Grafton POV:

My hand was still tingling. Like I'd grabbed a live wire.

"Get her to the pack hospital!" I barked.

My wolf, Fenrir, was losing his mind. Mate. Hurt. Protect.

I shoved him down. Impossible, I thought. She's a human. A stray. Justen's pet project. She can't be.

But the spark...

At the hospital, the doctors swarmed her.

"Alpha," Dr. Evans said, frowning at the monitors. "Her healing factor is garbage. It's like her system is dormant. The silver is eating her alive."

"Fix her," I growled.

"Grafton?"

Cherrelle's voice grated on my ears. She was sitting in a wheelchair she didn't need, holding a wrist that wasn't broken.

"Baby, I'm traumatized," she sniffled. "That Rogue... he looked at me."

I looked at Cayla, bleeding out on the table. Then I looked at Cherrelle.

Logic said Cayla saved my life. Logic said that spark meant she was my other half.

But paranoia whispered louder. She hid her power. She used a Voice command on the Gamma. What else is she hiding? Is she a witch? A spy?

"Grafton," Cherrelle whined. "My wrist hurts."

I needed to think. I needed distance from the confusing scent of vanilla and rain coming from Cayla.

"Dr. Evans," I said, my voice cold. "Check Miss Hughes. She's... in shock."

"But Alpha," Evans protested. "Miss Bass is critical."

"She's tough. She'll live," I lied to myself. "That's an order."

I walked out, leaving my potential Mate to bleed alone.

Cayla POV:

I woke up to silence. No beeping machines. No nurses.

My leg throbbed with a dull, toxic ache. I looked down. Bandaged, but the blood was seeping through. The silver was still in there, fighting the suppressants.

Thirsty.

I dragged myself out of bed. I grabbed an IV pole and shuffled into the hallway.

Laughter drifted from the VIP suite.

I looked in. Grafton was sitting on the bed, holding an ice pack to Cherrelle's perfectly fine wrist. He was releasing calming pheromones—a luxury he'd never wasted on me.

Cherrelle spotted me. Her eyes narrowed, and she launched into a performance worthy of an Oscar.

"Ah!" she shrieked, flinching away. "She's doing it again! She's in my head!"

Grafton spun around.

"What are you doing?" he roared.

"Water," I rasped.

"Liar!" Cherrelle cried. "She's projecting pain! Make it stop!"

Grafton marched toward me. He didn't see the blood on my gown. He only saw the threat to his precious socialite.

He grabbed my arm. His grip bruised.

"I told you to stay away from her," he snarled.

He shoved me.

I hit the wall hard. My head cracked against the plaster.

I slid to the floor, seeing stars.

Grafton loomed over me, eyes glowing red. He wasn't thinking. He was reacting to Cherrelle's distress signals like a puppet.

"You are nothing," he spat. "You will never be Luna. You aren't even worthy to clean her shoes."

My heart didn't break. It just stopped beating for a second.

"I, Grafton Mcleod, Command you," he bellowed, the Alpha magic pinning me to the floor. "Do not come near us."

I lay in my own blood, watching the man I saved walk back to the woman who wanted me dead.

Cayla POV:

Three days later, I was back at my desk. The Alpha Command didn't account for sick days.

Cherrelle strutted in, tossing a file on my desk.

"Grafton wants Moonberry Tarts for the poker night. From the bakery on the Rogue border."

"That's twenty miles away," I said. "And there's a storm warning."

"Better get driving then, Shadow."

By the time I got back to the pack house, the storm had turned the world into a car wash. I was soaked, shivering, and clutching a box of soggy tarts.

The poker game was in the basement bar. Grafton sat in the center, surrounded by sycophants. Cherrelle was on his lap.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Cherrelle giggled.

"Put them down and leave," Grafton said, not looking up from his cards.

"Wait," Cherrelle said. "Truth or Dare. Grafton, I dare you to drink a shot of 'Midnight Madness'."

The room went dead silent.

