The hospital room felt like a cage. Every beep of the heart monitor was a reminder of the heart that wasn’t beating inside me anymore. Roland had left an hour ago, citing "Alpha business," but his internal monologue had been screaming about damage control with the elders.

I lay still, staring at the sterile white ceiling, testing the limits of my new curse. It was like tuning a radio. If I concentrated hard enough, I could push past the static of the hospital staff’s mundane thoughts—*lunch breaks, tired feet, annoying patients*—and find specific frequencies.

I focused on Dr. Elena Carter. She was down the hall in her office. I could hear the scratch of a pen on paper, and then the heavy thud of a door closing.

"Is it done?" The voice was unmistakable. Sweet, like poisoned honey. Lola.

"Keep your voice down," Dr. Carter hissed.

I closed my eyes, visualizing the room, pushing my hearing through the walls.

"Don't tell me to hush," Lola snapped. "Roland said you took care of the... complication while she was under. Did the procedure hold?"

There was a pause, heavy with hesitation.

*God, forgive me,* Dr. Carter’s wolf whimpered in my mind, a sound of pure guilt. Aloud, she said, "Yes. While I was repairing the internal trauma from the rogue attack, I performed the tubal ligation as requested. I severed the fallopian tubes. She won’t conceive again."

My breath hitched in my throat. The air in the room suddenly felt too thin.

"Good," Lola purred. "Her body was useless anyway. Always dropping litters before they could take a breath. It’s a mercy, really. Now Roland won't be distracted by her weeping over another dead thing."

*He just stood there,* Dr. Carter’s mind raced. *The Alpha stood right there and nodded while I sterilized his mate. He didn't even look at her face.*

I gripped the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white. It wasn't the attack. It wasn't my "weak wolf." They had cut me open while I was helpless and stolen my future. Roland had let them. He had watched them carve out my ability to be a mother just to keep Lola happy.

A tear slid down my temple, hot and angry. I didn't wipe it away. I let it burn.

***

Two days later, I demanded to be discharged. Roland tried to fuss over me, his hands hovering nervously as I dressed, but I flinched every time he got too close. He smelled like lies and mint.

"Scarlet, baby, you should rest at home," he said, his eyes full of that practiced concern. "The cemetery... it's going to be too hard on you."

"I need to see him," I said, my voice raspy but firm. "I need to see where you put our son."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair—a gesture I used to find endearing. Now, I just saw a coward. *She’s going to make a scene,* his wolf grumbled. *Just get it over with so we can go back to the pack house and pretend everything is fine.*

We drove in silence. The pack cemetery was a somber place, rows of grey stones under the weeping willows. The Alpha and Luna plot was set apart, surrounded by an iron fence.

Roland led me to a small patch of disturbed earth. There was no stone yet, just a small wooden marker.

"Here," he whispered, squeezing my shoulder. "He's with the ancestors now."

I dropped to my knees in the dirt. The soil was fresh, dark and damp. I placed my hand on the mound, expecting to feel that pull, that spiritual connection a mother has to her child, even in death.

Nothing.

I frowned. My senses were heightened now, sharper than any normal wolf's. I leaned closer, inhaling deeply. I should smell my own blood, the scent of my pup, the lingering tragedy.

Instead, I smelled... lavender?

It was faint, masked by the damp earth, but it was there. Artificial lavender. Dog shampoo.

A gardener was working a few rows over, trimming the hedges. I tuned into him, desperate for an answer.

*Sad business,* the gardener thought, glancing my way. *Making the Luna cry over a patch of dirt. Shame they made me bury Lola’s dead poodle in the royal plot. That little yappy thing died of old age three days ago. Where did they put the baby? Probably the incinerator...*

The scream that ripped out of me wasn't human. It was a guttural, animalistic roar of pure agony.

"Scarlet!" Roland tried to grab me. "Scarlet, calm down!"

I shoved him away, scrambling backward in the dirt. My hands were covered in mud, the same mud covering a dead dog they told me was my son.

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked. "Don't you dare touch me!"

