The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, a buzz of shock and disgust that pressed against my skin like physical blows. I stood frozen, my fingers digging into my palms as Mason's gaze finally met mine—not with apology, but with cold calculation.

"Silence!" Mason's voice boomed across the Great Hall, enhanced by the steroids I'd procured for him. The pack members flinched, their voices dying instantly under the artificial weight of his command.

I watched as he stepped forward, one hand resting possessively on Aura's lower back. Her smile was triumphant, her perfectly manicured nails curling into his ceremonial robes.

"My loyal pack," Mason began, his voice carrying that unnatural resonance that made my wolf whimper. "I understand your shock. The footage you've seen tonight reveals a truth that, until now, I have protected you from."

My throat tightened. Protected them? He'd protected himself—his fragile ego, his political ambitions.

"Jocelyn Foster has served this pack in... unconventional ways," he continued, his tone dripping with false benevolence. "But her methods are beneath the dignity of a Luna."

The pack shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between me and the royal couple on the dais. I could smell their judgment—their revulsion.

"However," Mason's voice softened, "I am not a cruel Alpha. I recognize that even one such as Jocelyn has her... purposes."

Aura's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Indeed," she purred. "Every pack has its necessities."

Mason nodded, then turned to address the crowd again. "Therefore, I propose an arrangement that will benefit us all. Aura Dean will be our Royal Luna—the face of our pack, the mother of our future heirs."

The pack erupted in approving howls. Aura's father, Marcus Dean, stood proudly at the front, his chest puffed out in satisfaction.

"As for Jocelyn," Mason continued once the noise died down, "she will serve as Pack Mistress."

The term hit me like a physical blow. Pack Mistress—a euphemism for a breeding vessel, a wolf kept for her fertility but denied any status or respect.

"She will reside in the servant's quarters and attend to the Alpha's... personal needs," Mason explained, his clinical tone stripping away the last shreds of my dignity. "This arrangement allows us to maintain our alliance with the Dean Pack while acknowledging Jocelyn's service."

I couldn't breathe. The room spun around me as whispers erupted throughout the hall.

"No," I whispered, backing toward the exit. "No, this isn't what we agreed."

Luna snarled within me, her rage burning through my veins. *Run! We need to run!*

I turned and pushed through the crowd, ignoring the stares and whispers. The heavy wooden doors of the Great Hall loomed ahead—freedom, escape from this nightmare.

I was almost there when a familiar scent hit me—cheap whiskey and desperation.

"Jocelyn!" My father's voice cracked as he lunged from the shadows, tackling me to the ground just inches from the exit.

"Let me go!" I screamed, struggling against his weight.

Harold Foster pinned me down, his breath hot against my face. "You ungrateful little bitch," he hissed, his eyes wild with fear. "After everything I've sacrificed for you!"

"You're ruining everything!" he shouted, dragging me back toward the dais as I fought against his grip. "Do you know what happens to us if you leave? The creditors—the Rogues—they'll kill us!"

The pack watched in stunned silence as my father hauled me across the floor, my dress tearing, my dignity in tatters.

"Please," I begged, looking up at Mason. "Don't do this."

Mason descended from the dais, his Alpha robes sweeping across the floor. He towered over me, his eyes cold.

"Submit," he commanded, his enhanced Alpha tone pressing down on me like a physical weight.

I fought against it, muscles straining, blood trickling from my nose as I resisted the unnatural command.

"I said SUBMIT!" Mason roared, his Alpha tone crushing me down.

My knees hit the floor hard as I collapsed before Aura. She extended one foot, the hem of her Luna robes brushing against my face.

"Kiss it," Mason ordered, his voice soft but merciless. "Show your respect for your Luna."

"I can't," I gasped, blood dripping onto the marble floor as I fought against his command.

"You can," he insisted. "And you will."

Aura's smile widened as she watched me struggle, my body trembling with the effort to resist the Alpha command.

Slowly, agonizingly, my head bowed lower. The scent of her expensive perfume filled my nostrils as my lips approached the hem of her robe.

The pack watched in silence as I was forced to my knees, humiliated before them all.

