The full moon bathed the Pacific Northwest forest in an ethereal glow, illuminating the pine trees that stretched toward the night sky like silent sentinels. I ran with wild abandon, my paws barely touching the forest floor as I kept pace with the Moonstone Pack. For these precious moments, I could forget I was Luna Sophia Mitchell, the late-bloomer who had fought for her place. Here, in wolf form, I was simply Lyra—strong, free, and one with the night.

*Isn't this perfect?* I sent the thought through our mind-link to Alexander, whose massive black wolf form led the pack ahead of me.

His wolf, Titan, glanced back, amber eyes gleaming with affection. *Perfect because you're here, Luna.*

The warmth of his response flooded through me, and I pushed myself faster, delighting in the way the cool night air rushed through my silver-gray fur. These moments made everything worth it—the sidelong glances from pack members who still whispered about my late-bloomer status, the cold formality of Eleonora's "guidance" on being a proper Luna, the crushing responsibilities of leading a pack that had never fully accepted me.

But I had Alexander. For three years, he had been my rock, my salvation, my everything.

Lyra suddenly bristled within me, her consciousness rippling with unease.

*What is it?* I asked my wolf.

*Smell that?* she growled, her senses more acute than my human consciousness.

I lifted my muzzle, drawing in the night air. Beyond the familiar scents of pack and forest came something unexpected—pine and wild berries, wrapped in a scent that felt both foreign and strangely familiar. It was alluring yet unsettling, like a beautiful flower with thorns hidden beneath its petals.

The pack's synchronized rhythm faltered as others caught the scent too. Alexander raised his head, his powerful form going rigid. A low growl rumbled through the pack-link, his Alpha command halting our movement in an instant.

That's when she stumbled into our path.

A female wolf, her coat the color of burnished gold, emerged from between two ancient pines. She moved with unnatural slowness, her legs trembling with each step. Even in wolf form, I could see the weakness in her posture, the way her head hung low, as if it took all her strength just to remain standing.

Alexander's reaction was immediate and visceral. He bounded forward, placing himself between the stranger and our pack. But instead of the aggressive stance I expected, his massive form seemed to curl protectively around the golden wolf.

*Victoria?* His voice through the pack-link was shocked, intimate in a way that made my heart stutter.

The name hit me like a physical blow. Victoria Ashford. Alexander's childhood chosen mate before he found me—his true mate. The woman who had left for the Northern Territories years ago.

The woman who had never stopped haunting the corners of our relationship.

I watched, frozen, as the golden wolf's form began to shift. In moments, a woman knelt where the wolf had been—pale, slender, with flowing auburn hair that caught the moonlight like living flame. Even in obvious distress, she was breathtaking.

"Alexander," she whispered, her voice carrying in the silent forest. "I found you. Finally."

Then she collapsed.

---

Hours later, I paced outside Alexander's office in our pack house, my heart a thundering drum in my chest. Victoria had been whisked away to the healing quarters, Alexander at her side, leaving me to follow behind like an afterthought.

"She's stable," Healer Corvus had announced, his eyes flickering to me with something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "But her wolf is very weak. I've never seen anything like it."

Alexander hadn't even looked at me as he nodded grimly. "Do whatever it takes."

Now, as midnight approached, I finally gathered the courage to seek out my mate. I needed reassurance, an explanation—anything to quiet the dread pooling in my stomach.

I pushed open the heavy oak door without knocking—a small assertion of my position as Luna. The words I'd prepared died on my lips.

There, in the soft glow of his desk lamp, stood Alexander and Victoria. His hands cupped her face, their foreheads pressed together in an intimacy that stole my breath. Her fingers clutched at his shirt, and the look that passed between them was one I recognized all too well—it was how he used to look at me.

"I never stopped thinking about you," Victoria whispered, her voice carrying in the silent room.

My heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.

*Alexander?* I pushed the thought through our mind-link, unable to force the words past my constricted throat.

He jerked away from Victoria, his eyes finding mine with a flash of guilt that quickly hardened into something colder.

*Her condition is more important than your jealousy, Luna,* came his reply, the words clipped and dismissive. Then, with a deliberate finality that felt like a slap, he severed our mind-link.

