His hand was still on my wrist when the black blood hit his skin — and he hissed like it burned.

Beckett jerked back, staring at the dark stain spreading across his knuckles where my blood had touched him. The skin beneath was already blistering, angry red welts forming like he'd been splashed with acid.

"Shit," he muttered, then grabbed my shoulder with his uninjured hand. "Get in the truck. Now."

I didn't argue. The pain radiating from my fake mating mark had escalated from uncomfortable burning to someone driving a white-hot poker through my nerve endings. Every heartbeat sent another wave of agony down my spine, and I could taste copper in the back of my throat.

Beckett's vehicle was a sleek black Rivian R1T, the kind of electric truck that screamed government funding. He practically shoved me into the passenger seat before vaulting behind the wheel, his left hand already reaching for something in the center console.

With his teeth, he tore open what looked like a field dressing packet, then wrapped the gauze around his burned knuckles one-handed while his right hand gripped the steering wheel. The truck pulled away from my neighborhood with barely a whisper of sound.

I pressed both palms against my neck, trying to stem the flow of black blood seeping through Rowan's bite mark. The liquid was warm and viscous, nothing like normal blood. It smelled wrong too — metallic and sweet, with an underlying rot that made my stomach lurch.

"Don't try to stop it," Beckett said without looking at me. His voice was rougher now, strained. "The more you fight the purge, the worse the backlash."

"Purge?" The word came out as a whimper. I bit down on my knuckles to keep from screaming as another wave of pain crashed over me.

"Your body is rejecting the false bond. Seven years of accumulated magical toxins are working their way out of your system." He took a sharp right turn, heading away from Silver Ridge's residential areas toward the darker outskirts of town. "It's going to get worse before it gets better."

The enclosed space of the truck cab was rapidly filling with his scent — black pepper and evergreen, with something underneath that reminded me of the electric charge in the air before a thunderstorm. My wolf, who should have been cowering in pain, was instead stretching toward that smell like a cat seeking sunlight.

The betrayal of my own body made me furious. How dare my wolf react to this stranger when I was literally bleeding out a fake marriage?

"Where are you taking me?" I managed to ask through gritted teeth.

Beckett's jaw tightened. "Somewhere safe. Somewhere Rowan can't track you through the bond residue."

Twenty minutes later, he pulled off the main road onto a dirt track that led to what looked like an abandoned fire lookout tower. The structure rose maybe forty feet into the sky, a skeletal metal frame with a small cabin perched at the top. Moonlight filtered through the pine trees, casting everything in silver and shadow.

Beckett killed the engine and turned to face me. In the sudden silence, I could hear both of our breathing — his carefully controlled, mine ragged and uneven.

"I need to treat that wound," he said, his purple eyes reflecting the dashboard lights. "The false bond backlash will intensify over the next forty-eight hours. If we don't purify the contamination now, the black blood will enter your bloodstream and permanently seal your Moonborn abilities."

He reached behind his seat and pulled out what looked like a leather tool roll, the kind mechanics used for precision instruments. But when he unrolled it on the center console, I saw silver needles, dried herbs that seemed to glow faintly in the darkness, and a small vial filled with liquid that pulsed with its own inner light.

"Council standard anti-curse kit," he explained, noticing my stare. "I need to touch the mark directly. It's going to hurt. And your wolf is going to..." He stopped mid-sentence, his hands stilling on the leather case.

"Going to what?" My voice came out smaller than I intended.

His eyes met mine, and something shifted in the air between us. Heavier. More charged.

"React," he said finally. In the dim light, his pupils were dilated enough that I could barely see the purple irises.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The pain in my neck was becoming unbearable anyway — whatever he needed to do couldn't be worse than this.

Beckett moved slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to. His fingertips found the edge of Rowan's bite mark, and the moment his skin touched mine, my entire body arched off the seat.

