The morning light filtered through the cabin windows as I carefully checked the moonflower elixir for the hundredth time. The luminescent blue liquid caught the sunlight, casting ethereal patterns across my palm. Four days had passed since my journey to the trading post, and Emma's condition had stabilized enough for her to rest comfortably, though her fever still burned beneath her skin.

"Is that my medicine, Mommy?" Emma's voice was weak but hopeful as she watched me from her bed, her chestnut curls splayed across the pillow.

"Yes, baby." I smiled, carefully returning the vial to its protective case. "Tomorrow night when the moon rises, you'll take this and your wolf will be free."

Emma's eyes flickered between hazel and amber. "Will she have a name? My wolf?"

"She already does," I assured her, stroking her forehead. "You'll hear it when she can finally speak to you."

My daughter smiled, the simple gesture sending warmth through my chest. I had sacrificed my grandmother's journals—my family's legacy—but seeing that smile, I knew I would have given far more.

A sharp knock at the door startled us both.

"Stay here," I whispered, tucking the blanket around Emma before hiding the elixir in the locked cabinet where I kept my most precious healing supplies.

When I opened the door, Sophia stood on my porch, her perfect features twisted in anguish. Blood-tinged tears streaked down her face, smearing her mascara in dramatic rivulets.

"Luna," she gasped, clutching at my arm with desperate fingers. "Please help me. It's Jason—he's dying."

I stepped back, instinctively pulling away from her touch. "What's wrong with him?"

"Wolf-fever," she sobbed, her body trembling. "Elara confirmed it this morning. He can't shift, and the full moon is tomorrow. Please, I know you have the elixir."

My blood ran cold. I had never trusted Sophia, not since Derek began spending his evenings at her cabin under the guise of "family duty." But a child's life—even hers—wasn't something I could dismiss.

"Sophia," I said carefully, "there's barely enough for one child. Emma needs the full dose tomorrow at moonrise."

Something flashed in her eyes—a calculation that didn't match her tears. "We could split it. Half for each child."

"That's not how it works," I explained, keeping my voice steady despite the alarm bells ringing in my head. "Elara was clear—anything less than a full dose is ineffective. Emma's been suffering for days."

Sophia's face transformed, the mask of maternal desperation slipping to reveal raw fury. "My son is the Alpha's grandson," she hissed. "The only male descendant of the Mitchell bloodline. Emma is just a girl."

Before I could respond, she lunged forward, her manicured nails raking across my arms as she tried to push past me into the cabin. "Where is it? I know you have it!"

"Sophia, stop!" I shouted, blocking her path to protect both Emma and the elixir. "This is madness!"

We grappled in the doorway, her desperation giving her unnatural strength. I could hear Emma crying from her bedroom, calling for me.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the porch made me turn, hope flaring briefly—Derek was home. My mate would stop this, would protect us.

But when our eyes met, I saw nothing of the man I had loved for seven years. His gaze was cold, distant, fixed on Sophia with an intensity that made my stomach drop.

"Derek," I gasped, still struggling against Sophia's grip. "Help me!"

His nostrils flared as he inhaled Sophia's scent, his pupils dilating. When he spoke, his voice carried the unmistakable resonance of an Alpha tone—a power he shouldn't possess as a Delta warrior.

"Where is the elixir, Luna?" The command vibrated through my bones, making my knees weak.

"Derek, what are you doing?" I whispered, disbelief paralyzing me. "It's for Emma. Your daughter."

His face hardened. "The elixir, Luna. Now."

When I didn't move, couldn't move, he grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall. My head cracked against the wooden surface, stars exploding behind my eyes.

"The cabinet," I heard Sophia say. "Check her healing cabinet."

The world tilted and darkened around me as Derek released me, letting me crumple to the floor. Through blurring vision, I watched him break the lock on my cabinet with one powerful twist. The last thing I saw before consciousness slipped away was Sophia's triumphant smile as she clutched the vial of glowing blue liquid to her chest.

And Derek—my mate, my daughter's father—helping her flee with our child's only hope of survival.

