Dust motes danced in the sliver of sunlight cutting through the heavy velvet curtains of the pack archives. I sneezed, the sound echoing in the silence. As the Omega of the Silver Moon Pack, this was my domain—the dusty corners, the forgotten histories, the places no one else wanted to be.

"Just another day, Zoey," I whispered to myself, reaching for a heavy, leather-bound tome on the top shelf. "Keep your head down, do your work."

But today wasn't just another day. My hand slipped. The sharp metal clasp of the book sliced across my thumb. I hissed, pulling my hand back, expecting the familiar sting and the welling of crimson red. Instead, as I pressed my thumb against the parchment of an open scroll to stop the bleeding, a strange warmth bloomed in my chest.

I pulled my hand away. The blood wasn't red. It was gold. Liquid sunlight, shimmering and viscous, soaking into the ancient paper.

The scroll beneath my hand didn't just stain; it reacted. The faded ink flared to life, the symbols rearranging themselves. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I couldn't read the ancient tongue, but my wolf—usually so quiet, so beaten down—stirred. She howled, a sound of pure, unadulterated power that only I could hear.

*Golden Wolf,* she whispered. *Royal.*

I stared at my thumb. The cut was already healing, leaving not a scar, but a faint, glittering line. The legends were true. The Golden Wolf bloodline wasn't extinct. It was me. I wasn't just a weak Omega. I was… valuable. Powerful. Maybe even worthy.

For the first time in twelve years, a spark of hope ignited in my chest. Maybe Evan would finally see me. Maybe Milo would look at me with pride instead of that teenage sneer he learned from his father.

"Zoey Hawkins!"

The sharp voice of the Head Healer made me jump. I quickly shoved the scroll back into the pile, hiding my glowing thumb in my apron pocket.

"Here," I squeaked, my voice betraying my nerves.

Healer Thomas stood in the doorway, his face grim. He held a clipboard against his chest like a shield. "The results from the mandatory pack-wide health screening are in. Come with me."

The walk to the infirmary was a blur. My mind was still racing with images of gold blood and royal scrolls. But when I sat on the cold examination table, the look on Thomas's face extinguished my excitement like a bucket of ice water.

"I'm sorry, Zoey," he said, his voice devoid of its usual professional detachment. "The tests show high levels of spiritual decay. It’s Wolfsbane Blight."

The room spun. Wolfsbane Blight. It was a death sentence. A rotting of the soul that consumed the wolf first, then the human. It was painful, slow, and incurable without expensive elixirs that the pack reserved for high-ranking warriors.

"Are… are you sure?" I whispered.

"The markers are clear," he said, handing me the paper. "Your wolf is dying."

The hope that had bloomed minutes ago withered into ash. The Golden Wolf bloodline meant nothing if I was rotting from the inside out. Fate was a cruel mistress. She gave me a crown, then handed me a grave.

I numbly took the paper and walked out. I had to tell Evan. He was my mate. Even if he treated me like a servant, even if he spent his nights with Willa, we were bonded. Surely, the impending death of his mate would matter. Surely, he would want to save me.

I walked toward the Alpha's office, my feet heavy. The pack house was bustling, warriors laughing, pups playing. They all looked so alive. I felt like a ghost walking among them.

I reached the heavy oak door of Evan's office. My hand raised to knock, but voices from inside froze me in place.

"…the report just came in, Dad," Milo’s voice. My son. He sounded excited.

"Wolfsbane Blight," Evan’s deep baritone replied. There was no sadness in it. Only a cold, calculating amusement. "Well, isn't that convenient."

I pressed my ear against the wood, my breath hitching.

"Does this mean we have to use the Reserve Elixirs?" Milo asked. "Willa needs those for her training recovery."

"Don't be stupid, son," Evan scoffed. "We aren't wasting top-tier medicine on an Omega. Especially not her."

A sharp pain, worse than the blight, pierced my chest.

"So… we just let her die?" Milo asked. There was a pause, and for a second, I hoped my son was hesitating.

"Think about it, Milo," Evan said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that my heightened hearing caught with devastating clarity. "When she’s gone, the bond breaks naturally. No messy rejection ceremony. No pack politics. I can finally mark Willa. She’ll be the Luna this pack deserves. A warrior. Someone strong."

"Yeah," Milo laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. "Mom is… embarrassing. The guys at school, they ask why the Alpha’s mate is scrubbing floors. Willa is cool. She can actually fight."

"Exactly," Evan said. "We keep the diagnosis quiet. Let nature take its course. It’ll be a mercy, really. Putting a weak animal out of its misery."

Tears hot and fast streamed down my face, but I made no sound. The paper in my hand crumpled as I clenched my fist. The golden scab on my thumb throbbed.

They didn't just want me gone. They were waiting for me to die. My mate wanted to replace me. My son wanted a 'cool' mother.

I stood there, the hallway stretching out like a tunnel. I was dying, and the only people who were supposed to love me were planning my funeral with a smile. The spark of hope regarding my lineage didn't return, but something else did. A cold, hard resolve replaced the heartbreak.

If they wanted me dead, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of watching me rot.

The walk back to the servants' quarters felt like a funeral march. My legs moved on autopilot, carrying me away from the Alpha’s office where the voices of my mate and son still echoed in my mind. *Let nature take its course. Putting a weak animal out of its misery.* Their words were sharper than any blade, slicing through the fragile hope the golden blood had given me just moments before.

I reached my room—a glorified closet near the kitchens that smelled perpetually of onions and damp wool. My hands shook as I pulled my battered duffel bag from under the cot. I didn't own much. A few threadbare shirts, a pair of worn jeans, and the small wooden box containing my grandmother’s amulet.

Tears blurred my vision as I shoved my clothes into the bag. I was dying. They wanted me dead. There was no point in fighting for a place that viewed me as an expiration date.

