The garden party was a masquerade of civility, but my nose knew better. Beneath the heavy clouds of expensive perfume and the savory smoke of roasting meat, something vile was festering. It hit me mid-sip of my sparkling water—a sharp, sulfurous tang that smelled like wet dog fur and old blood.

Rogue.

My wolf bristled beneath my skin, her instincts screaming *danger*. I scanned the manicured lawn, my eyes darting past the string quartet and the ice sculpture of a howling wolf. Creed was standing five feet away, laughing loudly at a joke made by Beta Marcus. He looked every inch the Alpha King, holding court while his Queen stood ignored in his shadow.

I stepped forward, gripping his bicep hard enough to wrinkle his suit jacket.

"Creed," I whispered, keeping my voice low but urgent. "We have a breach."

He stiffened, annoyed at the interruption, but didn't turn his head. "Not now, Winter. Beta Marcus was just telling me about the border expansion."

"I smell a Rogue," I hissed, leaning closer. "Here. Inside the perimeter. It’s faint, but it’s rancid. We need to clear the area."

Creed finally looked at me, but there was no alarm in his eyes—only exasperation. He pulled his arm from my grasp, making a show of smoothing his sleeve. The movement drew the attention of the Beta and the Gamma, who fell silent, watching us.

"A Rogue? Here?" Creed chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. He pitched his voice loud enough for the surrounding circle to hear. "Winter, darling, you really need to get out more. You're becoming hysterical."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I know what I smell, Creed."

"You smell the compost from the gardens," he dismissed, rolling his eyes at Beta Marcus as if sharing a joke about a troublesome child. "She's been cooped up in the packhouse too long. Her instincts are... rusty. Paranoia is a side effect of isolation, isn't it?"

Beta Marcus gave me a pitying look, the kind one reserves for the mentally frail. "Of course, Alpha. The perimeter is secure. Perhaps the Luna needs to sit down?"

I stood frozen, the humiliation burning my throat like acid. He had just invalidated my authority and my sanity in front of his highest-ranking officers.

Before I could defend myself, a cloud of jasmine and rose assaulted my senses. Alina appeared at Creed's elbow, looking radiant and entirely too pleased with herself.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice dripping with faux concern. She placed a hand on Creed's chest, claiming him. "Winter, you look pale."

"Just a misunderstanding," Creed grunted.

"Well, I have something that might cheer everyone up," Alina beamed, clapping her hands together. "I've set up a special 'Petting Zoo' experience for the pups in the east garden! It's educational. I thought Jonas might want to see. It’s time the boys let the adults discuss boring pack business, don't you think?"

She turned her gaze to Jonas, who was clinging to the fabric of my dress.

"No," I said immediately. "He stays with me."

"Oh, Winter," Alina sighed, tilting her head. "Don't smother him. How will he ever learn to be brave if he's always hiding behind your skirt?"

She looked at Creed. "Don't you agree, Alpha? A future leader should be exploring, not trembling."

Creed looked down at Jonas, his expression hardening. The challenge was clear. "Go with Alina, Jonas. Stop acting like a pup and act like an heir."

Jonas looked up at me, his golden eyes wide with conflict. He wanted to stay, but the desperation to please his father was a stronger pull. He slowly let go of my dress.

"I'm brave, Daddy," Jonas whispered.

"Good lad," Creed nodded, already turning back to his drink. "Go on."

I watched helplessly as Alina took my son's hand. She flashed me a smile that didn't reach her eyes—a predator baring its teeth—and led him away toward the high hedges of the east garden. I tried to follow, but Gamma Vance stepped in front of me, blocking my path with a polite but firm smile.

"Luna, while we have you, I need to discuss the kitchen budget cuts..."

I was trapped.

It took me ten minutes to extricate myself from the conversation. My heart was hammering against my ribs, that sulfurous smell growing stronger with every breath. I abandoned all pretense of etiquette and pushed past the Gamma, practically running toward the east garden.

The "Petting Zoo" was a lie. There were no rabbits or goats.

In the center of a secluded clearing, surrounded by oblivious children and nannies, stood a heavy iron cage. Inside was a wolf—but not a pack wolf. It was massive, its fur patchy and matted with grime, a jagged scar running from its ear to its snout. Its eyes were a milky, crazed yellow. It was a Rogue, chained and drugged, but a Rogue nonetheless.

