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.

Cayla POV:

I was forced to wear a maid's uniform that was two sizes too small.

The ballroom glittered. I walked through the crowd with a tray of champagne, feeling Grafton's eyes burning holes in my back.

"Toast to the birthday girl!" Cherrelle announced, standing by a pyramid of glass.

She gestured wildly. Her elbow clipped the table.

The tower came down.

Shards exploded.

Cherrelle screamed. A large piece of glass had sliced her forearm open. Blood sprayed.

"My arm! I'm bleeding out!"

Grafton was there instantly. "Medic!"

The pack doctor rushed over. "She hit an artery. We need a transfusion, now. But she's AB negative. We're out of stock."

"Find a donor!" Grafton roared.

I stood in the shadows. I knew Cherrelle was O positive—the most common blood type. She was lying for drama.

But if Grafton thought she was dying, he'd burn the world down.

And... I was AB negative.

I stepped forward. "Hook me up."

Grafton looked at me with suspicion. "You?"

"Do you want her to live or not?"

The doctor didn't wait.

As my blood left my body, I felt the familiar drain. My White Wolf blood was potent. It didn't just replace volume; it knit flesh.

I watched the color return to Cherrelle's cheeks.

When it was over, I could barely sit up.

Cherrelle looked at her arm. The wound was already a faint scar.

Panic flashed in her eyes. She realized I had healed her too fast. She realized I had exposed myself.

"You!" she shrieked, clutching her chest. "It burns! She poisoned me!"

"What?" Grafton asked.

"She put silver powder in the line!" Cherrelle lied. "I saw her! She wants to kill me from the inside!"

It was medically impossible. Silver powder doesn't dissolve in blood; it clots. But Cherrelle knew Grafton's blind spot.

Grafton ripped the IV out of my arm. Blood sprayed onto the floor.

"You tried to kill her?" he growled.

"I saved her!" I cried out. "Look at the wound! It's gone!"

"She's in pain!" Grafton didn't look at the evidence.

He grabbed me by the hair.

"You want to hurt what's mine?"

He dragged me out of the ballroom.

He didn't take me to the pool this time. He took me to the kennel.

He threw me into the dog run.

"Since you act like a rabid animal," he said, tossing a rusted iron box onto the dirt—my keepsake box from my apartment. "You can live like one."

He stomped on the box. The metal crunched.

"This is your new home, Cayla. Until you learn."

He locked the gate.

I crawled to the crushed box. The photo of Justen was torn. I held the pieces to my chest and finally, finally let myself break.