The Silverfang Pack House loomed ahead like a fortress carved from stone and ambition. I'd traveled three days down from the mountain sanctuary where my family had lived for generations, where the air smelled of pine and healing herbs, where the old ways still mattered. My grandfather's words echoed in my mind as the car pulled up to the entrance: "Trust your nose, Camilla. It never lies."

I'm Camilla Wells, last of the mountain Healers, and I was here to fulfill a treaty older than my grandmother's grandmother. To become Luna to an Alpha I'd never met.

The Beta who greeted me wasn't Alexander. Marcus Thompson barely glanced at me as he gestured toward the entrance. "You're late. The ceremony starts in an hour."

"The roads were—"

"Save it." He turned on his heel, expecting me to follow.

As we walked through the hallways, something hit me. A smell. Faint but unmistakable—sickly sweet, like fruit left too long in the sun, undercut with sulfur. My stomach turned. I'd smelled that combination once before, in my grandfather's notes about necrosis. About flesh rotting from the inside.

But Marcus walked right through it like it was nothing. The pack members we passed showed no reaction either. How could they not smell it?

"The Alpha will meet you before the ceremony," Marcus said, stopping at a corner. "He's—"

"Right here."

The voice came from behind me. Deep. Commanding. I turned.

Alpha Alexander Anderson was everything the treaty promised—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and the kind of presence that made people step back. But his eyes. They were glassy, unfocused, like he was looking through me instead of at me.

Then he touched my hand.

The Mate Bond hit like lightning. Every cell in my body recognized him, reached for him, screamed *mine*. For one perfect second, I felt the connection the Moon Goddess had woven between us.

Then something cold and oily slithered over it, smothering the warmth. Dampening it. Wrong. Everything about it felt wrong.

Alexander pulled his hand back quickly. "Welcome to Silverfang," he said, his tone flat. "Don't embarrass me tonight."

He walked away before I could respond.

An hour later, I stood at the altar in the Great Hall wearing the traditional white ceremonial robes my mother had sewn. Around me, the pack elite wore designer suits and cocktail dresses that probably cost more than our entire mountain compound. The contrast wasn't lost on anyone. I caught whispers, saw the smirks.

The Elder raised his hands, and the hall fell silent. "We gather under the light of the Moon Goddess to witness the sacred bond between Alpha and Luna..."

Alexander stood beside me, stiff and distant. The rot-smell was stronger here, clinging to him like a second skin. I tried to breathe through my mouth, but my Healer senses wouldn't let me ignore it.

The Elder reached for our hands. "By the ancient rites, we call upon—"

The doors slammed open.

A woman burst through, small and blonde, carrying a cooler like she was bringing refreshments to a picnic. The entire hall turned to stare.

"Wait!" She rushed down the aisle, her voice high and breathless. "Alexander, you need this first. You can't complete the ceremony without it."

Marcus moved to intercept her, but Alexander held up a hand. "Let her through."

The woman—Jemma, I realized, the Omega Marcus had mentioned dismissively earlier—set the cooler down and opened it. Inside were glass vials filled with a milky white liquid.

"Your Moon Essence," she said, pulling one out and offering it to him like a sacred gift. "To stabilize your overwhelming power before the mating. You know what happens when you go too long without it."

My blood went cold.

Alexander took the vial. Uncapped it. The smell hit me like a physical blow—Wolfsbane, sharp and bitter, wrapped in something darker. Something that made my skin crawl.

"Don't." The word ripped out of me. "That's poison."

Every head in the hall turned toward me.

Alexander paused, the vial halfway to his lips. "What did you say?"

"It's Wolfsbane. And dark magic. I can smell it. That's what's rotting you from the inside—"

He drank it. Right there, in front of everyone, he tilted his head back and drained the entire vial.

When he lowered it, his eyes flashed. Not the deep crimson of an Alpha. Yellow. Sickly, corrupted yellow.

"You don't know what you're talking about." His voice was cold, mocking. "This is what keeps my Alpha aura strong. But I wouldn't expect a jealous, wolfless Late Bloomer to understand Alpha needs."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Sharp. Cutting.

Jemma smiled at me, sweet as honey. "It's okay. You're new here. You'll learn."

The Elder cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Shall we... continue?"

Alexander wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and reached for mine again. His palm was cold. Dead.

And I realized with sinking horror that the man standing beside me, the one the Moon Goddess had chosen as my mate, was already halfway gone.

I couldn't do this.

The Elder was still talking, his voice droning on about sacred bonds and Moon Goddess blessings, but all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart. Alexander's hand was ice in mine. The rot-smell wrapped around us both, thick enough to choke on.

This wasn't right. None of this was right.

The words came before I could stop them. "I, Camilla Wells—"

Alexander's head snapped toward me. His eyes flashed that sickly yellow again.

"—reject you—"

"STOP."

The command hit me like a physical force. Not his voice. Something deeper. Older. The Alpha Tone.

