The convoy jerked to a sudden halt, throwing me against the leather seat. Before I could steady myself, the first howl pierced the air—wild, feral, and unmistakably hostile.

"Rogues," Marcus growled, already reaching for his weapon. "A lot of them."

My heart hammered against my ribs as the vehicle rocked with the impact of bodies slamming against it. Through the tinted windows, I caught glimpses of matted fur and glowing eyes—at least twenty rogues surrounding our three-car convoy.

"We're outnumbered," I whispered, my fingers instinctively reaching for the mate mark on my neck.

Donovan's face remained impassive, but I felt the sudden surge of his power filling the car. The Alpha aura he usually kept carefully controlled now radiated from him in suffocating waves.

"Stay down," he ordered, his voice cold and precise as he pressed a button to communicate with the other vehicles. "Marcus, take half the warriors and secure the perimeter. The rest—"

A massive rogue slammed into our door, his claws raking down the window with a sickening screech. I flinched, but Donovan didn't even blink.

"Protect the Luna first," he commanded, his Alpha tone vibrating through the air with such force that even I felt the weight of it. "Whatever happens, she doesn't get hurt."

Something warm unfurled in my chest at his words. Despite everything—the coldness, the distance, the constant reminders of my weakness—he was prioritizing my safety over his own.

The warriors moved with practiced efficiency, forming a protective circle around our vehicle before pushing outward to engage the rogues. Blood splattered across the windows as Donovan's elite forces fought with lethal precision.

I watched in horror and fascination as a Delta warrior tore out a rogue's throat, only to be immediately set upon by two more. The air filled with snarls and screams, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the acrid smell of fear.

Donovan's hand found mine, squeezing once before releasing it. "Stay here," he said, his voice slightly softer than before. "This will be over soon."

As he stepped out to join the fight, I remained frozen in place, his command echoing in my ears. *Protect the Luna first.* Maybe there was still something between us worth saving.

---

Three days later, we stood in a sleek Manhattan funeral home, surrounded by pack members in somber black. Grandma Helena had been more than just a former Luna—she'd been my anchor, my confidante, the only one who believed in me when everyone else saw only a Late Bloomer with a weak wolf.

"She was proud of you," Donovan said quietly as we stood before her closed casket. "She never doubted your strength."

I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "I need to find her jewelry box. The one with her mother's pendant."

"Take your time," he replied, his hand hovering near my back without quite touching it. "I'll be here."

With a grateful nod, I slipped away from the main viewing room, following the familiar scent of Grandma's perfume down the hallway. She'd stayed in this building during her final weeks, when her health had deteriorated too rapidly for anyone to explain.

I found myself in a small parlor off the main hall, its windows overlooking a quiet garden. "Grandma?" I called softly, though I knew she wouldn't answer.

That's when I heard it—Donovan's voice, low and gentle in a way I'd never heard before.

"Does this hurt?"

I froze, my hand halfway to the door. Through the crack, I could see into a small sitting area.

Donovan knelt on the floor, his powerful frame folded into an unexpected posture of humility. Before him sat Violette, the pack Healer, her delicate features arranged in a mask of pain as she extended her ankle.

"Just a little," she whispered, her fingers brushing his arm. "I twisted it when I was helping Elder Martha yesterday."

I watched, unable to move, as Donovan gently probed her ankle with his fingers. His face—usually a study in cold authority—had softened into lines of concern. His Alpha aura, always so overwhelming and intimidating, was completely suppressed.

"I can feel the swelling," he murmured, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. "You should have told me immediately."

"It wasn't that bad," Violette replied, her voice honeyed with false modesty. "I didn't want to bother you with something so trivial."

"You're not a bother," Donovan said firmly, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made my stomach twist. "You never have to worry about that."

The tenderness in his voice struck me like a physical blow. In five years as his mate, I had never once heard him speak to me with such gentleness. Never once had he looked at me with such devotion.

Never once had he knelt before me, offering comfort and care without demanding submission in return.

I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle the sound threatening to escape my throat. The hope that had bloomed during the rogue attack withered and died, leaving only the bitter taste of truth.

My mate—my Alpha—was capable of tenderness. He just chose never to give it to me.

The packhouse felt hollow when we returned from the funeral. Unlike the bustling energy that usually filled our home, a heavy silence hung in the air, pressing against my chest with each breath. I moved through the halls like a ghost, barely aware of the sympathetic glances from pack members who had attended Grandma Helena's service.

