I ran my feather duster along the oak shelves in Marcus's private study, careful not to disturb the meticulously arranged books. Three years as his mate, and this room still felt forbidden. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the higher shelf—another reminder of yesterday's 'training accident' that left my shoulder aching.

"Just be careful, Lyra," I whispered to my wolf, who whimpered softly in response. Once vibrant and strong, she'd grown increasingly withdrawn over the years, a shadow of her former self.

The study smelled of Marcus—sandalwood and power, that distinctive Alpha scent that once made my heart race with love. Now it just made me anxious. I glanced at the grandfather clock. Twenty minutes until he returned from the pack meeting. Twenty minutes to finish and disappear before he found some new flaw in my work.

As I stretched to reach the top shelf, my elbow knocked against a leather-bound book. It tumbled from its hidden position behind the row of financial ledgers, skidding across the polished floor with a sound that seemed to echo through the silent room.

My heart stopped. Marcus was meticulous about his possessions. Any disturbance would be noticed.

"I need to put it back exactly where it was," I murmured, kneeling to retrieve the fallen book. It had landed open, the pages splayed against the hardwood. As I moved to close it, a single phrase caught my eye: "Injury #97: Shoulder dislocation during training."

My blood ran cold. That was yesterday. The 'accident' where Delta Wilson had apologized profusely for throwing me too hard.

I shouldn't read it. I should put it back. But my trembling fingers betrayed me, turning to the previous page.

"Injury #96: Food poisoning from altered medication. Subject bedridden for three days. Minimal permanent damage, but sufficient energy transfer achieved."

The room spun around me. That was last month, when I'd been so violently ill that even the pack healer had been concerned. Marcus had stayed by my bedside, his face a mask of concern.

I clutched the journal to my chest and backed away from the shelf, my mind racing. This couldn't be real. This had to be some kind of mistake.

---

Night had fallen by the time I dared to open the journal again. Locked in my room—not our room, never our room, despite being his mate for three years—I sat cross-legged on my bed, the leather-bound book heavy in my lap.

My hands shook as I turned to the first page, dated three years ago. The very day Marcus had announced me as his mate to the pack.

"Contract initiated. Subject: Charlotte Williams, adopted daughter of Alpha Richard Williams. The contract requires 99 injuries through the mate bond to transfer life force to the intended Luna. Injury #1: Staged rogue attack during territory patrol."

I pressed my hand to my mouth, remembering that day. The 'lucky escape' that had left three parallel scars across my back. How Marcus had found me, carried me home, tended to my wounds himself.

All lies.

Page after page documented every 'accident,' every illness, every training mishap. Each one numbered. Each one planned. Each one inflicted by the man who was supposed to love and protect me above all others.

And worse—much worse—was the name that appeared throughout the entries. Isabella. My sister. My beautiful, perfect sister whom I'd loved despite her coldness toward me.

The journal slipped from my numb fingers as a wave of nausea hit me. Ninety-seven injuries. Only two more to go before whatever sick contract was fulfilled.

I needed air. I needed to think. Wrapping myself in a shawl against the autumn chill, I slipped out of my room and down the back stairs that led to the gardens.

The night air did little to clear my head as I wandered among the roses, their scent cloying and suffocating. I paused as voices drifted from the gazebo ahead. One deep and familiar—Marcus. The other soft and musical—Isabella.

I ducked behind a tall hedge, my heart pounding so loudly I feared they would hear it.

"Just two more injuries until the contract's complete," Marcus was saying, his voice low and intimate in a way it had never been with me. "Then we'll be free to announce our true mating."

"I've waited so long," Isabella replied, her voice thick with emotion. "Having to watch you pretend with her..."

"It's almost over, my love," Marcus murmured, and through the gaps in the foliage, I saw him pull my sister into his arms, his lips claiming hers with a passion he'd never shown me.

I pressed my fist against my mouth to stifle the sound that threatened to escape. My mate. My sister. The ninety-seven scars on my body. The contract.

