I should've known something was wrong when the chandeliers started swaying.

The Alpha Summit hall was packed—hundreds of wolves from a dozen territories, all dressed in their finest, all watching me. Me. Halle Snyder, former warrior prodigy, current Head Trainer of the Silver Moon Pack. Well, about to be official, anyway.

My wheelchair gleamed under the stage lights. I'd polished it myself this morning, wanting everything perfect. Jonah had kissed my forehead before we left our quarters, told me how proud he was. Seven years together, and he still made my heart flutter with those little gestures.

Stupid. So incredibly stupid.

"Thank you all for this honor," I began, my voice steady despite my nerves. The microphone picked up every word, broadcasting through the mind-link network that connected every wolf in the room. "When I lost my legs seven years ago, I thought my warrior days were—"

Then the world exploded.

Not literally. Worse.

The mind-link—that sacred connection between pack members—suddenly flooded with sensations that weren't mine. A woman's moan, breathy and desperate. The slick sound of skin on skin. And a scent, thick and unmistakable, that hit my nose like a physical blow.

Arousal. Sex. Raw and animalistic.

The assembly erupted in chaos. Wolves covered their ears as if that would help, but you can't block a mind-link. It's in your head, in your bones. Some of the younger wolves looked confused. The mated pairs looked horrified.

I knew that scent.

Vanilla and pine. Jonah's scent, but twisted with something floral I recognized from my training sessions.

Briana.

The visual flash came next—just a split second, but enough. Jonah's hands gripping familiar hips. Briana's dark hair spilling across silk sheets. The VIP suite. Our VIP suite.

Someone killed the mind-link connection. The sudden silence felt like a slap.

Every eye in that hall turned to me. Pity. Disgust. Schadenfreude. I saw it all in those faces, and something inside me cracked.

My hands shook on the wheelchair controls. I didn't remember leaving the stage, but suddenly I was moving through the crowd, and they parted like I carried a disease. Maybe I did. Maybe humiliation was contagious.

The pack house hallways blurred past. My chair's motor whined as I pushed it faster than I should've. I didn't care. I needed to see him. Needed him to explain, to tell me it was some kind of mistake, some horrible technical glitch that had nothing to do with—

I stopped outside the Alpha's quarters. Our quarters. The door was cracked open.

Voices drifted out.

"You said you loved me." Briana's voice, thick with tears. "You said—"

"I said what I needed to say." Jonah's voice was cold. Clinical. Nothing like the warm tone he used with me. "Don't be naive, Briana. You're a means to an end. Strong bloodline, decent genetics. You'll give me healthy pups."

"What about Halle?"

A pause. Then a laugh. Sharp and cruel.

"My crippled prize? Please. I've kept her around for seven years waiting for her wolf to resurface. That bloodline is too valuable to waste, even if she's broken. But I'm done waiting. Tonight, she'll finally serve her purpose, legs or no legs."

The world tilted.

Seven years. Seven years of his gentle touches, his patient smiles, his promises that we'd get through this together. Seven years of believing I was lucky he stayed, that he loved me despite everything I'd lost.

All lies.

I slammed my chair into the door. It flew open, crashing against the wall.

Jonah stood by the window, still adjusting his shirt. Briana sat on the bed, mascara streaking her face. They both froze.

"Halle." Jonah's expression shifted, but not to guilt. To annoyance. Like I was a child interrupting adult conversation. "You should be resting."

"Resting." The word tasted like ash. "I just heard you call me your crippled prize."

"You weren't supposed to hear that." He moved toward me, and I saw it then—the calculation in his eyes. The same look he got when planning battle strategies. "But since you did, let's be honest. You're weak, Halle. You can't satisfy me. You should be grateful I've given you a home, a purpose. How many packs would take in a wolfless cripple?"

Each word was a knife.

He reached past me and locked the door. The click echoed in the sudden silence.

"Tonight, you're going to do what you should've done years ago." His hand gripped my shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "You're going to give me an heir. Whether you want to or not."

Briana made a small sound. Jonah's eyes flicked to her, cold and dismissive.

"Leave."

She scrambled off the bed and fled, not meeting my gaze.

The door locked again behind her.

Jonah smiled down at me, and I finally saw the monster that had been hiding behind seven years of gentle lies.

The lockpick felt foreign in my fingers after seven years.

I'd found it wedged in the lining of my old warrior kit—the duffel bag Jonah had shoved in the back of our closet like it was something shameful. My hands shook as I worked the mechanism, listening to the shower run in the bathroom. Steam crept under the door. Jonah was singing. Actually singing, like he hadn't just told me he was going to force himself on me.

The lock clicked.

I didn't breathe until I was in the hallway. My chair's motor hummed too loud in the silence, but I couldn't stop. Couldn't think. Just had to move.

The pack house was empty—everyone still at the Summit, probably gossiping about the mind-link disaster. Good. I made it to the service elevator, then through the kitchen, out the back entrance. The night air hit my face, cool and sharp.

Freedom was fifty yards away. The pack border, marked by ancient stones that glowed faintly under the moon.