Pain was my first sensation. A deep, throbbing ache that radiated from my ribs with each shallow breath. The second was the antiseptic smell of the pack's healing den—herbs, tinctures, and the lingering scent of illness. My eyes felt weighted, but I forced them open, blinking against the harsh light filtering through white curtains.

Memory crashed into me like a physical blow.

Derek. Sophia. The elixir.

Emma.

"Emma!" I tried to scream, but my voice emerged as a broken rasp. My hand flew to my throat, feeling the tender bruises where Derek's fingers had crushed against my windpipe.

I struggled to sit up, ignoring the stabbing pain in my side. Three days. I had been unconscious for three days based on the moon calendar beside my bed. The full moon had risen last night.

Panic seized me as I reached for our bond, the special connection between mother and daughter.

*Emma, baby, answer Mommy. Please.*

Silence. A chilling, absolute silence where my daughter's bright presence should have been.

"Luna, you shouldn't be moving." Marcus Vance, our pack Beta, stood in the doorway, his normally confident posture slumped with exhaustion. His eyes wouldn't meet mine.

"Where is she?" I demanded, my damaged voice barely above a whisper. "Where's Emma?"

Marcus crossed the room slowly, each step heavy with reluctance. When he finally looked at me, the grief in his eyes told me everything before his words confirmed my worst nightmare.

"I'm so sorry, Luna. Emma...she couldn't shift when the moon rose. Without the elixir..." His voice broke. "We tried everything. She passed last night."

Something feral and wounded clawed its way up from my chest—a sound I didn't recognize as human. My wolf howled in anguish, surging forward with such force that I felt my bones begin to crack, my skin ripple with the beginning of an uncontrolled shift.

"Luna, control your wolf!" Marcus commanded, gripping my shoulders. "If you go feral now, you'll never get to say goodbye."

Goodbye. The word penetrated my grief enough to halt the shift. Emma deserved a proper farewell ceremony. I needed to prepare her body according to our traditions, to whisper the ancient words that would guide her spirit to the Moon Goddess.

"Take me to her," I managed, forcing my wolf back with every ounce of willpower I possessed. "Now."

Marcus hesitated, then nodded, helping me to my feet. Each step sent daggers of pain through my broken ribs, but I welcomed it—physical pain was a merciful distraction from the hollow agony in my chest.

The walk to our sacred grounds felt endless. My legs trembled beneath me, weak from days of unconsciousness. The pack members we passed lowered their eyes, some murmuring condolences that washed over me like meaningless noise.

As we approached the ceremonial clearing where our dead were honored, I noticed something wrong. The farewell ritual for a child took three days of preparation—three days I had been unconscious. Yet the air already carried the scent of burned sage and cedar, the traditional herbs used in the final moments of the ceremony.

"Marcus?" I questioned, my steps faltering.

His grip on my arm tightened. "Luna, there's something you should know—"

But I had already seen it. In the center of the clearing stood the ceremonial urn, its lid removed. Inside were ashes—my daughter's ashes—already scattered across the sacred soil.

"No," I whispered, breaking free from Marcus's support and stumbling forward. "No, no, no!"

I fell to my knees beside the empty urn, my fingers trembling as they reached for the scattered remains. The ceremony had been completed without me. I hadn't been allowed to wash her small body with sacred oils, to dress her in ceremonial robes, to whisper my final words of love as her spirit departed.

Something caught my eye among the ashes—a small, half-finished wooden carving. Emma's wolf. The project she had been working on for weeks, guided by the old Omega who taught her to whittle. I picked it up with shaking hands, running my fingers over the rough edges where she had planned to carve the tail, the details she would never complete.

"Who did this?" My voice was deadly quiet, my grief crystallizing into something hard and cold. "Who performed the ceremony without me?"

"Derek," Marcus answered, his tone carefully neutral. "He had your consent mark."

I looked up sharply. "My what?"

"Your mate mark. He showed it to the Alpha as proof you had given permission for him to conduct the ceremony in your absence."

A forgery. A desecration. My daughter's body burned without her mother's goodbye.

I clutched the wooden wolf to my chest, feeling something within me shatter and reform—not into grief, but into something far more dangerous.

Vengeance.