The guards dragged me down the corridor, their claws digging into my arms as I struggled against their grip. My torn dress hung limply from my shoulders, the fabric stained with blood from my nose and mouth. The pack's jeers still rang in my ears as they shoved me through a doorway and locked the door behind me.

I sank to the floor of the guest room, my body trembling with shock and humiliation. The elegant furnishings seemed to mock my disheveled state—the pristine white bedding, the polished mahogany dresser, the fresh flowers in a crystal vase. This room was meant for honored guests, not for a woman who'd just been publicly reduced to a breeding vessel.

"Jocelyn."

Mason's voice came from the other side of the door. The guards' footsteps retreated as he dismissed them with a quiet command.

He entered alone, closing the door softly behind him. Without the audience of the pack, his posture changed—shoulders slightly hunched, the artificial Alpha presence dimming like a light being turned down.

"This is necessary," he said, his voice stripped of the steroid-enhanced resonance. "You know that."

I laughed bitterly, wiping blood from my lip. "Necessary? You promised to make me your Luna tonight."

"And I will... in private." He crouched before me, reaching for my hand. I flinched away. "Listen to me. Your wolf is too weak to protect the pack. The council would never accept you as Luna."

"My wolf is weak?" I stared at him in disbelief. "I've fought in underground rings for years to pay off your father's debts. I've dealt with Rogues, collected protection money—"

"Exactly." His eyes hardened. "You've done the dirty work. But you can't lead. You can't negotiate with other Alphas. You can't represent our pack with the dignity it deserves."

Luna snarled within me, her rage burning through my veins. *Lies! All lies!*

"You should be grateful," Mason continued, his voice softening as he tried to take my hand again. "I could have cast you out entirely. Instead, I'm keeping you close. You'll still be by my side, still be the mother of my children."

"The mother of your children," I repeated numbly. "But not your Luna."

"You'll manage the pack's finances from the shadows," he said, finally grasping my wrist. "That's where your real value lies, Jocelyn. You're brilliant with numbers—with money. Aura brings political connections. You bring... practical skills."

I yanked my hand away, disgust rising in my throat. "Practical skills. Like fighting until I bleed for your father's gambling debts."

"Don't be dramatic." He stood, straightening his robes. "This arrangement benefits everyone."

After he left, locking the door behind him, I curled into a ball on the floor. Tears wouldn't come—only a hollow ache that spread through my chest.

Then something shifted—a strange cramping sensation low in my abdomen. I sat up, confused by the sudden pain and the odd scent that seemed to be emanating from my own skin.

Luna stirred within me, suddenly alert. *Pup. Our pup.*

The realization hit me like a physical blow. I was pregnant. With Mason's child.

A fierce, primal instinct surged through me, cutting through the fog of despair. I couldn't raise my child as a mistress, sneered at by the pack, treated as nothing more than a vessel for heirs.

I rose shakily to my feet, scanning the room for anything useful. My fingers closed around a hairpin I'd dropped earlier—a simple metal bobby pin that had fallen from my hastily pinned hair.

With practiced movements learned from years of picking locks in the underground fighting pits, I bent the metal into shape. Mason thought my "practical skills" were limited to managing his money. He'd forgotten what else I'd learned in those brutal years.

The lock gave way with a soft click.

I slipped into the hallway, barefoot to silence my steps. The pack house was quiet now, most members celebrating the new Alpha and Luna in the Great Hall. I knew the servants' passages—narrow corridors that allowed staff to move unseen through the grand building.

The back staircase would lead me down to the kitchens, then to the service entrance. Freedom lay just beyond those doors.

I was halfway down the stairs when a shadow moved above me.

"So this is where you scurry to."

The Former Luna stood at the top of the staircase, her elegant figure silhouetted against the hallway light. Her eyes narrowed as she descended toward me, each step deliberate and threatening.

"You smell different," she said, inhaling deeply. "Your scent has... changed."

My hand instinctively moved to my stomach as her eyes tracked the movement.

"No," she whispered, her face contorting with rage. "No, no, no."

She moved with surprising speed for a woman her age, blocking my path down the stairs. "You think you can carry my son's heir? A low-born wolf like you?"

Her perfectly manicured nails extended into claws as she advanced toward me, her eyes gleaming with hatred. "Aura will bear the next Alpha of this pack. Not some underground fighter's whore."

