The Moonflower didn't exist.

I realized it the moment I reached the coordinates on Morgan's map—a clearing so deep in rogue territory that even the birdsong had died. The forest pressed in around me, dark and watchful. My wolf whimpered weakly, her senses dulled by whatever poison had been slowly destroying us.

There was no flower. Just trees and shadows and the creeping certainty that I'd walked into exactly what Morgan wanted.

The first rogue hit me from behind.

I went down hard, my face slamming into dirt and dead leaves. Before I could scream, rough hands grabbed my arms, wrenching them behind my back. My broken ribs—still not fully healed—cracked again under the weight of a knee pressing into my spine.

"Don't kill her." The voice was gravel and smoke. "Just make it look good."

A fist connected with my temple. White light exploded across my vision. I tasted copper, felt warmth trickling down my face. Blood. My blood.

They were methodical about it. One held me down while another tore at my clothes—ripping fabric, exposing skin. Not to assault me, I realized dimly through the pain. To make it look like something else entirely. The third rogue circled us, and I heard the distinct click of a camera phone.

Photos. They were taking photos.

"No," I choked out, trying to struggle. "Please—"

Another blow, this time to my ribs. The world tilted sickeningly.

Through the haze of agony, I reached desperately for the mate bond. *Kane. Kane, please. I need help. I need you.*

For one beautiful second, I felt him there. His presence, solid and strong, just on the other side of our connection. Relief flooded through me so intensely I sobbed.

*Kane, please, rogues—they're hurting me—*

And then the bond slammed shut.

Not gradually. Not gently. Like a door slamming in my face, the mental connection severed so abruptly I felt it like a physical blow. He'd blocked me out. Deliberately. Completely.

The rogues finished their work. One of them spat near my head before they melted back into the forest, leaving me broken and bleeding in the dirt.

I don't know how long I lay there. Time moved strangely, measured only in waves of pain and the growing cold seeping into my bones. Eventually, I dragged myself upright. My torn dress hung off me in shreds. Blood matted my hair, sticky and warm.

The walk back took hours. Every step was agony. My wolf was silent, too damaged to even whimper anymore. I stumbled through the forest like a ghost, leaving a trail of blood drops on the leaves.

By the time I reached the pack house, the sun had set. I pushed through the front door and collapsed in the foyer, my legs finally giving out.

"Help," I whispered to the empty hall. "Someone... please..."

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. For one stupid, hopeful moment, I thought Kane had come to save me.

Instead, he stood at the top of the staircase, his face twisted with rage I'd never seen before. In his hand, he held a phone.

"You disgusting liar."

He descended the stairs slowly, each step deliberate. Photographs fluttered down around me like poisoned snow—images of me in the clearing, clothes torn, rogues' hands on my skin. The angles made it look intimate. Willing. Like I'd wanted it.

"Kane, no—" I tried to push myself up, but my arms wouldn't hold me. "It's not what it looks like. They attacked me. I tried to mind-link you—"

"You tried to interrupt me while Morgan was dying!" His voice boomed through the foyer. Pack members appeared in doorways, drawn by the commotion. "She collapsed the moment you left. I was holding her, trying to keep her conscious, and you were in my head whining about rogues. So I blocked you out to focus on someone who actually needed help."

"I needed help," I sobbed. "Kane, I was being attacked—"

"You staged an attack." He threw the phone at me. It skittered across the marble, stopping inches from my bloodied hand. "To stress Morgan out. To make me feel guilty for sending you on a simple errand. You probably paid those rogues to rough you up and take pictures so you could play victim."

"No. No, Kane, please—"

His Alpha aura slammed down on me like a physical weight. I felt my bones grinding against the marble floor, my broken ribs screaming. Around us, pack members bared their necks in submission, but his focus was entirely on me.

"You are pathetic," he said quietly, and somehow that was worse than his shouting. "You're so jealous of Morgan that you'd endanger yourself, endanger this pack, just to get my attention."