My throat seized. The words died on my tongue, trapped behind teeth that wouldn't open. I tried to force them out, tried to finish the rejection, but my vocal cords had turned to stone.

My knees buckled.

I hit the floor hard, the white ceremonial robes pooling around me. The impact jarred my bones, but I couldn't cry out. Couldn't make a sound. My body wasn't mine anymore. It belonged to the command, to the supernatural weight of his authority pressing down on every muscle, every nerve.

I looked up at him through tears I couldn't blink away.

Alexander stared down at me, his expression cold. "You will not embarrass me," he said quietly. "You will not reject this bond. You will accept your place."

I couldn't even shake my head.

The hall had gone silent. I felt their eyes on me—hundreds of them—watching me kneel at his feet like a dog. Like an Omega. Like nothing.

"Continue," Alexander said to the Elder.

The old man hesitated. "Alpha, perhaps we should—"

"I said continue."

The Elder's face went pale, but he nodded. "By the ancient rites, we seal this bond through the mark of claiming..."

No. No, no, no.

Alexander reached down and grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. My legs barely held me. The Alpha command still had me locked tight, a puppet with cut strings.

He turned me roughly, exposing my neck to the crowd. His fingers dug into my shoulder, holding me in place.

"This is for your own good," he murmured against my ear. "You'll understand eventually."

Then he bit down.

Pain exploded through my neck. Not the euphoric rush the legends promised. Not the warm, golden connection of true mates recognizing each other. This was fire and acid, burning through my veins like poison.

Because it was poison.

The dark magic in his blood poured into me through the wound, twisting the mate bond into something wrong. Something broken. I felt it trying to take root, trying to bind us together, but it was all jagged edges and corruption.

Tears streamed down my face. I couldn't scream. Couldn't move. Could only stand there while he marked me, while the bond settled into place like shackles.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were stained with my blood.

The hall erupted in cheers.

"The bond is sealed!" the Elder announced, relief clear in his voice. "Alpha and Luna, joined under the Moon Goddess!"

Applause thundered around us. People were smiling, celebrating, raising glasses. They thought my tears were joy. They thought the way I swayed on my feet was overwhelming emotion.

They had no idea.

Alexander released the Alpha command slowly. Feeling returned to my limbs in painful tingles. My throat unlocked, but what was the point? The damage was done. The mark burned on my neck, a brand I'd carry forever.

"Smile," Alexander said under his breath. "You're Luna now. Act like it."

I couldn't smile. Could barely breathe. But I stood there as the pack celebrated, as servants brought out champagne and the Elder prepared for the next part of the ceremony.

The Luna Induction.

They led us to a smaller altar at the front of the hall. The Luna crown sat on a velvet cushion—silver and moonstone, beautiful and ancient. It should have been an honor. It should have meant something.

The Elder lifted the crown. "By the power vested in me, I present to the Silverfang Pack their new Luna—"

Alexander went rigid beside me.

His eyes unfocused, the way they did when someone was mind-linking him. His jaw tightened.

"What?" he said aloud, though the person on the other end couldn't hear him that way. "Now? Are you sure?"

A pause. His expression shifted to something like panic.

"I'm coming."

He turned to the Elder. "Stop. There's an emergency."

The old man blinked. "Alpha, we're in the middle of—"

"Jemma's pup is sick. I have to go." Alexander was already moving toward the side door, not even looking at me. "We'll finish this later."

"But the crown—"

"Later!"

He was gone. Just like that. Leaving me standing at the altar with the Elder holding the crown awkwardly, with the entire pack staring.

Whispers started immediately. Low and vicious.

"Did he just leave?"

"For the Omega?"

"On his mating night?"

"Poor thing. How humiliating."

The Elder cleared his throat. "Perhaps... perhaps the Luna would like to rest before we continue?"

He was trying to be kind. Trying to give me an escape.

But there was no escape. Not from the mark burning on my neck. Not from the twisted bond I could feel pulling at my chest. Not from the fact that my mate—my fated mate—had just abandoned me at the altar to run to another woman.

I reached out and took the crown from the Elder's hands.

It was heavier than I expected. Cold. The metal bit into my palms.

"No need," I said quietly. My voice came out steady somehow. "I can wait."

I stood there holding the crown I was supposed to wear, wearing a mark I never wanted, while the pack whispered and my mate chose someone else.

And I realized with perfect, terrible clarity that this was only the beginning.

The guards didn't speak as they escorted me through the hallways. Not Alexander. Not Marcus. Just two stone-faced Deltas who walked three steps behind me like I might bolt.

Maybe I should have.

The bridal suite was at the end of the east wing, isolated from the rest of the pack house. They opened the door, gestured me inside, and left. I heard the lock click behind them.

Locked in.

The room was beautiful in that cold, expensive way—silk sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the forest, a chandelier that probably cost more than my family's entire cabin. It should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like a cage.