Donovan had disappeared into his office immediately upon our return, leaving me alone with my grief. Part of me was grateful for the space—the other part still ached from what I'd witnessed at the funeral home.

"Let me know if you need anything," Marcus said quietly as we parted ways in the main hallway. His eyes held a sadness that matched my own, and I wondered if he knew more about Donovan's relationship with Violette than he let on.

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat, and made my way to Grandma's room at the east wing of the packhouse.

The scent of her perfume still lingered in the air as I pushed open the door. Lavender and sage—the same fragrance she'd worn every day of her life. My fingers trembled as I flipped on the light switch.

"Grandma," I whispered to the empty room. "I'm going to take care of everything."

Her belongings were precisely arranged, just as she'd left them. The quilt she'd hand-stitched for my sixteenth birthday still covered her bed. The reading glasses she'd always misplaced sat neatly on her nightstand beside a stack of well-worn romance novels.

I sank to my knees beside her bed, running my fingers over the soft carpet. This room held so many memories—late-night conversations about the Moon Goddess's will, lessons on pack politics, and her unwavering belief in my strength despite my Late Bloomer status.

"I'll find your jewelry box first," I said aloud, trying to fill the silence with purpose.

As I moved to the closet, something felt off about the floor beneath me. I paused, my hand hovering over the carpet. The texture seemed uneven, almost bumpy.

Frowning, I pulled back the edge of the rug.

The floorboards beneath were slightly askew, one corner raised just enough to catch the fabric. My heart quickened as I knelt closer, examining the edges. Someone had pried this board loose and then replaced it hastily.

Violette had been Grandma's primary caregiver. She'd spent hours alone with my grandmother while I was fulfilling Luna duties or accompanying Donovan to pack meetings.

"What were you hiding?" I murmured, slipping my fingernails under the edge of the board.

It came up easily, revealing a small cavity beneath. Inside lay a sleek tablet, its screen dark but still charged. My fingers trembled as I retrieved it.

This wasn't pack property—the small pink case was distinctly feminine, adorned with tiny crystals that caught the light. Violette's personal tablet, hidden in my grandmother's room.

I tried to power it on, but a passcode screen appeared. Four digits. I tried Grandma's birthday, then mine, then Donovan's. Nothing.

Then I remembered—Violette's clinic ID number. The one she'd proudly displayed on her lab coat when she'd first introduced herself as Grandma's healer.

I typed in the numbers: 1-9-2-7.

The screen unlocked.

A folder labeled "Helena" sat on the desktop, alongside several others marked with dates. My stomach twisted as I opened it.

What I saw made my blood run cold.

Videos. Dozens of them. Each file named with my grandmother's name followed by a date.

I clicked on the most recent one.

The screen flickered to life, and I found myself staring at a manipulated video of me—or rather, a version of me that had been cruelly edited. In the footage, I was tied to a chair in the pack's dungeon, my head bowed as Donovan stood over me.

"You're nothing but a weak Omega," the video-version of Donovan snarled, his voice somehow both his and not his. "I reject you as my mate."

The camera panned to show other pack members turning away from me in disgust.

"No!" I gasped, clicking frantically to the next video.

This one showed me wandering alone through the forest, bloody and broken. "The pack has exiled you," a voiceover announced in Violette's unmistakable tone. "No one wants a Late Bloomer Luna."

File after file revealed the same pattern—cruel manipulations showing me tortured, rejected, abandoned. Each video ended with Violette's voice describing in graphic detail what would happen to me next.

My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the tablet. These weren't just meaningless recordings—they were weapons. Psychological torture designed specifically to frighten and harm my grandmother.

"She played these for her," I whispered, horror washing over me in waves. "She showed these to Grandma while she was sick."

The elderly wolf had been bedridden, fragile, and completely at Violette's mercy. No wonder her health had deteriorated so rapidly. No wonder she'd been so agitated in her final days.

Violette hadn't just been neglecting my grandmother—she'd been actively torturing her with these twisted fantasies of my suffering.

The tablet slipped from my fingers as the full weight of realization crashed over me. Violette hadn't just exploited Donovan's trauma—she'd used it to destroy my grandmother, piece by piece, until her heart simply couldn't take anymore.

