The cottage reeked of mildew and abandonment.

I stood in the doorway, clutching the single bag that held everything I owned—everything Michael hadn't already thrown away or given to Paisley. The structure sagged like it had given up years ago, its roof patched with mismatched shingles, windows clouded with grime. This was where they sent omegas who'd failed their pack. Where they stored broken things.

Where they'd sent me.

My leg throbbed as I limped inside, each step sending sharp pain up my spine. The floorboards creaked ominously under my weight. One room. A sagging bed frame with a stained mattress. A rusted sink that dripped brown water. No heat. The November wind whistled through gaps in the walls I could see daylight through.

I set my bag down and felt my knees buckle. I caught myself on the bed frame, but barely. The severed mate bond pulsed like an open wound in my chest, constant and agonizing. Three days since the rejection, and it hadn't dulled. If anything, it burned hotter.

*Wolf?* I called inward, desperate. *Please. Talk to me.*

Silence. She'd gone dark the moment Michael threw the necklace into the lake. Dormant. Maybe dying. Maybe already dead.

I was alone. Truly, completely alone.

The days blurred together after that. I couldn't eat—everything tasted like ash. Sleep came in fitful bursts haunted by dreams of Michael's face as he stepped over me, walked away, chose her. I'd wake gasping, the phantom pain of the breaking bond fresh all over again.

My body weakened rapidly. Without my wolf's healing, the old leg injury flared worse than it had in years. I could barely walk to the cottage's single window without needing to rest. My reflection in the grimy glass showed a stranger—hollow-eyed, gaunt, fading.

Part of me wondered if this was how it would end. If I'd simply disappear in this forgotten cottage, and no one would notice until the smell became a problem.

On the fifth day, I heard footsteps outside.

I dragged myself upright from the bed, my heart—stupidly, desperately—leaping. Maybe Michael had come. Maybe he'd realized—

Paisley pushed open the door without knocking. She wore a cream cashmere sweater and designer jeans, her blonde hair perfectly styled. The artificial vanilla scent rolled off her in waves, so thick I immediately started coughing.

"Oh good, you're alive," she said, wrinkling her nose as she surveyed the cottage. "I wasn't sure. You look absolutely dreadful, Ashley."

I said nothing. I had no strength for whatever game she was playing.

She circled the small space like a predator, running one manicured finger along the grimy windowsill. "I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you were... settling in." Her smile was poisonous sweetness. "It's cozy, isn't it? Perfect for someone of your new status."

"What do you want, Paisley?"

"Want?" She laughed, high and cruel. "Nothing from you. You have nothing left to give." She moved closer, and the artificial scent intensified until I could barely breathe. "I wanted to thank you, actually. For making it so easy. Michael needed someone strong by his side, not a broken toy limping around, reminding him of his failures."

The words hit like physical blows, but I refused to let her see me flinch.

"That limp," she continued, tilting her head in mock sympathy. "Does it hurt? After all these years? Must be exhausting, dragging that useless leg around. No wonder Michael finally saw sense."

My hands clenched at my sides. My wolf stirred—barely, weakly—at the insult, but couldn't rise to defend us.

Paisley pulled something from her designer purse. My journals. The ones I'd kept for twenty years, filled with letters to Michael I'd never sent. My private thoughts, my hopes, my breaking heart documented over decades.

"I found these in your old room," she said, flipping through one carelessly. "Such devotion. Such pathetic, desperate devotion." She met my eyes. "I'm going to burn them. Tonight. At the bonfire celebration."

"Those are mine—"

"Were yours." She tucked them back in her purse. "Everything you were is gone now, Ashley. You're nothing. A broken omega in a broken cottage. And soon, everyone will forget you ever existed."

She left in a cloud of that sickening vanilla scent, her laughter echoing even after the door slammed shut.

I collapsed onto the bed, shaking. Not from anger. From the horrible realization that she was right. I was fading. Disappearing. My wolf silent, my body failing, my entire identity erased.

Three weeks crawled by.

I forced myself to move, to function, driven by pure stubborn refusal to die in this cottage. When word reached me that a pup in the lower pack houses was sick—fevered, weak—I gathered what little strength I had. I was still a healer. That, at least, Paisley couldn't take from me.

The forest near the border held the herbs I needed. Silverleaf and moonblossom, growing deep in the shadowed places. I'd gathered them a hundred times before.

But I'd never been this weak before. This hollow.

The walk to the forest edge took twice as long as it should have. My leg screamed with every step. My senses, normally sharp, felt dulled and distant. I couldn't smell the usual forest scents properly. Couldn't hear the bird calls that should have warned me.

I found the silverleaf growing in a small clearing and knelt awkwardly, my bad leg refusing to cooperate. The herbs blurred in my vision. When had I last eaten? Yesterday? The day before?

I didn't smell them until they were already there.

Rogues.

