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.