by the familiar smell of polished leather and cold marble.

I couldn't see them, but the voices echoed in my mind with terrifying clarity.

"What does Serena think being Luna means?" Damon's furious roar vibrated through my consciousness.

I heard the nervous shuffle of Martha, our housekeeper.

"What does she think I am?" Damon snarled. "A hotel? She comes and goes as she pleases! She thinks she can just leave papers on a desk and walk away?"

"Alpha," Martha whimpered. "Should we send a search party?"

"No!" Damon barked. "Fine. If she has the guts to leave, tell her to never come back."

A hollow numbness spread through my chest. He didn't care. He was only angry about the disrespect.

Heavy boots suddenly pounded against the marble floor. A guard's frantic panting interrupted Damon's rage.

"Alpha!" the guard yelled. "The wolf plague is worsening!"

Silence fell over the estate foyer.

"Report," Damon ordered, his tone shifting to pure ice.

"Several villages have completely lost their support systems," the guard rushed out, panic lacing every word. "The hospitals can't research a cure fast enough. The infected are dying by the hour."

"Contain the bodies," Damon said.

"We are trying," the guard cried. "We have to burn the corpses in the streets. The entire pack is spiraling into panic!"

I opened my eyes. The vision snapped shut. The quiet cabin returned.

The plague. That was the real reason Damon had been desperately meeting with the elders. The werewolf world was collapsing.

Selene leaned forward, her blind eyes fixed perfectly on my face.

"The plague ravages them," she whispered. "And tonight, the moon rises."