*She's lost it,* Roland’s wolf snarled internally. *Great. Now everyone is staring.*

I looked at him, really looked at him. The handsome face I had adored for five years was just a mask. Behind it was a monster who would let me mourn a dog while my baby was burned like trash.

***

That night, the bedroom felt suffocating. Roland came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, water dripping down his chest. He looked at me with a softness that made my stomach churn.

"Scar, come here," he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached for my hand. "I know today was hard. Let me help you forget. Let me comfort you."

He leaned in, his lips brushing my neck, right over the mating mark. His hand slid up my thigh.

Revulsion crashed over me like a wave. I gagged, violently slapping his hand away.

"I... I'm sick," I gasped, scrambling off the bed. "My stomach..."

"Scarlet?" He looked offended, his ego bruised.

I didn't wait. I ran into the bathroom and locked the door, sliding down against the cold tiles. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I couldn't stay here. If I stayed, I would kill him, or I would die.

My trembling hands went to the pocket of my robe. I pulled out a small, rough wooden carving. A wolf.

Matthias.

I hadn't seen the Lycan King in years. Not since he found me starving in the rogue lands, a terrified girl with no name. He had protected me. He had looked at me with a fierce, quiet respect that Roland never had.

I didn't know if this would work. I didn't know if he would even care. But I had no one else.

I closed my eyes, gripping the wood so tight the sharp edges bit into my palm. I poured everything into the mental link—the pain of the empty grave, the horror of the sterilization, the betrayal of the mate bond. I didn't form words. I just screamed with my soul.

*Matthias... help me.*

I waited in the silence of the bathroom, clutching the wooden wolf to my chest, praying that somewhere in the dark, a king was listening.

The arrival of the Lycan King wasn’t announced with trumpets or fanfare. It was announced by the silence.

Two days after I screamed for help in the bathroom, clutching that wooden wolf until my palm bled, the forest went quiet. The birds stopped singing. The wind died down. It was as if nature itself was holding its breath, bowing to something far more ancient than an Alpha.

Roland was pacing in the foyer, adjusting his tie for the tenth time. "Why now?" he muttered, his anxiety rolling off him in waves of sour scent. "The Lycan King hasn't visited a pack in decades. Why the Blood River Pack? Why today?"

*If he finds out about the rogue deal... if he sees how weak the pack finances are... I'm ruined,* Roland’s wolf whined in my head. *Smile. Look strong. Don't let him smell the fear.*

I stood by the stairs, my hands clasped in front of me to hide their trembling. I wore a high-necked dress to cover the fading bruises on my neck, though nothing could cover the hollowness in my chest.

Then, the heavy oak doors swung open.

Matthias Graham filled the doorway. He was bigger than I remembered—broader, more imposing. His aura wasn't just power; it was gravity. He wore a simple black suit that looked like it cost more than our entire pack house, but his eyes... his eyes were the same wild amber I remembered from the rogue lands.

Roland stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Your Majesty. We are honored—"

Matthias didn't even look at him. His gaze swept the room, ignoring the bowing Deltas and the trembling Gammas, until it landed on me.

For a second, the air left the room.

*I heard you, Little Red,* his voice echoed in my mind. It wasn't like the intrusive, scratching noise of other wolves. It was deep, resonant, and shielded. *I'm here.*

I almost collapsed. It took every ounce of my willpower to offer a shaky curtsy instead of running into his arms. "Welcome, Your Majesty."

"Alpha Roland," Matthias finally said, his voice smooth and cold as polished stone. "I'm here to inspect the alliances. There have been... disturbing rumors about rogue activity in this sector."

Roland paled. *Does he know? No, he can't know. Lola covered the tracks.* "Of course, Your Majesty. We have nothing to hide."

"Good," Matthias said. "Then your Luna can give me the tour. I prefer the perspective of someone less... politically motivated."

Roland hesitated, his jealousy flaring hot and ugly in his mind, but he couldn't refuse a King. "As you wish."

***

We walked the perimeter of the territory, the guards keeping a respectful—and fearful—distance. The moment we were out of earshot, the mask dropped.