I was twenty yards out when Elder Marcus stepped from the shadows.

"Going somewhere, Miss Snyder?"

Miss. Not Luna. Never Luna.

"I'm leaving." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Jonah's been unfaithful. I have grounds—"

"Grounds?" Marcus's laugh was dry as old bones. He moved closer, and I saw the pity in his eyes. Pity mixed with something worse. Satisfaction. "You have no grounds for anything, girl. You were never marked."

The words hit like a physical blow.

"We've been together seven years—"

"Together, yes. Mated, no." He pulled a scroll from his coat. Pack law, written in the old script. "Without the Alpha's mark, you have no legal status. No claim to pack lands, no protection under pack law. You're not his Luna. You're not even officially his mate."

I stared at the scroll. At the words that might as well have been a death sentence.

"So I can just leave."

"Cross that border, and you'll be designated a rogue." Marcus's voice went cold. "Rogues are hunted, Miss Snyder. Killed on sight by any pack that finds them. Is that what you want? To die alone in the woods?"

My hands gripped the wheelchair arms. "Better than staying here."

"Is it?" He stepped closer. "You're wolfless. Crippled. How long do you think you'd last out there?"

I wanted to scream. To rage. To shift into my wolf and tear his throat out.

But I couldn't shift. Couldn't even stand.

Seven years of believing I had a place here. Seven years of thinking I mattered.

All lies.

"Go back to the Alpha's quarters," Marcus said. "Be grateful he's willing to keep you."

I turned my chair around. Not because I wanted to. Because I had no choice.

Jonah was waiting in the hallway when I returned, hair still damp from the shower. He smiled.

"There you are. I was worried."

I said nothing.

He didn't seem to notice.

***

The Moon Goddess Festival was the next night. Jonah insisted I attend.

"We need to show unity," he said, adjusting his ceremonial robes in the mirror. "Quell the rumors."

"I'm not going."

His hand shot out, gripping my chin. Not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to make his point. "You are. And you'll smile. Understand?"

I understood plenty.

The festival grounds were packed. Hundreds of wolves from allied packs, all dressed in white to honor the Moon Goddess. Lanterns floated overhead, casting everything in soft golden light. It should've been beautiful.

It felt like a funeral.

Jonah kept his hand on my shoulder as we moved through the crowd, his touch possessive. Claiming. People stared. Whispered. I caught fragments of conversation.

"—heard the mind-link—"

"—poor thing—"

"—should've left him—"

The opening ceremony began at midnight. We stood at the front, Jonah beside the other Alphas, me in my chair slightly behind. The High Priestess raised her arms, calling for the Moon Goddess's blessing.

"Join hands with your mates," she intoned. "Show your bonds before the Goddess."

Jonah reached for my hand.

I pulled away.

His jaw tightened. "Halle."

"No."

Something shifted in his eyes. Something dark and dangerous.

"I said," his voice dropped to that Alpha tone, the one that made wolves submit, "give me your hand."

I kept my hands in my lap.

The air changed. Pressure built around me, thick and suffocating. Jonah's Alpha Aura, unleashed in full force. It crashed over me like a wave, and I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

My wolf should've risen to meet it. Should've pushed back.

But I had no wolf.

The pressure increased. My chest compressed. Something in my arm snapped with a sound like a breaking branch, and pain exploded through me. I gasped, tried to scream, but no air would come.

Blood filled my mouth. Internal bleeding, some distant part of my brain recognized.

I was dying.

The last thing I saw before darkness took me was Jonah's face, twisted with rage, and the horrified expressions of the crowd.

Then nothing.

***

I woke to white walls and the smell of antiseptic. The Healer's ward. My arm was in a cast, and breathing hurt like hell.

Footsteps. Soft, hesitant.

Briana appeared in the doorway, her face pale and drawn.

"You shouldn't be here," I managed.

"I know." She moved closer, glancing over her shoulder. "But you need to see this."

She pulled a small leather book from her jacket. Set it on my lap.

"I found it in Jonah's desk. I was looking for—it doesn't matter. Just look."

I opened it with my good hand. Page after page of dates, dosages, notes written in Jonah's precise handwriting.

Wolfsbane Type-B. 2.5mg daily. Subject: H.S.

My medicine. The pills he'd given me every morning for seven years, telling me they'd help with the pain.

More entries. Increased dosage. Wolf remains dormant. Muscle atrophy progressing as expected.

As expected.

The room spun.

"He poisoned you," Briana whispered. "The attack didn't take your wolf. He did."

I stared at the logbook, at seven years of calculated cruelty written in neat columns.

And something inside me finally broke free.

The logbook was still in my lap when the door slammed open.

Beta Derek strode in with two enforcers flanking him, their faces blank masks. Briana went rigid beside me.

"Miss Snyder." Derek's voice was all business. "We need to have a conversation."

"About what?" My fingers tightened on the leather book.

He didn't answer. Just nodded to one of the enforcers, who moved to my wheelchair. His hands went to the storage pouch on the back—the one I never used because I couldn't reach it.

