Healer Gregory helped me back onto the cot. My breathing was still ragged, though my mind was crystal clear. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. The infirmary door swung wide open.

Beta Cole rushed in, his face tight with worry. Behind him stood three pack council members and two tall, broad-shouldered men. The Hamilton Lycan representatives. My mind-link scream had drawn an audience. Perfect.

"What happened?" Cole demanded. "We felt the Luna's pain."

Gregory shook his head grimly. "Claire's wolf is in sympathetic wolf-decay. She cannot be the donor. The shock will kill her instantly."

Low murmurs filled the room. Savanna let out a loud, dramatic sob from her chair. "Then I'm going to die!"

"Not necessarily," Gregory said. He wiped his hands on a white towel. "We can still do the transfer. But only with a donor of equal or greater essence strength. A pure Alpha bloodline would be the strongest match."

The room went dead silent. Every eye turned to Patrick.

This was it. The trap was set. Now, I just had to push him in.

I looked up at Patrick. I let a few tears spill over my cheeks. I reached out with a trembling hand. "Patrick," I whispered softly.

He looked down at me. His eyes were wide and guarded.

"You are so strong. So selfless," I said. My voice carried clearly across the quiet room. "The Moon Goddess paired us for a reason. Maybe this is her plan. To save my twin."

I looked past him, making sure the Lycan representatives were listening. "You wouldn't deny her, would you? You love my family so much. You're a true Alpha."

Cole nodded slowly. "It would be a great honor, Alpha. A true sacrifice for your mate's blood."

The Lycan representatives murmured their solemn approval. Their heavy gazes pinned Patrick in place.

Patrick was entirely cornered. If he said no, he would look weak and selfish before his Lycan family. If he refused a dying girl, the pack council would doubt his honor. He couldn't confess that he only wanted Savanna in his bed, not on his conscience.

His jaw ticked. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He looked at Savanna, then back at me. There was no noble sacrifice in his eyes. Just the frantic, trapped look of a man with no way out.

"Of course," Patrick said. His voice sounded like grinding stones. "I will do it."

Gregory didn't waste a second. He grabbed a silver needle and pricked Patrick's finger. A drop of dark blood fell into a glass vial of clear reagent. Three seconds later, the liquid flared bright gold.

"A perfect match," Gregory announced.

Patrick stared at the glowing vial. He looked sick.

I folded my hands in my lap to hide their shaking. I gave him a warm, watery smile. I played the perfect, devoted Luna. "Thank you, my Alpha."

That afternoon, the infirmary felt like a tomb.

I stood in the observation gallery, looking down through the thick glass window. Below me, Patrick lay strapped to a heavy iron ritual table. Savanna lay on a smaller cot right beside him.

Gregory began the ancient chanting. He held up the runed silver scalpel. He pressed it to the center of Patrick's chest.

Patrick arched his back. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat.

Thick tendrils of glowing golden mist rose from the cut. It was his Alpha essence. The very core of his wolf. Gregory guided the golden mist through the air, pushing it down into Savanna's chest.

A sharp spike of agony hit me out of nowhere. I gasped and gripped the metal railing. The mate bond. I was feeling his pain. In my mind, I heard his inner wolf howling in pure terror. I felt it shrinking. Tearing. Diminishing into something small and broken.

It was the exact pain he had forced me to endure in my past life.

I didn't flinch. I stood tall and watched him bleed.

When the ritual finally ended, the room was heavy with sweat and copper. Gregory unbuckled the leather straps. Patrick rolled off the table. His boots hit the floor, but his knees buckled. He had to grab the edge of the table to stay upright.

I stared at him. The change was shocking.

His eyes, usually a burning, dominant gold, were dull and flat. His skin was pale. But the biggest difference was his aura. An Alpha's aura is supposed to feel like a thunderstorm. It commands respect. It makes you want to bare your neck.

Now? It flickered weakly, like a candle fighting the wind.

Down below, Beta Cole and the other warriors shifted uncomfortably. They exchanged uneasy glances. Wolves respect strength, and the strength in the room had just vanished. The pack dynamic was already cracking.

Savanna sat up on her cot. Her cheeks were pink. She looked revitalized. She reached out her hand. "Patrick," she cooed.

He took her hand. He looked exhausted. Hollowed out.

I looked down at the two of them. My own wolf stretched inside my chest, strong, whole, and restless. I felt no pity. I felt no sadness.

I only felt the cold, hard satisfaction of a debt finally being paid.

In the days following the essence transfer, the Ironcrest pack house felt like a graveyard. Patrick was a ghost of his former self. His footsteps, once heavy and commanding, now shuffled softly against the hardwood floors. But his obsession with my twin sister hadn't faded. If anything, his weakened state made him cling to her more.