*Zoey? Zoey Hawkins?*

The voice in my head was frantic, breathless. I froze, my hand clutching a sock. It was Healer Thomas.

*I’m here,* I replied, my mental voice trembling. *I’m packing. I won’t be a burden much longer.*

*Stop!* Thomas shouted across the link, the force of it making me wince. *Listen to me carefully. Do not leave yet. I made a mistake. A terrible, unforgivable mistake.*

I sank onto the thin mattress. *What mistake? The test was clear. I saw the markers.*

*The samples,* he rushed out. *The vials were mislabeled during the transition from the Alpha’s routine physical. I just ran the secondary spectral analysis because the spiritual decay didn't match your aura signature. Zoey... the blood with the blight isn't yours.*

The world tilted on its axis. *What?*

*It’s Alpha Evan’s,* Thomas whispered, his mental tone laced with terror. *The Wolfsbane Blight is consuming him, not you. His wolf is rotting from the inside out. In fact... looking at your true sample... your levels are off the charts. It’s like your blood is pure vitality. Zoey, whatever you have in your veins has been acting as a filter for him through the mate bond. You’ve been keeping him alive.*

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I stared at the peeling grey paint on my wall.

Evan was the one dying.

My mate, who had just laughed about burying me, was the one standing on the precipice of death. And my presence, my submission, my *golden blood* was the only thing tethering his rotting soul to this earth.

*Does he know?* I asked, my voice cold.

*No,* Thomas replied. *I haven't told him yet. I came to you first. What should I do?*

A dark, unfamiliar emotion uncoiled in my chest. It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't love. It was power. If Evan knew he was dying, he would drain me dry. He would use the Alpha command to force me to heal him, to pour every drop of my golden life force into his decaying spirit until I was a husk. He would consume me to save himself, and then he would discard my empty shell for Willa.

*Don't tell him,* I commanded. The authority in my voice surprised even me. *Not yet. Let me handle this.*

*But Zoey—*

*Thomas,* I cut him off. *He wants me dead. If he finds out I'm his cure, I will be nothing but a blood bag to him. Do not tell him.*

Thomas hesitated, then sighed. *As you wish, Luna.*

Luna. He had never called me that before.

I closed the link and stood up. The tears were gone, dried by the heat of a sudden, fierce anger. I wasn't the victim anymore. I held the keys to the kingdom, and I was taking them with me.

I grabbed the scroll I had stolen from the archives—the one that had reacted to my blood—and tucked it deep into my bag. Then I reached for the wooden box. Inside lay a simple silver chain holding a crescent moon pendant carved from moonstone. My grandmother had given it to me, whispering that it was a beacon for the lost. It was the only beautiful thing I owned.

I clasped it around my neck, feeling its cool weight against my skin. I zipped the bag. I was leaving. Tonight. Let Evan rot. Let his precious Willa try to save him with her warrior skills.

I threw the strap over my shoulder and opened the door, ready to slip into the shadows. Instead, I ran straight into a wall of muscle.

Gamma Jaxson stood there, arms crossed, a sneer plastered on his face. And beside him, leaning against the doorframe with predatory grace, was Willa.

"Going somewhere, rat?" Willa asked, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. She looked immaculate in her leather training gear, her blonde ponytail swinging as she stepped closer.

"Let me pass," I said, keeping my head down, clutching the strap of my bag.

"I don't think so," Jaxson grunted, blocking my path.

"We heard you were lurking near the Alpha's office earlier," Willa said, her eyes narrowing. "Spying on your betters? Trying to garner sympathy with your pathetic little existence?"

"I was just working," I lied, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Liar." Willa reached out lightning-fast and snatched the bag from my shoulder.

"No!" I gasped, reaching for it, but Jaxson shoved me back. I stumbled, hitting the wall hard.

Willa unzipped the bag, upending it. My meager belongings spilled onto the dirty hallway floor. The worn shirts, the socks, the scroll—thankfully rolled tight and looking like trash—scattered everywhere.

"Look at this garbage," she laughed, kicking a t-shirt aside. Then her eyes caught the glint of silver at my throat. "And what is this?"

Before I could react, she lunged. Her fingers tangled in the chain, and she yanked.

"Don't!" I screamed, grabbing her wrist. "Please, it's my grandmother's!"

"Get your filth off me!" Willa snarled, backhanding me across the face.

The sting was sharp and hot, but the sound of the chain snapping was worse. I fell to my knees, scrambling for the pendant.

Willa was faster. She caught the moonstone in her hand, holding it up to the flickering hallway light. "Cheap junk. Just like you."

"Give it back," I begged, my dignity forgotten. "Please, Willa. It's all I have."

She looked down at me, her blue eyes devoid of any humanity. A cruel smile played on her lips. "You have nothing, Zoey. You are nothing."

She dropped the pendant.

Time seemed to slow. I watched the moonstone fall, a pale teardrop in the gloom. It hit the stone floor with a sickening crunch.

Willa didn't stop there. She brought her heavy combat boot down, grinding her heel into the fragments. I heard the delicate silver twist and the stone shatter into dust.

"Oops," she said, not even pretending to care. She stepped back, admiring the pile of glittering dust and twisted metal. "Looks like you're out of luck."

Jaxson chuckled, a low, ugly sound.

I stared at the ruins of my grandmother's legacy. The grief should have been overwhelming. It should have broken me. But as I looked at the crushed stone, something inside me snapped alongside it.

The last tether to this pack. The last reason to be Zoey the Omega.

I slowly looked up at Willa. My vision swam, not with tears, but with a sudden, golden haze. The heat in my veins surged, hot and violent.

*You just made a mistake, Willa,* my wolf growled, her voice sounding like thunder in my head. *A fatal one.*