"Scarlet," Matthias breathed, stopping near the old riverbank. He reached out, his large hand hovering near my face but not touching, as if I were made of glass. "You look..."

"Broken?" I whispered.

"Angry," he corrected. "And alive."

I told him everything. I didn't cry. I didn't have any tears left. I told him about the attack, the sterilization, the dead poodle in my son's grave. I told him about the voices I could hear.

Matthias listened, his jaw tightening until a muscle feathered in his cheek. The air around him grew heavy, charged with static electricity. A low growl vibrated in his chest, a sound so primal it made the nearby squirrels scatter.

"I will kill him," Matthias said softly. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise. "I will tear his throat out in front of his pack."

"No," I said, surprising myself. "Not yet. If you kill him now, the Council will investigate. Lola will play the victim. My parents will back her. They'll say I went mad with grief and you acted on false information."

Matthias looked at me, his amber eyes softening. "Then what do you want, Little Red?"

"I want to burn it all down," I said. "But I want them to strike the match."

He nodded slowly. "Your ability... the Truth Ear. It’s a Lycan Queen trait. You can do more than just listen, Scarlet. You can record."

He taught me right there by the river. How to focus my mind not just on hearing the thoughts, but on grabbing them, like catching a moth in a jar. How to imprint the mental signature so it could be played back later.

"Tonight," I said, looking back toward the pack house. "They're all coming for dinner. My parents. Lola. Roland. They think they've won."

Matthias offered me his arm. "Then let's go ruin their appetite."

***

The dining room was suffocating with the scent of roast beef and hypocrisy. My parents, Alpha Marcus and Luna Diana, sat across from us. They had barely looked at me since they arrived, their attention entirely focused on Lola.

Lola was glowing. She sat next to Roland, her hand casually brushing his arm every time she laughed. She looked the picture of health—health stolen from my unborn child.

"It's such a tragedy," my mother sighed, dabbing at her dry eyes. "Poor Scarlet has always been so... fragile. We told Roland, didn't we, Marcus? That perhaps her rogue upbringing made her unfit for bearing Alpha pups."

"Indeed," my father grunted, cutting his meat. "But we are just grateful Lola is recovering so well. She's the heart of this family."

I sat there, gripping my fork, letting the metal dig into my skin to ground me. Matthias sat beside me, a silent, brooding mountain. He wasn't eating. He was watching them like a predator watches prey.

I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind.

I pushed past my mother's shallow anxiety about her dress. I pushed past my father's calculations about the Lycan King's favor. I zeroed in on Lola.

*Look at her,* Lola’s wolf sneered in my head. *Sitting there in that ugly grey dress. She looks like a corpse. Good. Roland finally realizes who the real Luna should be. I just need Damien to stop calling me for the rest of the payment. If he threatens to expose the ambush again, I’ll have to have Roland kill him too.*

Got you.

I mentally grabbed the thought, visualizing it locking into a box in my mind. The strain made a sharp pain shoot through my temple, but I held on.

"Is something wrong, Scarlet?" Lola asked sweetly, tilting her head. "You look pale. Maybe you should go lie down? We wouldn't want you to faint in front of the King."

Roland looked at me, his eyes pleading. *Don't embarrass me, Scarlet. Just go upstairs.*

I took a slow sip of wine. The liquid was red, dark as blood.

"I'm fine, sister," I said, my voice steady. I felt Matthias's leg brush against mine under the table, a solid line of support. "I was just thinking about how lucky we are. To have such a loving family. Such... loyal protectors."

I looked directly at Roland. He flinched.

"Yes," Matthias spoke for the first time, his voice vibrating through the table. "Loyalty is a rare commodity these days. I find that those who speak of it most often have the least of it."

The room went deadly silent. Lola’s smile faltered.

*What does he know?* her mind shrieked. *Why is he looking at me like that?*

I smiled, raising my glass. "To family," I said.

"To family," they echoed, oblivious to the blade hanging over their necks.

I took a drink, savoring the metallic tang. The recording was locked in my mind. The first brick of their destruction was laid. And for the first time in months, I wasn't just surviving. I was hunting.