"You think you can carry my son's heir?" The Former Luna's voice rose to a shriek that echoed through the stairwell. "A low-born wolf like you?"

Her eyes blazed with a hatred so pure it momentarily stunned me. I backed away, one hand still protectively covering my stomach.

"Please," I said, my voice barely audible. "I'm carrying Mason's child."

"Exactly why you must be removed." She advanced toward me, her perfectly manicured claws extending. "Aura will bear the next Alpha of this pack. Not some underground fighter's whore."

Luna snarled within me, sensing the threat. *Protect the pup!*

I tried to dodge around her, but the Former Luna moved with surprising speed for a woman her age. Her hand shot out, grabbing my arm with inhuman strength.

"You're nothing but a mongrel," she hissed, her face inches from mine. "You've polluted my son's bloodline."

"Let go of me!" I struggled against her grip, but years of fighting had taught me to recognize when I was outmatched. This wasn't a fair fight—this was an execution.

"I won't let you destroy everything I've built," she said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "The Silverfang Pack will not be tainted by your kind."

With a strength born of pure hatred, she shoved me backward. I felt myself falling, my arms windmilling uselessly as I tried to catch myself. The wooden stairs rushed up to meet me.

"No!" I cried out, curling instinctively around my stomach as I tumbled down the steep flight of stairs.

Each impact drove the breath from my lungs. Pain exploded through my body as I crashed against the hard edges, unable to stop my descent. My head struck something solid, and darkness edged my vision.

The last thing I heard was the Former Luna's cold voice from above: "Clean this up. No one is to know."

Then came the cramping—a pain so intense it transcended the physical. Something warm and wet spread between my thighs as I finally came to rest at the bottom of the stairs.

"Luna," I whispered to my wolf as consciousness slipped away. "Save our pup."

---

Beeping machines pulled me back to awareness. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils as I blinked against harsh fluorescent lights. I was in the pack infirmary, hooked to monitors, an IV drip feeding clear fluid into my arm.

Empty. I felt empty.

*Lost*, Luna whimpered within me. *Our pup is gone.*

I didn't need to ask if she meant our unborn child. The hollow ache in my core told me everything.

"About time you woke up."

Mason's voice came from beside my bed. He sat slouched in a chair, scrolling through his phone, not even bothering to look at me.

"The pack is in an uproar," he continued, his tone annoyed rather than concerned. "Rumors are spreading about what happened."

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. A tear slipped down my cheek instead.

"Mother said you fell," Mason said, finally glancing at me. "That you were running away and tripped."

The lie was so blatant, so cold-blooded that I couldn't even respond.

"This is causing problems with the Dean alliance," he continued, standing up with a sigh. "Aura is distressed. She feels threatened by you."

Another tear escaped as I turned my face away from him.

Mason leaned over, pulling a folded paper from his jacket pocket. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to mind-link the entire pack on a live video feed. You're going to apologize to Aura for stressing the Luna. You're going to accept your demotion willingly."

He thrust the paper into my hand. A script. He wanted me to read from a script.

"The broadcast is set for tonight," he said, checking his watch. "Don't fuck this up."

I stared at him—really looked at him for the first time. The man I'd sacrificed everything for. The man whose rise to power I'd funded with my blood and dignity.

He was nothing. A weak, parasitic coward who'd built his entire existence on my suffering.

"I understand," I whispered, my voice hoarse but steady.

Relief washed over his face as he patted my hand condescendingly. "Good girl. I knew you'd see reason."

He left the room, locking the door behind him. The moment his footsteps faded, I sat up slowly, ignoring the pain that shot through my body.

With trembling fingers, I reached into my boot lining and pulled out a small burner phone—the one thing the guards hadn't thought to confiscate during my humiliating procession through the pack house.

I dialed a number from memory, praying it still worked.

Three rings, then a rough voice answered. "Who is this?"

"It's Jocelyn," I said softly. "I need to execute Protocol Zero."

There was a pause, then: "You sure about that, Foster? Once we start, there's no stopping."

I looked down at the script Mason had given me, then crumpled it in my fist.

"Positive," I replied, my voice stronger now. "It's time."