The tally mark I'd carved into the wooden panel became my secret anchor. One strike against Alexander. Nine chances remaining before I would finally free myself from this beautiful prison of a mate bond.

I traced my finger over the mark as dawn broke, my wolf restless within me. The pack hunt would begin soon—a monthly tradition where Alexander, as Alpha, would lead our strongest warriors to bring down game for the pack's feast. As Luna, I was expected to join, though in recent years my role had diminished to mere ceremonial presence.

I dressed carefully in practical hunting leathers, pulling my hair back into a tight braid. The face in my mirror looked tired but resolute. My wolf growled softly, sensing my determination.

The hunting party had gathered in the courtyard when I arrived. Alexander stood at the center, issuing commands with that effortless authority that had once made my knees weak. Now it just made my jaw clench.

"Luna Melissa," Beta Marcus acknowledged with a respectful nod. At least some pack members still honored my position, even if my mate did not.

Alexander barely glanced my way. "We move out in five minutes," he announced, then turned toward the guest quarters.

I knew who he was waiting for before she appeared. Isabella emerged in hunting gear that somehow managed to accentuate every curve of her body, her chestnut hair gleaming in the morning light. Several young warriors stared openly, quickly averting their eyes when they noticed my observation.

But it wasn't her beauty that froze the blood in my veins. It was what hung around her neck—the ancestral Luna necklace, a crescent moon pendant of pure silver that had been passed down through generations of Silver Moon Pack Lunas. My necklace. The one Alexander had placed around my neck during our mating ceremony ten years ago.

The symbol of my position. My birthright as his Luna.

"Alpha," Isabella purred, approaching Alexander with a deliberate sway to her hips. "I hope I'm not late."

Alexander's eyes softened as they fixed on her. "Never," he replied, his voice warm in a way it hadn't been with me in years.

His gaze dropped to the necklace nestled against her collarbone, and I waited—waited for him to realize his mistake, to remember what that pendant symbolized, to remember me.

Instead, he nodded with approval, his hand reaching out to touch the silver crescent briefly. "It suits you," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The pack fell silent. Even those who had witnessed my humiliation at the Full Moon ceremony seemed shocked by this blatant transfer of Luna symbols. Beta Marcus's jaw tightened, though he remained silent as was his duty.

My wolf howled in anguish within me, but outwardly, I remained perfectly still. I would not break. Not here. Not now.

When Alexander finally remembered my presence, he merely gestured for me to take my position at the rear of the hunting party—a place traditionally reserved for the youngest, least experienced wolves. Another deliberate humiliation.

As we moved into the forest, I carved a second tally mark into my mind.

Two strikes. Eight chances remaining.

---

A week later, I joined the border patrol—another Luna duty I still performed despite Alexander's indifference. The eastern border of our territory had reported unusual scents, possibly rogues testing our defenses.

I rode alongside Delta Kira, one of the few pack members who still treated me with genuine respect rather than obligatory deference.

"Luna, look," she said suddenly, pointing toward a clearing where two of our warriors lay on the ground, clutching their sides.

We dismounted quickly, rushing to their aid. Blood seeped through their shirts—claw marks, deep but not life-threatening if treated properly.

"Rogue ambush," one gasped. "Came out of nowhere. We drove them back, but..."

"I'll help you," I said, reaching for the healing herbs I always carried. As Luna, I'd trained extensively with Elara, our pack healer. These wounds were well within my capabilities.

"No."

Alexander's voice cut through the clearing as he approached with Isabella at his side. I hadn't even heard them arrive.

"Isabella will treat them," he commanded, his Alpha tone brooking no argument.

"But Alexander, I—"

"That's an order, Melissa." His eyes were cold, distant. "Step aside."

Isabella knelt beside the injured warriors, her expression one of practiced concern. I watched in horrified silence as she applied herbs in completely wrong combinations, binding the wounds too loosely.

"Alpha," I tried again, my voice low. "The yarrow needs to be crushed first, and the bandages—"

"Enough!" Alexander snapped. "Isabella knows what she's doing."

I bit my tongue as Isabella finished her "treatment," the warriors already developing the flush of fever from improperly cleaned wounds. They would survive, but would suffer unnecessarily for days.

"Well done," Alexander praised her, completely blind to her incompetence.

As we returned to the pack house, I mentally carved my third tally.

Three strikes. Seven chances remaining.

---

That night, I sat alone in my chambers, staring at the physical marks I'd carved into the wooden panel. Three deep lines, each representing a piece of my heart being severed from Alexander's.

A sudden, searing pain tore through my chest, dropping me to my knees. My wolf howled in agony, clawing desperately within me as something fundamental seemed to tear away from our very essence.

The mind-link—the sacred connection between mates that allowed thoughts and emotions to flow freely—was being blocked. Forcibly severed by Alexander.

Through the last threads of our connection, I caught flashes: Isabella, her scent heavy with heat, her body pressed against Alexander's. His desire, overwhelming and primal. His decision to block me out completely so he could fully immerse himself in her.

My body burned with fever as my wolf fought against the severing of our bond. This was more than a betrayal of vows or position—this was a violation of the most sacred aspect of mate pairing.

As darkness closed in around me, I managed to drag myself to the wooden panel. With trembling fingers, I carved a fourth mark.

Four strikes. Six chances remaining.

My last thought before unconsciousness claimed me was that perhaps I had been too generous. Perhaps ten chances were nine too many.