I went straight to the bathroom.

The mirror showed me what I already knew. The bite mark on my neck was angry and red, the skin around it mottled with dark veins spreading outward like roots. Black. It was turning black.

I turned on the faucet and scrubbed at it with soap and water, trying to wash away the corruption I could feel seeping into my bloodstream. The water ran pink, then clear, but the mark stayed. The darkness stayed.

My hands were shaking.

I dried off and went back into the bedroom. My luggage sat in the corner where someone had placed it—the single battered suitcase I'd brought down from the mountain. I knelt beside it and dug through the carefully folded clothes until my fingers found the leather sheath at the bottom.

My grandfather's Silver Dagger.

The blade gleamed in the dim light as I pulled it free. It was old, the handle worn smooth from generations of Healers who'd carried it before me. My grandfather had given it to me the night before I left.

"Silver cuts through lies," he'd said. "And through things that shouldn't exist."

I hadn't understood then. I did now.

I slid the dagger under my pillow, making sure the hilt was within easy reach. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and waited.

The hours crawled by. Outside, the moon rose higher, casting silver light across the floor. I could hear distant sounds from the pack house—laughter, music, celebration. They were still partying. Still toasting the new Luna while the Alpha was off comforting his Omega.

I touched the mark on my neck. It throbbed with a dull, sick heat.

The door opened just after midnight.

Alexander stepped inside, and the smell hit me immediately. Jemma's perfume—that cloying, too-sweet scent—all over him. In his clothes. On his skin. He reeked of her.

He closed the door and leaned against it, his eyes unfocused. "You're still awake."

"You locked me in."

"For your own safety." He pushed off the door and moved toward me, his gait unsteady. "This pack house can be dangerous for someone who doesn't know her place yet."

I stood up, putting the bed between us. "Is Jemma's pup alright?"

His expression flickered. "Fine. It was nothing. She just... she needed me."

"On our mating night."

"Don't start." His voice sharpened. "You don't understand the responsibilities I have. Jemma's been part of this pack longer than you. She's—"

"Poisoning you."

His eyes flashed yellow. "I told you to stop saying that."

"It's true. That mark on my neck is already turning black because of what's in your blood—"

"Enough!" He slammed his hand against the bedpost. The wood cracked. "You come here with your mountain superstitions and your grandfather's outdated theories, and you think you know better than me? Than my pack healers?"

I took a step back. My hand brushed against the pillow.

"You're paranoid," he continued, moving around the bed toward me. "Jealous. You can't handle that I have history here, that I have people who actually care about me—"

"I'm trying to save your life."

"By rejecting me at the altar?" He laughed, bitter and sharp. "By trying to humiliate me in front of my entire pack?"

I moved again, but he was faster. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me toward him. The pillow shifted, and the silver hilt of the dagger caught the moonlight.

Alexander went very still.

"What is that?" His voice dropped to something dangerous.

"Nothing. It's just—"

He shoved me aside and grabbed the pillow, throwing it across the room. The dagger lay exposed on the white sheets, gleaming and sharp.

"You brought a weapon." He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. "To our mating suite. You brought a silver dagger."

"It's a family heirloom. For protection—"

"Protection." He looked at me, and his eyes were wild. Paranoid. "Or assassination. You were going to kill me, weren't you? That's why you tried to reject the bond. You're working with someone. Who sent you? Which pack?"

"No one sent me! Alexander, please—"

"Don't lie to me!" He was spiraling, the drugs and paranoia feeding off each other. "You show up here, you insult Jemma, you try to break our bond, and now I find a weapon under your pillow—"

"I would never—"

"Shut up." He set the dagger on the dresser, far from my reach, and turned back to me. His expression shifted, smoothing into something falsely calm. "You're just stressed. Overwhelmed. I understand. This is a big change for you."

The sudden shift was worse than the anger.

He walked to the small bar in the corner and pulled out a bottle of champagne. "We should toast. Properly this time. To our union."

"I don't want—"

"It wasn't a request." He popped the cork and poured two glasses. The liquid fizzed and sparkled in the crystal.

I watched him. Watched the way he angled his body, blocking my view of the glasses for just a moment. Watched the slight movement of his hand.

He'd put something in mine.

He turned back with both glasses, offering me one. "To us," he said. "To the future of Silverfang."

I didn't take it.

His jaw tightened. "Camilla. Take the glass."

"What did you put in it?"

"Nothing. You're being paranoid again—"

"I can smell it. Wolfsbane. The same thing that's killing you."

Something dark crossed his face. "Last chance. Take it willingly."

I stepped back.

His eyes flashed. "DRINK."

The Alpha command slammed into me. My hand moved on its own, reaching for the glass. My fingers closed around the stem. No. No, I couldn't—

He pressed his glass against mine. The crystal chimed, delicate and final.

"To our union," he repeated.

And I watched my own hand lift the poisoned champagne to my lips.