The rough hands of the guards didn’t stop at the stable doors. They shoved me inside with enough force that I stumbled into a pile of damp straw, my knees scraping against the unforgiving stone floor. The smell hit me instantly—manure, decay, and the sharp, musky scent of unwashed wolves. This wasn't just a stable; it was a prison.

"Strip," the lead guard barked. He was a Gamma I used to play tag with as a pup. Now, he wouldn't even look me in the eye.

"Please," I whispered, clutching my ruined blouse. "I'm freezing."

"Alpha's orders. No rank, no clothes of the pack." He threw a rough, scratchy bundle at my feet. "Put that on."

Shame burned hotter than the cold wind slicing through the slats in the wood. With trembling fingers, I shed the last remnants of my dignity—the clothes I had worn while saving lives in the Royal Stronghold—and pulled on the burlap sack. It was itchy and smelled of mold, hanging loosely off my frame like a shroud.

"Get to work," the guard spat, pointing to the stalls. "The Omegas have the night off. You're doing the cleaning."

They slammed the heavy wooden doors, plunging me into semi-darkness. For hours, I shoveled. My hands, the hands that had stitched wounds with magic and mixed delicate serums, were now gripping a splintered shovel. Blisters formed within the first hour. By the third, they had popped, weeping clear fluid that mixed with the filth of the stables. Every movement sent a jolt of agony up my arms, threatening the dexterity I needed to ever recreate the cure. I looked at my shaking, raw palms and sobbed silently. The cure was gone. My mate was gone. And I was drowning in shit.

The dinner bell rang, a hollow sound that usually meant warmth and community. For me, it meant service.

A younger Omega unlocked the door, her eyes wide with pity she was too afraid to voice. "Alpha wants you in the dining hall," she murmured. "To serve."

Walking into the pack house in a burlap sack while everyone else wore clean clothes was a humiliation designed to break me. The air was thick with the smell of roasted venison and rosemary, but the moment I entered, silence fell like a guillotine. Greyson sat at the head of the table, looking regal and terrifying. Francesca was plastered to his side, feeding him grapes like a caricature of a queen.

"Ah, our new Omega has arrived," Francesca announced, her voice pitching high and sweet. "Bring the wine, girl. And don't spill it on the Alpha."

I gritted my teeth, taking the heavy pitcher. My damaged hands throbbed as I moved around the table. Pack members—people I grew up with—jeered as I passed. Some spat on the floor near my bare feet.

"Traitor," someone whispered.

"Whore," another hissed.

I reached the head of the table, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. As I poured wine into Greyson’s goblet, I dared to look at him. His eyes were hard, devoid of the warmth that used to make my toes curl. He didn't even acknowledge me.

Francesca stood up then, clinking her fork against her glass. "Attention, everyone! Greyson and I have wonderful news."

The room went quiet. She placed a hand over her flat stomach, beaming with a triumph that made my stomach turn.

"I am carrying the late Alpha's heir," she declared. "A pup to lead us all."

A roar of approval went up from the pack. Wolves howled and banged their fists on the tables. Greyson stood, his chest puffing out with pride—a false pride built on a lie. He wrapped an arm around her waist, looking at her with a reverence that shattered what was left of my heart.

"To the future of the Silver Moon Pack!" Greyson roared. Then, his gaze snapped to me. "Kneel, Omega. Congratulate your Luna."

I froze. My wolf, Selene, bristled under my skin. *Lies,* she growled. *There is no second heartbeat. No scent of milk or life. It is a void.*

"No," I whispered.

The celebration died instantly. Greyson’s expression darkened. "What did you say?"

"I said no," I said, my voice shaking but loud enough to carry. "She isn't pregnant, Greyson. There is no pup scent. It's a trick!"

Francesca gasped, burying her face in Greyson’s neck. "She's cursing the baby, Grey! She wants it to die like your brother!"

"Silence!" Greyson bellowed. The Alpha command hit me like a physical weight, a sledgehammer to the skull.

"**KNEEL!**"

My body betrayed me. My knees slammed into the hardwood floor with a sickening crack. I couldn't breathe; the pressure of his aura was crushing my lungs, forcing my forehead down until it touched the cold wood.

"You will respect the mother of my nephew," Greyson snarled, his voice vibrating through the floorboards. "Get her out of here. Before I kill her myself."

Dragged back to the stables, I was thrown into the straw, gasping for air as the Alpha command slowly released its grip. I curled into a ball, shivering violently.

*Helena,* Selene’s voice cut through the haze of pain. It was urgent, sharp. *Listen.*

I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing. Through the thin walls of the stable, past the wind, I felt it. A dark, oily sensation radiating from the main house. It was coming from the Luna’s suite—Francesca’s room.

*Dark magic,* Selene hissed. *She is not sleeping. She is communing. I hear the whispers of the Rogues.*

Panic spiked in my chest. She was contacting them now. She was planning the next phase of whatever hell she had unleashed on us. I had to tell him. Even if he hated me, he was still the Alpha. He had to know his pack was compromised.

I closed my eyes and reached for the bond, that frayed, burnt thread that still connected our souls.

*Greyson,* I projected, pouring all my desperation into the mental link. *Please, listen. Francesca is talking to Rogues right now. I can feel the magic—*

It was like running full speed into a brick wall.