And I had been too blind to see it.

The tablet felt like a bomb in my hands as I stormed through the packhouse corridors. My grief had crystallized into something harder, sharper—a fury that propelled me forward with single-minded purpose. Pack members scattered from my path, their eyes wide with alarm at the sight of their usually composed Luna radiating such barely contained rage.

I didn't knock before bursting into the main conference room.

"Everyone out." My voice cracked like a whip across the room.

Donovan's head snapped up, his expression shifting from annoyance to wariness in an instant. Marcus and Gamma Reid looked equally startled, their strategic meeting forgotten as they took in my disheveled appearance and wild eyes.

"This is a closed meeting, Luna," Donovan said, his tone carefully controlled. "Whatever this is about can wait."

"No." I stepped further into the room, my hand clutching the tablet so tightly my knuckles had turned white. "It can't wait. This is treason."

Marcus's eyebrows shot up. Reid leaned forward, his massive frame tensing.

"Eleanora." Donovan's voice held a warning. "You're interrupting pack business."

"I said everyone out!" I repeated, louder this time. "Now!"

Reid looked to Donovan for confirmation. After a moment's hesitation, Donovan nodded curtly.

"Give us the room," he ordered.

Marcus and Reid filed out, though Marcus paused at the door, his concerned gaze lingering on me before he closed it behind him.

But Violette remained.

"I should stay," she said softly, her delicate features arranged in a perfect mask of concern. "If this is about Helena's passing, I might be able to help."

"Leave us, Violette," Donovan instructed, though his tone lacked any real harshness.

"I'd rather not," she replied, moving to stand slightly behind his chair. "I'm still the pack Healer, and if Eleanora is this upset..."

Her hand rested lightly on Donovan's shoulder, a gesture of familiarity that made my stomach turn.

"Fine," I spat, tossing the tablet onto the polished table where it skidded to a stop in front of Donovan. "You can hear this too. Since you're the one who did it."

Donovan frowned, picking up the device. "What is this?"

"Evidence," I said, my voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "Evidence that your precious Healer murdered my grandmother."

Violette's gasp was perfectly timed, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widened in shock. "How dare you!" she whispered, tears immediately springing to her eyes.

Donovan's expression darkened as he unlocked the tablet and stared at the screen. I watched his face as he clicked through the files, expecting to see shock, outrage, perhaps even grief.

Instead, his features hardened into cold disbelief.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"No joke," I said, stepping closer. "Those are the videos she showed my grandmother. The psychological torture that drove her into that final heart attack."

Violette burst into tears, her shoulders shaking with what appeared to be genuine distress. "This is absurd! Someone must have hacked my personal tablet to frame me!"

She turned to Donovan, her face a perfect picture of wounded innocence. "Alpha, you know me. You know I would never harm Helena. She was like a mother to me."

Donovan's jaw tightened as he looked between us—his mate and his healer. I saw the moment he made his choice.

"Enough, Eleanora," he said, his voice taking on the unmistakable resonance of his Alpha tone. The weight of it pressed against me, making my knees weak and my resolve waver.

"This is exactly what I'd expect from a paranoid, jealous Omega," he continued coldly. "Fabricating lies to smear our most dedicated healer."

The words hit me like physical blows. Each one precise, calculated, and delivered with the full force of his authority.

"Donovan," I whispered, "look at the evidence."

"I have," he replied, his eyes flashing with contempt. "And I see nothing but a pathetic attempt to discredit someone who actually contributes to this pack."

Violette's tears had subsided into quiet sniffles. She reached for Donovan's hand, her fingers intertwining with his in a gesture of trust that made my stomach turn.

"The Luna is clearly grieving," she murmured. "Perhaps she needs rest... or medication."

I stood frozen, watching as my mate—my Alpha—nodded in agreement, his hand still clasped in hers.

"You're right," he said. "Marcus will escort you to your quarters. You're obviously not well."

As if on cue, Marcus appeared at the door. His eyes met mine briefly, a flicker of something—doubt? pity?—crossing his features before he looked away.

"Come, Luna," he said quietly. "Let's get you some rest."

I looked back once at Donovan and Violette, their heads bent close together in conversation, her hand still holding his. The sight burned itself into my memory—the moment I realized that no amount of evidence would ever be enough to make him see her true nature.

Or mine.