Six months earlier

The morning light filtered through the pack house windows as I arranged fresh flowers in the main hall. My fingers trembled slightly, a weakness I'd been noticing more frequently these past weeks. I brushed it off as fatigue from my endless attempts to be the perfect Luna—to somehow make up for what I lacked.

"These look beautiful, Luna Isabella," Seraphina Moonwood commented, the elderly pack member's eyes crinkling with kindness. "You always bring such warmth to our home."

I smiled, grateful for her rare acknowledgment. "Thank you, Elder Seraphina. I just want to make sure everything is—"

The room suddenly tilted. The vase slipped from my grasp, shattering against the marble floor as darkness edged my vision. I heard Seraphina's alarmed cry before the world went black.

I awoke to the earthy scent of healing herbs and the concerned face of Dr. Elias Vance hovering above me. His examining room was mercifully private, away from curious pack eyes.

"Luna Isabella," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of bad news. "I need you to listen carefully."

My fingers instinctively found my mating mark, seeking comfort from the bond that had grown increasingly cold. "Is it... because I'm wolfless?"

Elias sighed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Yes and no. You have what we call Lunar Atrophy—a rare condition that affects maybe one in ten thousand werewolves. It's blocking your wolf from emerging and... it's draining your human form as well."

The clinical words hung in the air between us. "Draining?"

"Your body is fighting a war it can't win," he explained gently. "Without treatment and support, particularly from your mate, the condition will progress. You have maybe eight months, possibly a year."

A year. The words echoed in my mind like a death knell.

"There are treatments," Elias continued, pulling herbs from his cabinet. "But Luna, you need to tell Alpha Ryan. The mate bond is your strongest lifeline. His energy, his support could literally extend your life."

I pictured Ryan's face—how it had hardened over the years, how his eyes slid past mine at pack gatherings, how he flinched when I reached for him. The wolfless Luna, the broken mate, now dying too? It would only confirm what I feared he already believed—that I was defective, unworthy.

"No," I whispered, my voice surprisingly steady. "No one can know. Especially not Ryan."

"Luna, please—"

"Swear it to me, Elias." I gripped his wrist with what little strength I had. "Swear on your healer's oath."

His face fell, but he nodded reluctantly. "I'll prepare what herbs I can. They'll help with the symptoms, but they're not a cure."

"Thank you," I said, already planning how to hide this new burden.

Four months later, I knelt in my garden at dawn, coughing violently into a handkerchief. When I pulled it away, crimson spots stained the white fabric. The herbs were helping less each day.

Still, I forced myself to stand. Ryan had organized a pack run tonight—a rare event where he acknowledged my presence, even if only as a formality. I couldn't miss it, couldn't give him another reason to regret our bond.

I tucked the stained cloth into my pocket and headed to the kitchen. The pack house was stirring to life, and I needed to prepare breakfast before anyone noticed my absence. Each step required calculation now, each smile a mask over growing pain.

"You shouldn't be up," Elias's voice startled me as I reached the kitchen doorway.

"I'm fine," I lied, straightening my shoulders.

"The pack run tonight—"

"I'll be there," I cut him off, my tone leaving no room for argument.

His eyes filled with sadness. "At least take these." He pressed a small pouch of herbs into my palm. "They'll give you strength for a few hours."

I nodded gratefully, already planning how to brew them without anyone noticing. As Elias turned to leave, he paused.

"He deserves to know, Luna."

I looked away, focusing on the morning light streaming through the windows. "Maybe. But I deserve a mate who would care if he knew."

As I began preparing Ryan's favorite breakfast—one he would likely eat in his office, away from me—I touched my mating mark again. It felt cooler than before, the connection thinner somehow.

Perhaps our anniversary would be different. Perhaps in two months, I would find the courage to tell him everything. Perhaps the mate who had once loved me would return, just long enough to help me fight for my life.

Perhaps.

But as another coughing fit seized me, forcing me to grip the counter for support, I couldn't silence the whisper in my heart that said I was already fighting this battle alone.

Three months before our anniversary, I found myself in Ryan's office—a space that had once welcomed me but now felt like forbidden territory. He was attending an Alpha council meeting in the neighboring territory, and I had seized the opportunity to organize the scattered papers on his desk, desperate for any small way to please him.

The afternoon sun slanted through the windows as I sorted documents into neat piles. My fingers trembled slightly—a symptom I'd grown accustomed to hiding. Dr. Elias's herbs helped, but the wolf sickness was progressing faster than either of us had anticipated.