Alina was standing right next to the bars, holding her phone up for a selfie. She had positioned Jonas directly in front of the beast.

"Stand closer, Jonas!" Alina commanded, her voice high and bright for the video she was recording. "Show everyone how the Silverclaw heir isn't afraid of a little puppy!"

Jonas was trembling, his small body rigid. He could smell it too—the rot, the madness. His genetic intolerance to Rogue aura was making him sway on his feet, his skin turning a sickly shade of gray.

"I... I don't like it," Jonas whimpered, clutching his chest.

"Don't be a baby," Alina hissed, her smile vanishing for a split second. "Smile for the camera."

I was running now, screaming his name, but I was too far away.

As Jonas turned to look at the lens, I saw Alina’s hand slip behind her back. She held a small, sharp object—a decorative hat pin. With a cruel, precise movement, she jammed the pin into the Rogue wolf’s flank through the bars.

The beast didn't just growl; it erupted.

The drug-induced stupor shattered instantly. The Rogue lunged against the iron, its aura flaring out in a violent, invisible shockwave of malice and corruption. The force of it hit Jonas point-blank.

My son didn't even scream. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed onto the grass like a puppet with its strings cut.

The scream that tore through the garden wasn’t human. It was the sound of a soul fracturing.

"Jonas!"

I didn't think. I didn't breathe. I kicked off my high heels and sprinted across the manicured lawn, the grass cool and slick against my bare feet. Guests gasped and scattered as I shoved past them, knocking champagne flutes from hands, my vision tunneling to the small, convulsing figure on the grass.

The Rogue wolf in the cage was thrashing against the iron bars, its milky eyes wide with madness. Waves of corrupted aura rolled off the beast—a thick, suffocating stench of sulfur and rotting meat. For a normal werewolf, it was unpleasant. For Jonas, with his genetic hypersensitivity, it was poison.

I slid to my knees beside him, the impact jarring my bones.

"Jonas! Baby, look at me!"

He couldn't hear me. His back was arched in a rigid bow, his small heels drumming a frantic rhythm against the earth. Foam, tinged with pink, gathered at the corners of his mouth. His eyes had rolled back, showing only the whites, and his skin was turning a terrifying shade of grey.

"Help!" I screamed, looking around wildly. "Someone help him!"

A shadow fell over us. I looked up, relief flooding my chest. It was Creed. He had crossed the lawn in seconds, his Alpha speed a blur.

"Creed, grab him!" I begged, my hands shaking as I tried to keep Jonas from biting his tongue. "It's the aura. He's going into shock. We need to get him away from the Rogue!"

Creed didn't move toward us.

Instead, he rushed past his seizing son, dropping to his knees beside Alina.

She had slumped gracefully against the side of the cage, one hand clutching her chest, the other covering her eyes. She wasn't seizing. She wasn't foaming. She was whimpering softly.

"Alina!" Creed's voice was thick with panic—a panic he hadn't shown for Jonas. He gathered her into his arms, shushing her. "I've got you. You're safe."

"The wolf..." Alina sobbed, burying her face in his neck. "It snapped at me, Creed! It was so loud! My heart... I think my wolf is scared!"

"Guards!" Creed roared, his Alpha tone vibrating in the air. "Secure the beast! Get the tranquilizers! Don't hurt it—it's just agitated!"

I stared at him, my hands slick with my son's sweat. Jonas let out a choked, gurgling sound, his body going rigid one last time before falling limp.

"Creed!" I shrieked, the sound ripping from my throat raw and bloody. "Your son is dying! Look at him!"

Creed glanced over his shoulder, his expression twisted with annoyance. "Stop screaming, Winter. You're making it worse for Alina. Can't you see she's in distress?"

"Distress?" I choked out, tears finally spilling over. "Jonas isn't breathing right!"

"He's just scared of the big bad wolf," Creed snapped, turning back to stroke Alina's hair. "Give him a minute. Deal with it."

Time stopped. The noise of the party, the growls of the Rogue, the sobbing of the mistress—it all faded into a dull buzz. I looked at the man I had spent five years trying to please. The man I thought was my mate.

He wasn't a father. He wasn't an Alpha. He was a monster.

I didn't ask again. I didn't beg.