Four of them, surrounding the clearing. Their scents hit me all at once—unwashed, feral, hungry. My wolf tried to rise in warning but couldn't, still dormant, still dying.

I struggled to stand, but my leg gave out. I fell hard, herbs scattering from my trembling hands.

The largest rogue stepped forward, lips pulling back from yellowed teeth.

"Well," he growled. "What do we have here?"

The largest rogue's breath hit my face—rotten meat and decay. I scrambled backward, my bad leg dragging uselessly, hands clawing at the dirt for purchase.

"Lost little omega," he snarled, circling closer. The other three fanned out, blocking any escape. "Smells like you've been rejected. No pack. No protection."

My fingers found something hard buried in the leaf litter—a rock, maybe, or— No. The silver knife. The small one I'd brought for cutting herbs. My hand closed around it.

"Stay back," I gasped, holding it up with shaking hands.

They laughed. The sound scraped against my nerves like claws on stone.

The largest lunged.

I didn't think. Twenty years of suppressing my instincts, of making myself small and weak for Michael, and some dormant part of me finally broke free. I twisted, drove the blade up and into the rogue's shoulder—right where the artery ran close to the surface. He howled, stumbling back, blood spraying.

The second rogue came at me from the side. I tried to roll away, but my leg buckled. Pain exploded through my hip as I hit the ground hard. The knife flew from my grip, skittering into the underbrush.

Hands grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. Claws scraped my throat, drawing blood. I thrashed, kicked with my good leg, felt it connect with something soft. A grunt. The grip loosened for half a second.

Not enough.

The third rogue pinned my arms. I was on my back now, staring up at three sets of feral eyes. The one I'd stabbed leaned over me, blood dripping from his wound onto my face, mixing with my tears.

"Should've stayed in your broken cottage, omega," he hissed.

I was going to die here. In the dirt. Alone. Maybe that was fitting. Maybe this was always how it was supposed to end—not as Michael's Luna, not with dignity or purpose, but bleeding out in a forest clearing while rogues tore me apart.

The largest one shifted above me, his jaw elongating, teeth sharpening. Going for my throat. The killing bite.

I closed my eyes.

At least the pain would stop. At least the hollow ache where the mate bond used to be would finally go silent. At least I wouldn't have to see Michael and Paisley anymore, wouldn't have to watch them build the life that should have been mine.

I waited for the teeth.

Instead, I heard the most terrifying sound I'd ever heard in my life.

A wolf's roar—deep, primal, filled with rage that made the very air vibrate. Not a howl. A *roar*.

The weight pinning me vanished. I opened my eyes in time to see a massive black shape crash through the clearing like a force of nature. Midnight fur tipped with silver. Eyes that burned amber-gold in the shadows. Bigger than any wolf I'd ever seen, even bigger than an Alpha should be.

He tore through the rogues with savage efficiency. Jaws closed around the throat of the one who'd been about to kill me. A sickening crack. The body dropped. The other two tried to run. They didn't make it ten feet.

I should have been horrified. Should have been screaming. Instead, I lay there in the blood-soaked dirt, watching this enormous black wolf protect me with a ferocity that made my chest ache. Made something deep inside me stir. Something that had been silent for weeks.

The wolf turned to me, and those amber eyes—

I knew them.

"Edward?" The name came out as barely a whisper.

The wolf shimmered, bones cracking and reforming. A moment later, Edward Riley stood in the clearing in human form, chest heaving, still half-wild from the shift. Blood—not his—splattered across his bare skin. He dropped to his knees beside me.

"Ashley." His voice broke on my name. His hands hovered over me, shaking, like he was afraid to touch me. Afraid I'd shatter. "Ashley, stay with me. I've got you. You're safe now."

His fingers brushed my face, pushing blood-matted hair back from my forehead.

The moment his skin met mine, the world *exploded*.

Electric fire shot through every nerve ending. Not pain—something else entirely. Something that made my dormant wolf *surge* upward with a desperate, keening cry. Something that felt like coming home and falling off a cliff at the same time.

The mate bond.

Edward jerked back like he'd been burned, his eyes going wide, those amber irises flashing to brilliant blue and back again. His wolf, recognizing. Claiming.

"No," I whispered. Because it couldn't be. Because the Moon Goddess couldn't be this cruel, to give me another mate when the first one had destroyed me. "No, please, I can't—"

My vision blurred. The pain, the blood loss, the bond trying to form while the old one still bled—it was too much. Everything was too much.

"Ashley, look at me." Edward's hands cupped my face, and that electric spark pulsed between us again, stronger. His voice carried an Alpha's command, but underneath it was something raw and desperate. "Stay awake. Don't you dare leave me. Not now. Not when I just found you."

But the darkness was already pulling me under, and the last thing I felt was Edward lifting me into his arms, holding me against his chest like I was something precious instead of broken.