"I went to get the flower," I gasped out, each word agony under the crushing weight of his dominance. "For her. I went for her—"

"There was no flower." Morgan's weak voice drifted from the top of the stairs. She leaned heavily on the bannister, pale and trembling. "My wolf stabilized on her own. The Moon Goddess blessed me with a miracle recovery."

She looked down at me with perfect, pitying sadness.

"I'm so sorry, Luna. I never meant for you to go through such lengths to help me."

Kane's expression softened as he looked at her. When he turned back to me, there was nothing but contempt.

"Get out of my sight."

He stepped over my broken body and climbed the stairs to Morgan, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to support her.

I lay bleeding on the marble floor of my own pack house, surrounded by wolves who wouldn't meet my eyes, and watched my mate walk away.

Again.

The infirmary smelled like antiseptic and lies.

I lay on the narrow bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling tiles. Someone had bandaged my ribs—tight enough to hurt with every breath. My face throbbed where the rogue's fist had connected, the swelling making it hard to see out of my left eye. The torn dress was gone, replaced with a thin hospital gown that did nothing against the cold.

A guard stood outside my door. Not to protect me. To keep me in.

I'd tried to explain what happened. Tried to tell the nurse who cleaned my wounds that Morgan had sent me into a trap. She'd smiled that tight, professional smile and increased the sedative in my IV.

"Rest, Luna. You've been through a traumatic... episode."

Episode. Like I'd imagined the whole thing.

The door opened without a knock. Morgan slipped inside, glancing back at the guard before closing it softly behind her. She wore a pale blue dress that made her look angelic, fragile. Her hand rested over her heart in that familiar gesture of weakness.

But her eyes were sharp. Alert. Alive.

"Claire." She moved to my bedside, her voice honey-sweet. "How are you feeling?"

I tried to push myself up, but my body wouldn't cooperate. The sedatives made everything feel distant, like I was underwater. "Get out."

"Now, now." She perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing her skirt. "Is that any way to speak to someone who's been so worried about you?"

Something in her tone made my blood run cold. I looked toward the corner where the security camera usually blinked its red eye. The light was off.

"I had them disable it," Morgan said, following my gaze. "For your privacy, of course. You've been through so much."

My heart started pounding, making my broken ribs scream. "What do you want?"

"I want you to understand something." She leaned closer, and the sweetness drained from her face like water through a sieve. What remained was cold. Calculating. "You will never win."

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"Snowy squealed when I snapped her neck." Morgan's voice was conversational, like she was discussing the weather. "Such a pathetic little thing. Just like you. I kept her in my closet for two days before the banquet, listening to her scratch at the box. By the time I killed her, she was half-dead from thirst anyway."

Tears burned behind my eyes. "Why?"

"Because I can." She reached out and patted my bandaged hand. "The tea? Wolfbane, obviously. Just enough to damage your wolf without killing you outright. Dr. Reed has been very helpful in sourcing it. The rogues? I paid them five thousand dollars and gave them your exact location. The photos were my idea—I thought they added a nice touch of scandal."

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"And Kane?" Morgan's smile widened. "He blocked your mind-link because I told him I was dying. I collapsed right in front of him, Claire. Seized on the floor of his office, foam at my mouth—well, soap foam, but he didn't know that. He was so focused on saving me that your little cries for help were just... noise."

She stood, smoothing her dress again. "Here's what you need to understand. I have been planning this for seven years. Seven. Years. Every poisoned cup of tea. Every training session designed to break you. Every moment I've played the dying friend while systematically destroying you. And Kane? He's helped me every step of the way."

"He'll find out," I whispered. "Eventually, he'll—"

"He will never believe you." Morgan's voice turned sharp as broken glass. "Because you are nothing, Claire. A weak, jealous, hysterical mate who can't handle sharing her Alpha's attention. That's what everyone sees. That's what everyone will always see."

She walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. When she looked back, her expression had shifted back to concern, her posture softening into fragility.

"I do hope you feel better soon, Luna. We're all so worried about you."

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

I lay there in the chemical-bright silence, staring at the dead camera, and felt something inside me break that had nothing to do with my ribs.

***

Kane came the next morning with Dr. Reed and three pack elders I barely recognized.