I played my part flawlessly. I was the dutiful, grieving Luna, keeping my head down and my voice soft. But behind closed doors, I was building my next strike. I kept a quiet mental journal of their every interaction. A lingering touch in the hallway. A whispered conversation in the library when they thought I was asleep. And every night, the soft, deliberate click of Savanna’s bedroom door closing behind him.

I didn't confront them. Instead, I weaponized the pack mind-link. Late at night, while I lay in my empty bed, I let my mental barriers slip just a fraction. I pushed a subtle, aching wave of loneliness and neglect into the link. It wasn't a loud cry, just a quiet, accidental bleed of sorrow. I calibrated it perfectly to reach Beta Cole.

One evening, I stood in the dark at the top of the stairs. I watched Patrick slip into Savanna's room, a tray of hot tea in his hands. Down the hall, Cole stepped out of his office. He saw Patrick's retreating back. Then, Cole looked up and saw me standing alone in the shadows. I gave him a sad, broken smile, wrapped my arms around myself, and turned away.

Through the mind-link, I felt Cole’s jaw clench. The unwavering respect he once held for his Alpha was cracking. He was watching Patrick with new, much harder eyes.

The next afternoon, I left the pack house for a solo 'recovery walk'. The autumn air was crisp, smelling of pine and damp earth. I slipped past our patrol lines and stepped into the neutral zone near the eastern border.

A massive black wolf stepped out from the shadows of the trees. He shifted smoothly into a tall, rugged man with piercing gray eyes. Marcus Blackwood. He was the displaced heir of the Thornveil Pack, a territory that had collapsed two years ago after his Alpha father died. Now, he and his people were wandering as rogues.

"You took a risk coming out here alone, Luna," Marcus said. His voice was a low, protective rumble. He didn't carry himself like a broken rogue. He stood like a king without a crown.

"I’m not here as Ironcrest's Luna," I replied smoothly, meeting his intense gaze. "I'm here to make a deal. I know your people are struggling, Marcus. I can offer you protection. I can restore Thornveil territory."

He crossed his thick arms, his eyes narrowing with deep suspicion. "And what do you want in return?"

"Your loyalty," I said softly. "When the time comes."

Marcus stared at me. My inner wolf pushed forward, letting a wave of my pure, unbound Luna aura wash over him. He gasped softly, his eyes widening. He recognized the sheer strength in me—a strength Patrick no longer possessed.

Marcus bowed his head, showing his neck in a deep sign of respect. "We wait for your signal, Claire."

In the dark woods behind him, several pairs of glowing eyes blinked in the shadows. The silent promise of an army.

Three days later, the seasonal Ironcrest Pack Banquet arrived. The grand dining hall was filled with allied Alphas, elite warriors, and the fearsome Hamilton Lycan representatives.

The tension in the room was suffocating. Patrick sat at the head table, sweating slightly in his formal suit. He tried to project authority, but his diminished aura was impossible to hide. Rival Alphas exchanged knowing, mocking looks over their wine glasses. The great Hamilton heir looked like a weak, tired boy.

I, on the other hand, felt electric. My silver wolf purred in my chest. My unbound aura pulsed outward, pulling every eye in the room toward me. Even the ancient Lycan elders watched me with deep, silent respect.

When the time came for the formal toasts, I stood up and tapped my crystal glass. The room instantly fell silent.

"Welcome, friends," I began, my voice ringing clear and sweet across the hall. "We have much to be thankful for tonight. Especially the extraordinary sacrifice of my mate, Alpha Patrick."

I looked down at Patrick. He offered a strained, nervous smile.

"He gave his own wolf essence to save my sister, Savanna," I continued, letting my voice drop into a tone of absolute, innocent awe. "His devotion is truly unmatched. In fact, I sleep alone every night just so Patrick can fulfill his noble nightly duties to her."

The hall went dead silent. A few Alphas lowered their forks. Beta Cole stared at his plate, his face tight with disgust.

I tilted my head, smiling warmly at the Lycan elders. "The deep connection between them is beautiful. It truly transcends ordinary concern for a mate's sibling. He spends hours in her private chamber, long into the night, making sure she is perfectly... satisfied with her care."

Clink.

The lead Hamilton Lycan elder set his heavy silver goblet down on the wooden table. The sound cracked through the quiet room like a gunshot.

Patrick's face turned ash white. He shot out of his chair, knocking it backward. "Claire, enough!" he snarled.

He tried to push his Alpha tone into the words. He tried to force that heavy, commanding pressure that makes weaker wolves drop to their knees. But nothing happened. His voice just cracked, thin and powerless, echoing pitifully in the massive hall.

I didn't flinch. I just stood there and smiled, watching his authority bleed out on the floor. The match was lit, and the whole house was about to burn.