The grand hall of the Moonstone Alliance headquarters gleamed with polished marble and ancient wooden beams as pack leaders from across the region gathered for the bi-annual summit. I smoothed down my formal Luna gown—silver with delicate moonstone embroidery that I'd spent weeks preparing—and took a deep breath before entering. Five years ago, I would have walked in on Alexander's arm, my place secure. Now, I entered alone, my wolf anxious within me.

The circular table dominated the center of the hall, twenty-four ornate chairs arranged around it—one for each Alpha and a matching seat beside them for their Luna. My eyes immediately found our pack's designated places, the Silver Moon Pack emblem carved into the high-backed chairs.

Alexander was already seated. Isabella stood beside him, her hand resting possessively on his shoulder, wearing a gown that mimicked traditional Luna designs but with provocative alterations that drew appreciative glances from several Alphas. When she saw me, a small, triumphant smile played at her lips.

"Luna Melissa," Alpha Blackwood from the Northern Territories acknowledged me with a respectful nod as I approached our seats.

Before I could respond, Alexander stood. "Isabella will be taking the Luna's seat today," he announced, loud enough for nearby packs to hear. "Melissa, you can find a place among the Deltas at the back."

The room fell silent. Even packs that had heard rumors of Alexander's infidelities seemed shocked by this public displacement. A Luna being relegated to sit with Deltas was unprecedented—a humiliation so profound that several visiting Lunas exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"But Alexander," I began quietly, "the treaty discussions require Luna input on—"

"Isabella will provide any necessary insights," he cut me off, his tone dismissive. "She's been studying our pack's needs extensively."

I felt the weight of every gaze in the room as Isabella gracefully lowered herself into my rightful chair, arranging her gown with deliberate care. My wolf snarled within me, demanding I challenge this insult, but I maintained my composure as I retreated to the back of the hall where pack Deltas sat observing.

"She still carries herself like a true Luna," I heard one Alpha whisper to another as I passed.

"Such dignity in the face of disrespect," his Luna responded. "The Moon Goddess will not look kindly on this violation of sacred hierarchy."

Their words offered cold comfort as I took my seat among warriors who shifted uncomfortably at my presence. Throughout the meeting, I watched Isabella lean toward Alexander, whispering in his ear at crucial moments, offering opinions on matters she couldn't possibly understand. When territory boundaries were discussed—negotiations I had prepared for meticulously—Alexander presented Isabella's uninformed suggestions as official Silver Moon Pack positions.

I carved a fifth mark in my mind. Five strikes. Five chances remaining.

---

Three days later, I stood in the healing den, carefully preparing herbal poultices for two young wolves injured during training. The familiar scent of yarrow and comfrey filled the air as I worked, finding rare peace in the rhythmic grinding of herbs.

"You shouldn't be here," Elara whispered as she entered, her eyes darting nervously toward the door. "Alpha Alexander has assigned Isabella to oversee all healing now."

"These cubs need proper treatment," I replied, continuing my work. "The wound on Liam's leg could easily become infected without the right—"

The door burst open. Isabella stood there, her face a perfect mask of distress.

"Alpha!" she called over her shoulder. "She's here, just as I sensed!"

Alexander appeared behind her, his expression darkening when he saw me. "Melissa. What are you doing?"

"Treating the injured," I answered simply. "As I've done for ten years."

Isabella pressed herself against Alexander's side, her voice trembling with manufactured fear. "I can feel her threatening aura whenever I'm in the healing den. She's deliberately undermining me, making me feel unwelcome in my own pack."

"Your pack?" The words escaped before I could stop them.

Alexander's eyes flashed dangerously. "Beta Marcus!"

Marcus appeared instantly, his expression carefully neutral though I caught a flicker of discomfort in his eyes.

"Remove the former Luna from the healing den," Alexander commanded. "From now on, she is forbidden from treating any pack member without explicit permission."

Former Luna. The words struck like physical blows.

Marcus approached me, his voice low. "Please, Luna Melissa. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

I set down the mortar and pestle with deliberate care, my hands steady despite the rage and grief tearing through me. As Marcus escorted me from the healing den—the space where I had saved countless pack members, including Alexander himself after a territorial battle three years ago—I felt another piece of my identity being stripped away.

Six strikes. Four chances remaining.

---

The warning howls came at dawn. Rogues had breached our eastern border in unprecedented numbers, a coordinated attack unlike anything we'd seen before. I rushed from my chambers, already mentally cataloging our medical supplies and preparing triage protocols.

Warriors streamed toward the armory as I made my way to the pack house's central chamber where Alexander would be coordinating our defense. I found him buckling on armor, Isabella at his side—also being fitted with protective gear.

"Alexander," I called, "I need to prepare the medical response team. If this attack is as serious as the scouts report—"

"You'll remain here," he cut me off without looking at me. "Isabella will accompany me to the frontlines to treat the injured."

My blood ran cold. "She has no battlefield experience. Triage under attack requires—"

"Enough!" His Alpha tone vibrated through the room, making several nearby warriors flinch. "Isabella has natural healing instincts that surpass years of training."

The absurdity of his statement would have been laughable if lives weren't at stake. Isabella shot me a victorious glance as she adjusted her armor—armor that had once been mine, crafted to my measurements.

"Lock her in her chambers," Alexander ordered a nearby Delta. "For her own protection."

As two warriors escorted me back to my rooms, my mind carved the seventh tally mark.

Seven strikes. Three chances remaining.

Through my window, I watched Alexander lead our pack's defense, Isabella prominently at his side. My wolf paced restlessly as distant howls of pain reached us—pack members suffering, perhaps dying, without proper medical care.

For the first time, I wondered if I should abandon my countdown entirely. Perhaps I had already given Alexander seven chances too many.