Adrenaline, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. I scooped Jonas into my arms. He was five years old, heavy and limp, but he felt weightless to me in that moment. I stood up, my legs trembling but holding.

Beta Marcus stood nearby, watching the scene with wide, horrified eyes. He looked from Creed, who was cooing at Alina, to me holding the unconscious heir.

"Drive," I commanded. It wasn't a request. It was an order, delivered with a voice I didn't recognize—low, deadly, and devoid of fear.

Marcus blinked, his wolf instinctively responding to the authority in my tone. "Yes, Luna."

***

The drive to the Pack Hospital was a blur of red lights and the terrifying sound of Jonas's shallow, rattling breaths. I sat in the back, clutching his hand, pouring every ounce of my own strength into him through our bond, begging his wolf not to give up.

When we burst through the emergency doors, Dr. Aris, the Head Healer, took one look at Jonas and hit the code blue button.

"Aura Shock!" Aris barked as nurses swarmed around us. "Get the stabilizers! Prep the High-Care Suite!"

They tore him from my arms. I watched through the glass of the ICU as they hooked him up to machines that beeped and hissed. Tubes were shoved down his throat. IVs were pierced into his small, pale arms.

Hours later, Dr. Aris stepped out. He looked exhausted, his white coat stained with sweat.

"Luna," he said softly, removing his glasses.

"Tell me," I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself to keep from falling apart.

"It was acute Aura Shock," Aris said gravely. "The exposure to the corrupted Rogue energy triggered a massive autoimmune response. His body is fighting his own wolf."

He hesitated, looking at the clipboard in his hand. "He's stable for now, but... his consciousness has retreated. He's in a coma, Winter. His wolf spirit is fading. If we can't stabilize his connection to his wolf within forty-eight hours..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence. If the wolf died, the boy died.

I looked through the glass at my son, so small in the big white bed. He looked like he was sleeping, but I couldn't feel him. The bond between us was silent.

"Does the Alpha know?" Aris asked gently.

I laughed, a dry, broken sound. "The Alpha is tending to a frightened mistress."

I walked to the window of the suite, pressing my hand against the cold glass. Outside, the moon was rising, full and bright. I didn't pray to the Goddess for Creed's return. I didn't pray for my marriage.

I prayed for strength. Because when Jonas woke up, I was going to burn the Silverclaw Pack to the ground.

The only sound in the High-Care Suite was the rhythmic *whoosh-click* of the ventilator breathing for my son. I sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, my hand wrapped around Jonas’s small, limp fingers. His skin was too cold. The grey pallor that had overtaken his face in the garden hadn't faded; if anything, under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital, he looked like a porcelain doll that had been left out in the rain.

Dr. Aris adjusted a drip, his expression grim. "His vitals are holding, Luna. But barely. The next few hours are critical. He needs absolute silence and stability."

I nodded, unable to speak. Every beep of the heart monitor felt like a countdown.

The heavy double doors to the suite banged open, shattering the quiet sanctuary.

I flinched, instinctively shielding Jonas’s body with my own. Creed stood in the doorway, his tuxedo jacket discarded, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He wasn't alone. He was practically carrying Alina, whose face was buried in his chest, her shoulders shaking with theatrical sobs.

"Get a nurse," Creed barked, his voice booming off the tiled walls. "She's having a panic attack."

Dr. Aris stepped forward, his hands raised in a hushing motion. "Alpha, please. Lower your voice. The young master is in a critical state."

"I can't breathe!" Alina wailed, clutching at her throat. She lifted her head, her eyes rimmed with red, though I noticed her makeup remained perfectly intact. "The noise out there... the people... I can't take it, Creed! My wolf is howling in my head! That beast... it looked at me!"

"I know, shh, I know," Creed cooed, stroking her hair with a tenderness he hadn't shown Jonas since the day he was born. He looked up at Dr. Aris, his eyes hard. "She needs a private room. Somewhere quiet to recover from the shock."

Dr. Aris blinked, confused. "Alpha, the general ward has private rooms available down the hall."

"They're too small," Alina whimpered, leaning heavily against Creed. "And the smell... antiseptic and sickness... it's making me nauseous. I need space. I need *this* room."