I stood there, the title of "Luna" suddenly feeling like a hollow crown on my head, as the first cracks formed in the foundation of everything I had believed to be true.

Three days after Victoria's dramatic arrival, I stood in the dimly lit ritual chamber beneath the pack house, my heart hammering against my ribs. The room smelled of sage and something metallic—blood. My blood, soon enough.

"Luna Sophia," Healer Corvus's voice slithered through the room as he arranged crystal bowls in a precise circle. "What an honor for you to serve the pack this way."

I forced myself to stand taller, though exhaustion weighed on my shoulders like a physical burden. Since that night in Alexander's office, he had barely spoken to me, spending every waking moment at Victoria's bedside.

"Healer Corvus," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "What exactly is wrong with Victoria?"

He glanced up, his eyes calculating beneath bushy brows. "A rare condition that weakens the wolf spirit. I've only seen it twice before." He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his ritual robes. "Only blood from a pure Alpha lineage can save her. And you, my dear Luna, have the purest lineage in the territory."

The door swung open, and Alexander entered with Victoria leaning against him. Her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders, and despite her supposed weakness, her eyes gleamed with something that made my skin crawl when they landed on me.

"My Luna," Alexander said, the title sounding hollow on his lips. "Victoria's condition is deteriorating. The weekly donations must begin immediately."

*Donations*. Such a sanitized word for what was about to happen.

"Of course, Alpha," I replied automatically, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

Lyra stirred anxiously within me. *This is wrong,* she growled. *We should not bleed for her.*

I silenced my wolf as Victoria was positioned in the center of the ritual circle, her pale form draped in white silk that made her look ethereal, almost saintly. The contrast to her calculating eyes was jarring.

"Kneel before her," Corvus instructed, pointing to a stone slab that would place my neck at the perfect height for—

I swallowed hard, forcing down the panic rising in my throat. For Alexander, I reminded myself. To prove my loyalty. To silence the whispers that I wasn't worthy of being Luna.

I knelt, the cold stone biting through the thin fabric of my ritual gown. Victoria's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes as she leaned forward.

"Thank you for your sacrifice," she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "I'm sure Alexander appreciates your... cooperation."

Before I could respond, Corvus began the incantation, his voice rising and falling in an ancient rhythm. The air thickened with power, pressing against my skin like an invisible weight.

"Now," he commanded.

Victoria's fangs extended, gleaming in the candlelight, and then sank deep into my neck.

Pain exploded through me, white-hot and blinding. This wasn't a gentle bite—it was savage, designed to tear and wound. I bit back a scream as I felt my blood, my strength, my very essence being drained away.

Lyra howled in protest within me, her silver form thrashing against the violation. *Stop this! She takes too much!*

I gripped the edges of the stone slab, my knuckles turning white as Victoria drank deeply. Through the haze of pain, I caught Alexander watching, his expression unreadable.

"Enough," Corvus finally said, and Victoria withdrew, her lips stained crimson with my blood.

I slumped forward, catching myself on trembling arms as the room spun around me. My wolf whimpered, weakened and wounded.

"You did well," Alexander said, but he wasn't looking at me—his eyes were fixed on Victoria, whose cheeks now had a healthy flush.

"I feel stronger already," she purred, reaching for his hand.

One week later, I returned to the ritual chamber, still weak from the first donation. The wound on my neck had barely healed, leaving an angry red mark that I covered with high collars and scarves.

*We cannot do this again,* Lyra warned as I descended the stairs. *She will destroy us both.*

"We have no choice," I whispered aloud. "He needs me to do this."

But as Victoria's fangs tore into my flesh a second time, and my strength ebbed away like the tide, I felt Lyra's presence growing fainter within me. A cold realization washed over me as darkness crowded the edges of my vision.

This wasn't healing. This was destruction, one drop of blood at a time.

And somewhere in the deepening shadows of my mind, I wondered if that had been the plan all along.

The garden had always been my sanctuary. Now, as I collapsed onto the stone bench beneath the ancient oak, it felt more like a prison yard—the only place I could hide my weakness from judging eyes. Three rituals. Three times Victoria had fed on my blood, my strength, my very essence. Each time, I felt Lyra grow fainter within me, our bond stretching thinner like gossamer threads in a storm.