He pulled out a burner phone.

My stomach dropped.

"Well, well." Derek held it up like a trophy. "Care to explain this?"

"That's not mine."

"No?" He tapped the screen. Messages scrolled past, too fast to read, but I caught fragments. Pack patrol schedules. Guard rotations. Territory maps. "These texts to known rogues say otherwise."

"I've never seen that phone before in my life."

"Treason is a serious charge, Miss Snyder." Derek's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Alpha's orders. You're to be moved to the dungeon for interrogation."

Interrogation. The word hung in the air like a death sentence.

Briana stepped forward. "This is insane. She's been in this bed for two days. How could she—"

"You should leave, Miss Cook." Derek's tone went cold. "Unless you'd like to join her."

Briana's face went white. She looked at me, then at Derek, then fled.

The enforcers moved toward my bed.

Then the temperature in the room dropped.

Not literally. But something shifted in the air, thick and electric, raising every hair on my arms. The enforcers froze mid-step. Derek's hand went to his throat like he couldn't breathe.

The door opened again.

A man stepped through. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes that looked almost silver in the fluorescent light. He wore simple clothes—jeans, a black shirt—but he moved like violence contained in human form.

Power rolled off him in waves.

"Alpha Lawrence." Derek's voice came out strangled. "This is Blood River territory. You have no—"

"Lycan Jurisdiction." The man's voice was quiet. Calm. Absolutely terrifying. "I'm invoking it."

Derek's face went from red to white. "You can't—"

"I can. And I am." Malcolm Lawrence—because that's who this had to be—moved between me and the enforcers. His aura expanded, pressing against them like a physical force. "When an Alpha is compromised by crimes against the Moon Goddess, a High Alpha may take custody of any suspect to ensure fair trial. Ancient law. Still binding."

"Jonah isn't compromised—"

"He nearly killed his own mate in front of witnesses." Malcolm's eyes flicked to my cast, my bruised face. "He's been poisoning her for seven years. And now he's framing her for treason to silence her." He held up his phone. The screen showed a photo of the logbook. "I have evidence. Do you really want to test me on this?"

The enforcers backed toward the door.

Derek stood his ground, but barely. "The Alpha will—"

"The Alpha will answer to the Lycan Council." Malcolm's voice dropped lower. "Get out of my way."

Derek moved.

Malcolm turned to me. His aura softened, the pressure easing until I could breathe again. "Can you travel?"

I nodded. Didn't trust my voice.

He lifted me from the bed like I weighed nothing. The logbook fell to the floor. One of the enforcers—the younger one—picked it up and handed it to Malcolm with shaking hands.

"Thank you." Malcolm's tone gentled. "Tell your Alpha I'll be filing formal charges by dawn."

Then he carried me out of the Healer's ward, out of the pack house, into the night.

***

The pain started an hour into the drive.

Not the broken arm. Not the bruised ribs. Something deeper. Something that felt like my bones were trying to tear themselves apart from the inside.

I bit back a scream.

"Almost there." Malcolm's voice came from the driver's seat. Steady. Calm. "Elena's waiting."

Elena. The Healer. She'd left with us, sitting in the back seat with medical supplies and a grim expression.

"It's the wolfsbane," she said quietly. "Her body's starting to purge it. It's going to get worse before it gets better."

Worse.

The Dark Forest territory was nothing like Blood River. No grand pack house, no manicured lawns. Just trees and darkness and a sprawling lodge that looked like it had grown from the forest itself.

Malcolm carried me inside. Up stairs. Into a room with soft lighting and a bed that smelled like pine and something else. Something that made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with broken ribs.

Elena started an IV. "This will help with the pain. A little."

It didn't.

The seizures started that night. My body convulsing, muscles locking, teeth chattering so hard I tasted blood. Elena held me down. Malcolm's hand found mine in the darkness.

"I'm here," he said. "You're safe."

Safe.

I didn't know what that word meant anymore.

The hallucinations came next. Jonah's face, twisted with rage. Luna's voice, calling my name. Shadows that moved like wolves, circling my bed with hungry eyes.

"Not real," Malcolm's voice cut through the nightmare. "Halle, look at me. Not real."

I tried. Failed. The shadows had teeth.

Then his aura wrapped around me. Not crushing like Jonah's. Gentle. Anchoring. Like a hand reaching through dark water, pulling me toward light.

I grabbed onto it and held on.

Three days. Elena said later it was three days, but it felt like years. Three days of my body trying to kill itself, purging seven years of poison one agonizing hour at a time.

Malcolm never left.

I felt him there, even when I couldn't see him. His presence, steady and unshakable, keeping me tethered to reality when everything else dissolved into pain and madness.

On the third night, something shifted.

The pain didn't stop. But underneath it, I felt something else. Something stirring in the hollow place where my wolf should've been.

A heartbeat that wasn't mine.

A breath that came from somewhere deeper than lungs.

And a voice, faint as a whisper, that I hadn't heard in seven years.

*I'm still here.*