"Just get through today," I whispered to myself, a mantra that had become as familiar as breathing.

As I moved a stack of financial reports, a folded letter slipped from between the pages, landing softly on the hardwood floor. I shouldn't have opened it. Some part of me knew that whatever secrets Ryan kept locked in his office were best left undisturbed. But the handwriting wasn't his—it was delicate, feminine, with flourishes that spoke of confidence.

My dearest Ryan,

The days until I can return to you grow fewer. Our patience will soon be rewarded. I've never doubted that we are true mates, regardless of what the Moon Goddess tried to force upon you. The she-wolf who warms your bed is merely an obstacle, not a destiny.

I remain eternally yours,

Natalie

The letter slipped from my fingers as if it had burned me. I stumbled backward, my hip catching painfully on the corner of Ryan's desk. With shaking hands, I pulled open the bottom drawer—the one he always kept locked, the one I'd found the key to hidden behind a loose baseboard months ago but had never dared to open.

Inside lay dozens of letters, all in the same flowing script. All addressed to my mate. All from Natalie Hayes.

I read them all, each word a dagger to my already weakening heart. Their history, their plans, their love that had apparently never wavered despite our sacred mate bond. The earliest letters dated back to before our mating—Ryan had never been mine, not truly. Not even at the beginning.

One passage burned itself into my mind: 'Remember our plan, my love. Use her to hurt him, then discard her when I return. The daughter of the man who destroyed your father deserves nothing less.'

My father? I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling a sob as the pieces clicked into place. The revenge plot I'd never suspected, the calculated cruelty I'd mistaken for growing indifference—it had all been deliberate from the start.

I gathered the letters with numb fingers, my chest constricting with each breath. The mate mark on my neck throbbed with a phantom pain as I carried the evidence of my shattered life to the fireplace in his office.

One by one, I fed the letters to the flames, watching as Natalie's flowing script blackened and curled. Each one that disappeared sent a wave of despair through me, but I couldn't stop. I wouldn't leave them for Ryan to find, to know I had discovered his secret.

"I still love you," I whispered to the fire, watching the last letter burn. "Even now. How pathetic is that?"

That night, unable to face our empty bed, I slipped out of the pack house and into the forest. My body protested each step, but I pushed forward, drawn to the one place that still held a shred of the happiness we'd once shared.

The ceremonial clearing looked magical under the full moon, silver light bathing the ancient stones where werewolves had performed sacred rituals for generations. It was here, five years ago, that Ryan had comforted me after my first failed attempt to shift.

I sank to my knees in the center of the clearing, exactly where I'd collapsed in tears when my wolf hadn't emerged.

"Don't cry, my love," Ryan had whispered that night, cradling me against his chest. "Some wolves are late bloomers, that's all. And late bloomers make the most beautiful wolves."

He'd kissed away my tears, promised me forever, sworn that my wolflessness changed nothing about our bond.

All lies. Carefully crafted, cruelly delivered lies.

I looked up at the moon, its light offering no comfort now. "Why?" I asked the silent goddess. "Why bind me to someone who would use your sacred gift as a weapon?"

No answer came, only the soft rustling of leaves in the night breeze and the distant howl of a wolf—a sound I would never make.

Two months later, I knelt alone in our bathroom, hand pressed to my mouth as another coughing fit seized me. When I pulled my palm away, it was slick with blood—brighter than before, and more of it.

"No," I whispered, quickly running water over my hand. "Not yet. Not today."

I fumbled for the pouch of herbs Elias had given me yesterday, swallowing twice the recommended amount. The bitter taste made me gag, but I forced them down. I couldn't collapse today—Ryan had actually acknowledged my presence at breakfast, a rare occurrence that had sent a pathetic flutter of hope through my heart.

As I waited for the herbs to take effect, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My skin had taken on an almost translucent quality, the blue veins visible beneath. My once-vibrant eyes looked hollow, shadowed by dark circles no amount of concealer could hide.

I touched the mate mark on my neck—the symbol of a bond that was killing me as surely as the wolf sickness. Perhaps they were working together, the illness and the broken bond, each accelerating the other's deadly work.

"Just a little longer," I promised my reflection. "Just until our anniversary. Then I'll tell him everything."

But as I wiped away the last traces of blood and practiced my smile in the mirror, I couldn't silence the voice in my head that whispered a terrible truth: Ryan Sterling would not mourn me when I was gone. He would be free.

And perhaps that was the only gift I had left to give him.