I pressed my palm against the cool stone, trying to ground myself as the world tilted and spun around me. Black spots danced across my vision, and I fought the urge to vomit. The wound on my neck throbbed beneath the silk scarf I'd carefully arranged to hide it.

"Pathetic."

The cold voice sliced through my fog of pain. I didn't need to look up to recognize Eleonora Sterling's precise, clipped tone. Alexander's mother stood before me, her silver-streaked hair pulled into an immaculate chignon, her eyes chips of blue ice.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, attempting to stand. My legs betrayed me, buckling beneath my weight.

Eleonora's lip curled in disgust. "A Luna does not show weakness. Especially not where others can see."

I forced myself upright, swaying slightly. "The ritual was... difficult this time."

"Difficult?" She arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "What is difficult is watching my son's chosen mate behave like a wounded deer instead of the Alpha female she claims to be."

Her words stung worse than Victoria's fangs. I straightened my shoulders, ignoring the way my vision blurred at the edges.

"Victoria needed—"

"What Victoria needs is irrelevant," Eleonora cut me off. "What matters is the pack. Your duty is to the Moonstone Pack, not to your comfort or your pride." She stepped closer, her perfume—roses and something sharper, like steel—overwhelming my senses. "Remember your place, Sophia. Remember what you owe us."

Something in her tone made Lyra stir uneasily within me. *What we owe them?* my wolf questioned. *We owe them nothing.*

But before I could parse the strange comment, Eleonora turned on her heel and walked away, leaving me alone with my weakness and a growing sense that there was something I was missing—something important buried beneath the surface of her cold disdain.

---

The mountain air bit through my ceremonial cloak as I stood beside Alexander on the summit platform. Below us, the valley stretched out in a blanket of pristine white, the headquarters of five allied packs arranged in a circle for the annual alliance summit. Normally, I would have reveled in the breathtaking view, but today, I could barely focus on anything but staying upright.

Six rituals now. Six times Victoria had fed on me, and each time, I'd grown weaker. Alexander had barely spoken ten words to me in the past week, too busy attending to Victoria's "recovery."

"Alphas and Lunas of the Allied Territories," the ceremony master called out, his voice carrying across the mountain plateau. "We gather under the winter moon to renew our bonds and strengthen our alliance."

I felt Alexander shift beside me, his body tense. When I glanced at him, his expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes made my heart stutter with dread.

"Before we begin," Alexander's voice rang out, strong and clear, "there must be a cleansing."

Murmurs rippled through the assembled pack leaders. This wasn't part of the traditional ceremony.

Before I could react, Alexander's hands were at my throat, unfastening the silver Luna pendant that marked my status. The symbol I'd worn with pride for three years.

"Alexander?" I whispered, confusion and horror washing over me in equal measure.

He didn't meet my eyes as he pocketed the pendant. "The cleansing requires it," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

I stood there, exposed and humiliated, as Alexander stepped away from me—and toward Victoria, who had emerged from the crowd in a flowing white gown that matched the snow around us. From his pocket, he produced two identical silver bands, engraved with ancient symbols. With deliberate slowness, he slipped one onto Victoria's wrist, then secured the matching one on his own.

The message was unmistakable to everyone present. These weren't just ceremonial bands—they were symbols of a renewed bond between Alpha and his chosen companion. Not his Luna.

A hush fell over the gathering. I felt dozens of eyes on me, pitying, curious, judging. My cheeks burned despite the frigid air, and Lyra howled in anguish within me.

"Publicly shaming your Luna is dishonorable," a deep voice murmured near my ear.

I turned to find Alpha Marcus Thorne of the Riverstone Pack standing beside me, his weathered face set in lines of disapproval as he watched Alexander and Victoria.

"I—" My voice failed me. What could I possibly say?

"Remember this moment, Luna Sophia," Marcus said quietly. "Remember who stood with you, and who did not."

As I stood there, stripped of my symbol of status, watching my mate display his allegiance to another woman, I felt something crystallize within me—a small, hard seed of realization.

This was no longer about healing Victoria. This was about replacing me.