As they embraced in the moonlight, something inside me shattered and reformed—harder, colder, and utterly unforgiving.

I slipped back into the mansion before dawn, the journal's revelations burning in my mind like acid. My fingers traced the spine of the book I'd returned to its hiding place, making sure it sat exactly as Marcus had left it. Evidence erased, but knowledge gained. Ninety-seven injuries. My entire relationship built on calculated torture.

Lyra whimpered in my mind. *We need to run.*

"Not yet," I whispered, straightening my shoulders despite the pain. "We need to be smart about this."

I moved through my morning routine mechanically—preparing Marcus's coffee exactly how he liked it, laying out his training clothes, checking the pack schedule. All while my mind cataloged every "accident" of the past three years, reframing them as deliberate acts of violence.

The dining room was quiet when I entered, save for the scrape of Marcus's knife against china. He looked up, his handsome face arranged in that familiar mask of mild concern.

"You're pale this morning," he observed, adjusting his cufflinks—the tell I'd never noticed before. "Are you still in pain from yesterday?"

"Just a little sore," I lied, lowering my eyes submissively. The role of the grateful, devoted mate now felt like broken glass in my throat.

He nodded, satisfied with my performance. "Good. There's a training drill today for all pack members. I expect you to participate."

My heart stuttered. Training drills meant combat, meant vulnerability. Meant opportunity for injury number ninety-eight.

"Of course, Alpha," I murmured, the title tasting like poison.

---

The training field buzzed with activity as pack members paired off for combat drills. I kept to the edges, hoping to be overlooked, but Marcus's voice cut through the din.

"Charlotte." Not Luna, never Luna in front of others. "Center field."

Every eye turned to me as I stepped forward, my body already tensing for what was to come. Marcus circled me slowly, his powerful frame blocking the afternoon sun.

"You've been sloppy in your defensive posture," he announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. "A proper demonstration is needed."

Before I could prepare, he lunged. I managed to dodge the first strike, but the second caught me across the ribs, sending me sprawling. I scrambled to my feet, calling to Lyra for strength, but she cowered within me, weakened by years of suppression.

"Defend yourself properly," Marcus commanded, his voice laced with that subtle Alpha tone that seemed to press down on my very bones.

I tried to block his next attack, but my movements felt sluggish, my reflexes dulled. His hand caught my wrist, twisting until a sickening crack echoed across the field. Pain exploded up my arm as I fell to my knees.

"That's enough," Marcus declared, stepping back with practiced concern. "Someone take her to the infirmary."

As two Delta wolves helped me up, I caught Isabella watching from the sidelines, her beautiful face carefully arranged in a mask of sisterly concern. But I saw it now—the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, the slight curve of her lips.

Ninety-eight.

---

The pack infirmary smelled of antiseptic and herbs. The healer, an older wolf named Grace, clucked her tongue as she examined my wrist.

"Broken clean through," she muttered. "Your healing should have started already."

I said nothing. I knew why my healing was suppressed—had felt the weight of Marcus's Alpha command pressing down on my wolf, stifling her power.

"I'll wrap it and give you something for the pain," Grace said, turning to her cabinet of remedies.

While her back was turned, I noticed a sealed envelope partially hidden beneath my chart on the counter. The crimson wax seal bore the unmistakable crest of the Moonstone Pack—a wolf howling beneath a full moon.

My breath caught. The Moonstone Pack was legendary, one of the oldest and most powerful packs in Europe. What was their correspondence doing here, mixed with my medical records?

With my good hand, I quickly slipped the envelope into the pocket of my training jacket, heart hammering against my ribs. Grace turned back, a vial of pale blue liquid in her hand, none the wiser.

"Drink this," she instructed. "It will help with the pain until your healing kicks in."

I accepted the vial, my mind racing with questions. As the bitter liquid slid down my throat, I felt the weight of the letter against my side like a burning coal.

Who in the Moonstone Pack would be writing about me? And why would Marcus hide their correspondence in the infirmary, of all places?