My blood ran cold. I stood up slowly, my legs trembling not with fear, but with a sudden, blinding rage. "This is the only High-Care Suite in the hospital, Alina. It's for patients on life support."

She looked at me then, her eyes widening with feigned innocence. "Oh, Winter. I didn't see you there in the dark. But surely... Jonas is just sleeping, isn't he? The machines are doing all the work. He won't mind moving."

"He is in a coma," I hissed, stepping between her and the bed. "He is fighting for his life because of *your* little stunt with the Rogue."

"Enough!" Creed snapped. The air in the room grew heavy, the pressure dropping as his Alpha aura flared. "Alina is the victim here, Winter. That beast could have killed her. She is traumatized."

"Your son is dying!" I screamed back, pointing at the small figure in the bed. "Look at him, Creed!"

Creed didn't look. He kept his eyes fixed on the doctor. "Dr. Aris. Prepare the suite for Ms. Collins. Move the boy to the General Ward."

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Dr. Aris looked from the Alpha to the dying boy, his jaw set tight. He straightened his spine.

"No," the doctor said firmly. "I cannot do that, Alpha. Moving Jonas now could destabilize his aura. It could kill him. I have a duty to my patient, and he is the priority."

Alina let out a sharp cry, collapsing dramatically into a nearby chair. "He wants me to suffer, Creed! They all do!"

Creed’s face darkened. His pupils dilated, swallowing the irises until his eyes were black pits of dominance. The air crackled with static electricity.

"I gave you an order, Healer," Creed growled. His voice wasn't just loud; it was layered with the Alpha Command, a supernatural force that compelled obedience from every wolf in the pack. It hit me like a physical blow to the chest, forcing the air from my lungs.

"**Move. The. Boy. Now.**"

Dr. Aris gasped, clutching the edge of the bed. I watched in horror as his body betrayed him. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought the command, his muscles locking up, but the Alpha power was absolute. His hand, shaking violently, moved against his will toward the monitor switch.

"No!" I lunged forward, grabbing the doctor's arm. "Don't do it! Fight him!"

"I... I can't..." Dr. Aris choked out, tears of frustration leaking from his eyes. "Forgive me, Luna."

With a trembling hand, he silenced the alarm. Then he began to unlock the wheels of the bed.

Two nurses rushed in, eyes downcast, terrified of the Alpha's aura filling the room. They moved with frantic efficiency, unhooking the wall monitors and switching Jonas to a portable, battery-operated unit that beeped with a weaker, thinner sound.

"Careful!" I sobbed, running alongside the bed as they began to push it toward the door. "Watch his head!"

Creed stepped aside to let the gurney pass. He didn't look down. He didn't reach out to touch his son's hand. He was already turning back to Alina, helping her stand.

"It's okay," I heard him murmur as we were shoved into the hallway. "You have the room now. Rest."

As the doors swung shut, cutting off the view of the suite, I saw Alina settle onto the bed my son had just vacated. Just before the gap closed, she looked at me. The tears were gone. A small, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

The hallway was bright, loud, and smelled of floor wax. A janitor pushed a mop bucket past us. A group of teenagers with broken arms were laughing near the vending machine.

They pushed Jonas into a curtained partition in the general ward, surrounded by the noise of other patients coughing and groaning. It was a place for minor injuries, not for a dying heir.

I stood by the curtain, listening to the weak beep of the portable monitor. Something inside my chest fractured. It wasn't a break; it was a release.

For five years, I had held onto the hope that Creed was just misguided. That the bond would eventually snap into place. That if I was just patient enough, submissive enough, good enough, he would see me.

But the man in that suite wasn't misguided. He was rot. He was a disease that was killing my son.

The tears stopped. My breathing steadied. The cold that washed over me wasn't fear anymore; it was the icy clarity of a winter storm.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My fingers didn't shake as I scrolled past Creed’s contact, past the pack house line, down to a number I hadn't dialed since the day Moses Foster retired and moved to the secluded mountains of the Lycan territory.

I pressed call.

It rang once. Twice.

"Winter?" The deep, gravelly voice was thick with sleep but instantly alert. "Is everything alright?"

I looked at my son's pale face, then back at the closed doors of the High-Care Suite where my mate was comforting his mistress.

"No, Moses," I said, my voice dead and flat. "Creed is trying to kill your grandson. I need you to come home."