Jeremy, the Gamma, stood up. "Cherrelle, are you insane? That's straight Wolfsbane extract. It's for torture, not toasts."

Wolfsbane. It causes paralysis, hallucinations, and agony.

"It's diluted," Cherrelle lied smoothly. "Just a little kick. Unless our big bad Alpha is scared?"

Grafton's jaw tightened. His pride was his leash, and she held the handle. "Pour it."

"No!" I stepped forward. The smell coming off that bottle was acrid enough to strip paint. "Grafton, don't. That's not diluted. It's pure concentrate."

"Silence, slave," Grafton snapped.

Cherrelle held the glass to his lips.

Justen's voice whispered in my head: Protect him.

I moved.

I threw myself across the table, knocking the cards flying.

"Get off!" Grafton shouted.

I snatched the glass.

"You won't believe me," I said, my voice shaking. "So I'll show you."

I downed the shot.

It tasted like battery acid.

The moment it hit my stomach, my insides dissolved. It was worse than silver. It felt like swallowing a live grenade.

I fell to my knees, clutching my throat.

"Cayla!" Jeremy shouted.

I looked up, gasping for air. I expected to see gratitude.

Instead, I saw Grafton rolling his eyes.

"Drama queen," he muttered. "She probably palmed the real glass. Get her out of here. She's ruining the vibe."

He didn't know. He couldn't feel the bond screaming because he had blocked it out with his own arrogance.

I curled into a ball on the sticky floor, dying inside, while the man I loved dealt the next hand.

Cayla POV:

The Wolfsbane didn't kill me—White Wolf blood is stubborn—but it left me twitching and feverish.

"Get up," Grafton kicked my shoe. "Cherrelle is tired. Escort her to the penthouse."

I stumbled out into the lobby. Cherrelle walked ahead, humming. She stopped by the indoor fountain. The water was chilled to near freezing.

"You know," Cherrelle said, turning to me. "You're like a cockroach. You just won't die."

"Why do you hate me?" I rasped.

"Because he smells you," she hissed. "When you leave the room, he inhales. I won't lose my crown to a secretary."

She glanced around. No witnesses.

With a theatrical gasp, she threw herself backward over the fountain wall.

SPLASH.

"Help! She's drowning me!" Cherrelle screamed, thrashing in two feet of water.

The elevator dinged. Grafton.

He saw his girlfriend in the water. He saw me standing there.

He didn't ask. He didn't think.

He grabbed me by the neck and slammed me face-first into the fountain.

The cold was a shock to my system. I gasped, inhaling water.

"You like water?" Grafton roared, holding my head under. "Cool off, Cayla!"

He held me down. The Wolfsbane in my veins reacted to the cold, sending my muscles into spasms.

I flailed, my fingernails scratching uselessly against his wrists.

He pulled me up just as the black spots started to dance.

"Get her out of my sight," Grafton told the security guards. "Lock her in the utility closet. She can prep for the party tomorrow."

They dragged me away.

I spent the night on a concrete floor, shivering in wet clothes.

When morning came, I was delirious. I fumbled for my phone. I needed to see Justen's face.

I unlocked the screen. The wallpaper lit up—a selfie of me and Justen.

The door burst open.

Grafton stood there. He looked exhausted.

"Get up. Caterers are here."

I tried to stand. My legs folded. The phone slid across the floor to his boots.

He looked down.

He froze.

He picked it up. He stared at the screen.

Justen and Grafton were identical twins. But Justen had a scar on his chin.

Grafton didn't see the scar. He saw himself.

His face twisted in revulsion.

"Is this your game?" he whispered. "You Photoshop yourself into pictures with me? You create these sick little fantasies?"

"No..." I wheezed. "That's... Justen..."

"Don't say his name!" Grafton threw the phone against the wall. It shattered. "You are a sick, twisted stalker. You're obsessed with me. It's pathetic."

He slammed the door, leaving me in the dark with the broken pieces of the only thing I had left.