For the first time since discovering the journal, I felt a flicker of something beyond despair—a dangerous, fragile hope.

Lyra stirred within me, her presence strengthening just slightly. *Maybe we're not alone after all.*

I couldn't sleep that night, my broken wrist throbbing despite the pain medication. The weight of the Moonstone Pack letter burned against my side where I'd hidden it beneath my mattress. But even more pressing was the need to understand what Marcus was planning next. Injury ninety-eight had come so quickly after ninety-seven. The final blow couldn't be far behind.

Lyra paced restlessly within me. *We need to know what they're planning.*

"I know," I whispered into the darkness. "And there's only one way to find out."

When the grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight, I slipped from my bed. The pack house had fallen silent, most members asleep after the day's training. My broken wrist was awkwardly splinted against my chest as I crept down the corridor toward Marcus's study.

The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling onto the polished floor. I pressed myself against the wall, my heart hammering so loudly I feared it would give me away. Marcus was inside, his voice a low murmur as he conducted a mind-link conversation.

I'd never been able to hear his mind-links before—another sign of how he'd suppressed our mate bond—but tonight, perhaps because of my heightened awareness or desperation, fragments of his words floated to me.

"...almost complete..." His voice was coldly satisfied. "The pup will be the perfect final blow."

My hand flew to my stomach, a wave of nausea washing over me. Pup? I hadn't even considered... but of course, we were mates. It was possible.

"Once the contract is fulfilled..." Marcus continued, his voice fading in and out. "...Isabella will take her rightful place..."

I stumbled back from the door, bile rising in my throat. They were planning to use my own child—our child—as the final injury. The ultimate betrayal of the mate bond.

Somehow, I made it back to my room without being discovered. With shaking hands, I retrieved the Moonstone letter from beneath my mattress and broke the crimson seal.

*To the daughter of Alpha Victoria Ashworth,* it began, and my world tilted on its axis. *Your blood has called to us across the ocean. The time has come for you to know the truth of your lineage...*

I read the letter three times, tears blurring the elegant script. I wasn't an orphan adopted by the Williams Pack out of charity. I was the stolen daughter of Alpha Victoria Ashworth of the Moonstone Pack—taken during an ambush when I was just an infant.

The final paragraph contained a warning: *We have reason to believe you are in grave danger. Your mate bond has been corrupted for nefarious purposes.*

My hands trembled as I set the letter aside. I needed to respond, to reach out to this woman who claimed to be my mother. But how? Marcus monitored all pack communications.

The pack network. Every member had access for basic functions, but the system was more vulnerable after hours when the IT team was off duty. As Beta's assistant in my first year, I'd learned the override codes for emergencies.

I waited another hour until the house was completely still before making my way to the communications room. The blue glow of the monitors cast eerie shadows as I logged in with trembling fingers.

The override code still worked. Thank the Moon Goddess for small mercies.

I crafted my message carefully, encrypting it with the highest security protocol:

*To Alpha Victoria Ashworth of the Moonstone Pack. I am Charlotte Williams. I received your letter. The mate bond has indeed been corrupted—97 injuries inflicted, with 2 remaining to complete some kind of contract. I believe I may be carrying a child they intend to harm. Please help us.*

I hit send before I could lose my nerve, then erased all traces of my activity from the system. Back in my room, I curled around my still-flat stomach, protective instincts I didn't know I possessed flaring to life.

The response came faster than I could have imagined. My phone vibrated with an incoming message from an unknown number:

*My daughter. At last. We've found you. Stay strong for three more days. Prepare only what you can carry unnoticed. We're coming for you. —Mother*

Three days. I could survive three more days. I had to—not just for myself anymore, but for the tiny life that might be growing inside me. The life that Marcus and Isabella intended to use as their final sacrifice.

Lyra stirred within me, her presence stronger than it had been in years. *We will protect our pup,* she growled. *And then we will make them pay.*

For the first time in three years, I felt the stirring of something beyond fear and resignation. Something dangerous and sharp-edged.

Hope.