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.

The liquid burned going down.

Not like alcohol. Like acid. Like swallowing fire and broken glass and something that didn't belong inside a living body. I tried to drop the glass, but my fingers wouldn't obey. The crystal slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.

Alexander caught me before I hit the ground.

"There," he said, his voice distant. "That wasn't so hard."

My legs gave out. He lowered me to the carpet, and I felt the softness against my cheek, but I couldn't move. Couldn't turn my head. My limbs had gone numb, heavy as stone.

The Wolfsbane was spreading fast.

I tried to speak, to beg him to call a healer, but my tongue was thick in my mouth. All that came out was a choked sound, barely human.

"Shh." He crouched beside me, brushing hair from my face with false tenderness. "It's just to help you sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

Liar. I could feel it in my blood, in the way my heart was stuttering, in the black spots creeping into my vision. This wasn't sleep. This was dying.

He stood and walked to the dresser. When he came back, he was holding my grandfather's Silver Dagger.

"Can't have you keeping this," he said, turning it over in his hands. The blade caught the moonlight. "You've proven you can't be trusted with weapons. What kind of Luna brings a dagger to her mating suite?"

I wanted to scream that he'd stolen it. That it was mine. That it was all I had left of my family, of my heritage, of the mountain home I'd left behind for him.

But I couldn't make a sound.

He slipped the dagger into his jacket pocket. Just like that. My last line of defense, my grandfather's legacy, gone.

Then he disappeared from view. I heard him moving around the room, heard fabric rustling. When he came back, he was dragging something—the decorative rug from beside the bed.

He rolled me onto it. My body flopped like a corpse, lifeless and unresponsive. The world tilted as he wrapped the rug around me, cocooning me in darkness and the smell of dust and old wool.

"Solving the problem," he muttered. "Just like Jemma said. She was right. You're a threat. A jealous, unstable threat to everything I've built."

His footsteps moved away. A door opened—not the main entrance, but something else. The service exit, maybe. Cold air hit my face through the gap in the rug.

Then I was moving. He'd lifted me, thrown me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Each step jarred my bones. I tried to fight, to struggle, but my body wouldn't respond. The poison had me completely.

We went down stairs. Through hallways. I caught glimpses through the rug's weave—stone walls, dim lighting, the back corridors where servants walked. No one stopped us. No one asked questions.

Why would they? He was the Alpha.

Outside, the night air was sharp and cold. Rain had started to fall, light but steady. I heard a car door open. He dumped me into what felt like a trunk—no, a back seat. The rug unrolled slightly, and I could see the leather interior of an SUV.

The door slammed. The engine started.

We drove.

I don't know how long. Time had gone strange, stretching and compressing. The Wolfsbane was doing something to my perception, making everything feel distant and unreal. I focused on breathing. Just breathing. In and out. Don't stop. Don't let it win.

His phone rang.

Alexander answered on speaker. "What?"

"Are you on your way?" Jemma's voice, sweet and poisonous. "Juan's people are getting impatient."

"I'm twenty minutes out."

"Good." A pause. "You're doing the right thing, you know. She would have destroyed everything. The bond, your power, us."

"I know."

"This way, the debt is cleared, and you keep what matters. It's strategic. It's what a real Alpha does."

I heard him glance back at me. "She's useless anyway. Wolfless. Paranoid. What kind of Luna tries to reject her mate at the altar?"

"Exactly. You're trading dead weight for your true source of power. For me."

"For you," he repeated, like a prayer.

They talked a few minutes more, but I stopped listening. The words had carved something out of me, left a hollow space where hope used to be. He wasn't confused. Wasn't under a spell he couldn't break.

He'd chosen this.

Chosen her.

Chosen to drug me, to steal from me, to trade me like property.

The SUV slowed. Stopped.

Alexander got out. I heard other voices—rough, male, speaking in low tones. The back door opened, and hands grabbed the rug, dragging me out.

I hit the ground hard.

The impact knocked what little air I had left from my lungs. The rug fell away, and rain hit my face. Cold. Clean. I lay there in the mud, staring up at a sky I could barely see through the darkness and the poison.

Footsteps approached. Boots. Expensive ones, barely touched by the mud.

Alexander looked down at me. His face was blank. Empty.

"The debt's cleared," he said to someone I couldn't see. "She's yours."

A different voice answered. Deep. Controlled. "You're trading your mate."

"She's defective. You're welcome to her."

Something changed hands. Paper rustling. A ledger, maybe.

The new voice spoke again, and this time I heard the disgust in it. "You're pathetic."

Alexander didn't respond. I heard his footsteps retreating, heard the SUV door slam, heard the engine start.

He left.

Just drove away.

I lay there in the rain and the mud, my body shutting down, my mate's mark burning on my neck like a brand. Around me, shadows moved—rogues, I realized. The ones Alexander had traded me to.

One of them crouched beside me. I couldn't see his face clearly, but I felt his gaze. Steady. Assessing.

"Get her inside," he said. "Carefully."

Hands lifted me. Gentle this time. Strange.

The last thing I saw before the darkness took me completely was the taillights of Alexander's SUV disappearing into the night.

And I thought: I hope the poison kills me before they do.