They stood around my bed like judges at a trial. Reed held a tablet, his expression grave. The elders—two men and a woman—looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust.

Kane wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Based on Dr. Reed's comprehensive evaluation," one of the elders began, "and the recent... incidents... we have reached a conclusion regarding Luna Claire's condition."

I tried to sit up, but the restraints I hadn't noticed before held my wrists to the bed rails. "What? When did you—"

"For your safety," Reed said smoothly. "You were thrashing in your sleep."

I hadn't been asleep.

"Luna Claire," the female elder continued, "you are suffering from a rare but documented condition known as Mate Hysteria. It manifests in wolves who cannot accept their mate's bonds with others, causing delusions, self-harm, and dangerous attention-seeking behavior."

"That's not—" My voice cracked. "Kane, please. Listen to me. Morgan admitted everything. She killed Snowy, she hired the rogues, she's been poisoning me—"

"Enough." Kane's Alpha tone hit me like a physical blow. "This is exactly what they're talking about. These paranoid delusions about Morgan."

"They're not delusions!" I yanked against the restraints, ignoring the pain. "Test my blood. Please. There's Wolfbane in my system, you'll see—"

"We already tested your blood," Reed interrupted. "There's nothing abnormal except elevated stress hormones and signs of self-inflicted trauma."

Liar. He was lying. They were all lying.

"For the safety of the pack," the first elder said, "and for your own wellbeing, we are officially relieving you of your Luna duties. All pack authority will be transferred to Morgan Hall until such time as you recover."

The room tilted. "No. No, you can't—"

"It's already done." Kane finally looked at me, and his eyes were empty. "You need help, Claire. Real help. And until you get it, you're a danger to yourself and everyone around you."

He turned to leave.

"Kane." My voice broke on his name. "She's going to kill me. You're letting her kill me."

He paused at the door but didn't turn around. "Sign the papers, Dr. Reed. Make sure she's comfortable."

Then he was gone, and I was alone with the doctor and the elders and the restraints holding me down.

Reed approached with a syringe. "This will help you rest."

"No. No, please—"

The needle slid into my IV port. Warmth spread through my veins, heavy and suffocating.

As the world faded to gray, I heard Reed's voice from very far away: "Transfer her to isolation ward B-7. No visitors without my explicit authorization."

***

I woke in darkness.

No windows. No light except the thin strip bleeding under the door. The air was stale and cold, carrying the scent of mold and old fear.

The isolation ward.

I'd heard about this place—whispered stories among the omegas. Where they put wolves who'd gone feral. Who'd lost their minds. Who needed to be kept away from the pack until they either recovered or died.

I tried to reach for my wolf, desperate for any connection, any comfort.

Silence.

She was gone. Not dead, I didn't think. But so damaged, so broken by the Wolfbane and the torture and the betrayal that she'd retreated somewhere I couldn't follow.

I was alone. Truly, completely alone.

The door had no handle on the inside. The walls were concrete, thick enough to muffle any sound. No one would hear me scream. No one would care if they did.

Morgan had won.

I lay on the thin mattress in the dark and felt something shift inside me. Not hope—hope had died somewhere between the banquet hall and the forest floor. Not even anger. Anger required energy I didn't have.

What shifted was acceptance.

I was going to die here. In this windowless room, alone and unmated and broken. Morgan would make sure of it. Maybe another dose of Wolfbane in my food. Maybe just neglect, letting me waste away until my body gave up.

Unless.

The thought came quietly, almost gently.

Unless I chose how this ended.

The Mate Ceremony was in three days. The biggest event of the year, where neighboring Alphas and Lycan representatives came to witness pair bonds and celebrate the Moon Goddess's blessings. Kane would have to present me—his marked mate, his Luna—even if I was supposedly unstable.

They couldn't hide me away during the Mate Ceremony. Pack law wouldn't allow it.

I pressed my hand against my neck, feeling the raised scar of Kane's marking bite. The bond that should have been sacred. That should have protected me.

It had become my prison.

But it could also be my key.

In the darkness of the isolation ward, I began to plan.