It wasn't just pain — though the silver needle he was using to trace the wound's edges definitely hurt. It was electricity, pure and shocking, racing from his touch down my spine and spreading to every nerve ending I possessed. My wolf didn't just react.

She howled.

Not in pain. In recognition.

The sound that tore from my throat was barely human, a keening cry that seemed to echo in the small space of the truck cab. Beckett's hand stilled against my neck, his breathing suddenly harsh and uneven.

"Wren." My name on his lips sounded like a prayer and a curse combined.

The glowing liquid from the vial was warm as he applied it to the wound, and I felt the black blood flow slow, then stop entirely. But his hand lingered on my throat longer than necessary, his thumb tracing the line of my collarbone with the barest whisper of pressure.

When he finally pulled away, we were both breathing like we'd been running. Beckett retreated to the driver's seat so fast he nearly hit his head on the roof, then gripped the steering wheel with both hands. I could see his knuckles go white even in the darkness.

"What just happened?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "That wasn't a normal purification reaction."

"No." He still wasn't looking at me. "It wasn't."

"We need to discuss logistics. You can't go back to Silver Ridge tonight. Rowan will have activated the pack's loyalty protocols—"

"Beckett." Something in my tone made him stop talking. "What did your wolf just do?"

The silence stretched between us, filled only with our uneven breathing and the distant sound of crickets outside. Finally, he turned to face me, and what I saw in his eyes made my breath catch.

Fear. Genuine, bone-deep fear.

"It recognized you," he said, each word forced out like he was speaking against his will. "But that's impossible because I don't have a fated mate. Council Enforcers are surgically stripped of their bond receptors at initiation. I literally cannot bond."

His purple eyes held mine in the darkness. "So either the surgery failed. Or you're something that breaks the rules."

That's when my phone screen lit up.

I'd never turned off airplane mode. There should have been no way for any signal to reach me. But there it was — an AirDrop notification.

Someone within thirty feet was trying to send me a file.

The filename made my blood run cold: "WrenCalloway_BloodlineReport_CLASSIFIED.pdf"

Beckett and I looked at each other, then simultaneously turned to check the mirrors. The road behind us was empty, nothing but pine trees and shadows.

But my wolf could feel it — something watching us from the darkness. Something that didn't smell like any shifter I'd ever encountered.

Something that had been waiting for us to arrive.

The file wasn't a report. It was my mother's autopsy — the one my father told me never existed.

My fingers trembled against the tablet screen as the PDF loaded. I'd expected the cold, clinical format of Council documentation. Official seals, bureaucratic language, sanitized conclusions.

Instead, I was staring at photographs.

Detailed, horrifying photographs of my mother's body on a steel table. Elara Calloway, age twenty-six, cause of death listed as "postpartum complications" — the story I'd been told my entire life. She died bringing me into this world, a tragic but natural consequence of a difficult birth.

But the conclusion at the bottom of the report told a different story entirely.

"Cause of death: Moonborn power extraction, forcible. Extensive internal hemorrhaging consistent with magical energy drain. Subject expired during active ritual."

The words blurred as my vision went white around the edges. Someone had murdered my mother. Not during childbirth — during a ritual designed to steal her abilities.

I scrolled to the final page with numb fingers, past detailed anatomical drawings that made my stomach lurch, past toxicology reports showing traces of blood magic in her system. At the bottom was a signature line.

"Extraction Authorized By:"

One name. A name I recognized with sickening clarity.

Alpha Marcus Calloway. Silver Hollow Pack.

My father.

The tablet slipped from my hands as my body rebelled against the information. I shoved the truck door open and stumbled onto the dirt road, falling to my knees as my stomach emptied itself violently. Dry heaves wracked my body even after there was nothing left to expel.

Beckett's boots appeared in my peripheral vision, but he stopped three steps away. He didn't touch me, didn't offer empty comfort. He just stood there, his scent forming a warm barrier between me and the cold night air.

When I could finally breathe again, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up at him. "Who sent this file? And why now?"

His purple eyes were unreadable in the moonlight. "Someone who knows you're about to awaken. Someone who knows Rowan's real mission."

"Which is?"

"Think about it, Wren." Beckett's voice was carefully controlled, but I could hear the fury underneath. "Moonborn abilities don't just disappear when they're extracted. They have to go somewhere."

The pieces clicked together with horrifying clarity. "A container. An artifact."

"According to this report, your mother's power was transferred to something called a lunar focus stone. And the blood magic signature used to create it..." He gestured toward the tablet. "It matches the signature on Rowan's fake mating bite."

The Voss family. The same bloodline that had been exiled for practicing forbidden magic. The same family that Dominic belonged to.

"Rowan wasn't just sent to suppress me," I said, my voice eerily calm. "He was sent to extract me. Just like they extracted her."

Beckett nodded grimly. "The fake bond was Phase One. It kept your abilities dormant while they prepared. Phase Two is—"

"My twenty-fifth birthday." The words came out flat, emotionless. "They're going to drain me when I awaken. Just like they drained her."

I stood slowly, my legs shaky but functional. The rage building in my chest was clean and cold, burning away the last traces of nausea. For twenty-four years, I'd mourned a mother I thought had died in childbirth. I'd carried guilt for being the cause of her death.

Now I knew the truth. She'd been murdered. By my own father. To feed some twisted magical ritual.

Beckett was watching me carefully, like I might shatter or explode at any moment. "We need to get you somewhere safe. The Council has safe houses—"

"No." The word came out harder than I'd intended. "I'm going back to Silver Ridge."

His eyes widened. "Wren, that's suicide. If Rowan suspects—"

"If I run, they'll find another Moonborn in the next generation." I turned to face him fully, and something in my expression made him take a step back. "This ends with me."

"You're walking back into a cage with the man who—"

"Who what? Faked a bond with me? Served a master who killed my mother?" I felt that strange silver light flicker behind my eyes again, stronger this time. "I've been in that cage for three years, Beckett. The only difference is now I know where the lock is."

Beckett ran both hands through his dark hair, his careful composure finally cracking. "This is insane. You have no backup, no training—"

"I have two weeks before the fake bond completely collapses." I was surprised by how steady my voice sounded. "Two weeks where Rowan can still sense my emotions through the artificial connection. He needs to think I only discovered the affair, not the deeper conspiracy."

The plan was forming as I spoke, crystallizing with frightening clarity. "I go back. I play the heartbroken wife who wants to save her marriage. I make him believe his cover is intact."

"And then?"

"Then I find out exactly how they killed my mother. And I make sure they never do it to anyone else."

Beckett stared at me for a long moment, conflict warring across his features. Finally, he sighed. "If you're determined to do this, you'll need backup. I can enter Silver Ridge officially as a Council investigator. It'll give you a legitimate reason to have contact with me."

"Rowan will be suspicious."

"Let him be. Council investigations are routine after bond fraud reports. He'll have to cooperate or risk exposing himself." Beckett pulled out his phone. "But we need a way to communicate that he can't monitor through the fake bond."

He reached into his jacket and withdrew something small and silver — a coin about the size of a quarter, engraved with the Council's lunar crescent symbol.

"Bite it," he said, holding it out to me.

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Your wolf's saliva will activate the enchantment. It'll let us communicate through dreams. Rowan won't be able to detect it through the fake bond."

I took the coin, surprised by how warm it felt against my palm. The metal seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.

When my canine teeth pressed into the coin's edge, two things happened simultaneously.

The lunar crescent on its surface shifted and rearranged itself into a different symbol — one I recognized from old photographs in my mother's jewelry box. The Calloway family crest.

And Beckett made a sound that was barely human. A low, rumbling growl that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest. Not pain.

Possession.

The sound an Alpha made when his fated mate touched something that belonged to him.

His purple eyes met mine in the darkness, and the fear was back. But underneath it, burning like molten silver, was something that made my breath catch.

Hunger.