He slammed the link shut. He didn't just ignore me; he actively blocked me with a violent mental shove. The backlash was instantaneous. A blinding white light exploded behind my eyes, searing through my skull like a hot poker.

I screamed, clutching my head as bile rose in my throat. I retched into the straw, my body convulsion with the shock of the rejection. He had walled me out completely. I was alone in the dark, with the taste of vomit in my mouth and the terrifying realization that the enemy was already inside the gates, sleeping in the Alpha's bed.

The silence of the pack house at 3:00 AM was heavy, pressing against my eardrums like water. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I crept through the service corridors, my bare feet making no sound on the cold stone. I was a ghost in my own home, an Omega in a burlap sack where I should have been Luna.

I needed paper. Just a few scraps. The formula for the cure was burning a hole in my mind, a complex chemical chain that could save our species, and I was terrified that the trauma of the last few hours would make me forget it. I pushed open the heavy oak door of the library, the scent of old parchment and leather washing over me—a scent that used to mean safety.

Moonlight filtered through the high windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. I rushed to the nearest desk, my hands trembling as I snatched a piece of stationary and a fountain pen. The nib scratched against the paper, the ink flowing black and permanent as I frantically scribbled symbols and measurements.

*C17H21NO4... stabilize with Wolfsbane derivative...*

"Diligent little worker bee, aren't we?"

The voice came from the shadows, smooth and cold as ice. I froze, the pen slipping from my fingers to clatter onto the desk. Francesca stepped out from behind a row of bookshelves, her silk nightgown flowing around her like a mist. She wasn't smiling. Her expression was flat, predatory.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, clutching the paper to my chest.

"Watching you," she purred, walking closer. She picked up the pen I had dropped, twirling it between her fingers. "You really think scribbling on fancy paper is going to save you? Or them?"

"It's the cure," I said, my voice gaining a fraction of strength. "For the Blight. You wouldn't understand."

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that made the hair on my arms stand up. "Oh, I understand perfectly, Helena. I understand that you've spent three years trying to fix what my people worked so hard to break."

My breath hitched. "Your people?"

Francesca leaned in, her eyes flashing a unnatural shade of red before settling back to brown. "Blood Fang sends their regards. We nearly had the cure destroyed at the source, but you... you just had to be the hero."

The room spun. "You're a Rogue," I breathed, the horror of it settling in my gut like lead. "You're the spy."

"Spy, saboteur, assassin," she shrugged, examining her manicured nails. "Labels are so boring. I prefer 'architect.' I designed the ambush that killed Greyson's brother. Did you know he begged for his life? Not for himself, but for his 'mate.' For me."

"You monster," I hissed, stepping back. "And the baby?"

"A little Rogue witchcraft goes a long way," she smirked, patting her flat stomach. "Scent masking is child's play. There is no pup, Helena. Just like there is no future for this pack."

"I have to tell him," I gasped, turning toward the door. "Greyson has to know!"

"Go ahead," she challenged, not moving an inch. "Who do you think he'll believe? The traitorous whore who abandoned him? Or the grieving mother of his brother's child?"

Before I could respond, she moved with terrifying speed. She snatched a silver letter opener from the desk. I flinched, expecting her to strike me, but instead, she slashed the blade across her own forearm.

Blood welled up, dark and rich in the moonlight.

"AAAAHH! GREYSON! HELP ME!"

Her scream shattered the quiet of the library, shrill and agonizing. She threw the letter opener at my feet and collapsed, clutching her bleeding arm, tears instantly streaming down her face.

The library doors burst open with a crash that shook the floorboards. Greyson stood there, chest heaving, his eyes wild. He took in the scene in a heartbeat—Francesca on the floor, bleeding, and me standing over her, the 'weapon' at my feet.

"She tried to kill the baby!" Francesca sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at me. "She said my baby was a mistake! She tried to cut it out of me!"

Greyson's roar was not human. It was the sound of a beast in pure, unadulterated fury.

"NO!" I screamed, raising my hands. "Greyson, look at the wound! She did it herself! She's a Rogue!"

He didn't hear me. He didn't see me. He only saw a threat to his family. He crossed the room in a blur of motion. His hand connected with my face with the force of a falling tree.

Pain exploded in my jaw. I flew backward, crashing into a bookshelf. Heavy volumes rained down on me, bruising my ribs and shoulders. I tasted copper as blood filled my mouth.

"You..." Greyson snarled, looming over me, his aura suffocating the room. "I thought exile was enough. I thought stripping your rank was mercy. But you are a monster."

"Greyson, please," I choked out, spitting blood onto the hardwood. "Ask her about the Blood Fang. Ask her about your brother!"

"Do not speak of him!" he bellowed, grabbing me by the throat and lifting me off the ground. My feet kicked uselessly at the air. "You tried to kill his pup. You tried to kill the last piece of him I have left."

He threw me toward the guards who had just rushed in. "Take her to the dungeon."

The guards hesitated. The dungeon was for enemies of the state, for Rogues who were to be executed. No pack member had been sent there in decades.

"NOW!" Greyson commanded, his Alpha voice cracking the plaster on the ceiling.

They dragged me down. Down past the wine cellar, past the storage rooms, into the damp, lightless belly of the earth. The air here smelled of rust and old fear. They shoved me into a cell carved from the bedrock, water dripping somewhere in the darkness.

Greyson followed, his face a mask of stone. He pointed to the wall.

"Chain her."

The guards clamped heavy iron shackles around my wrists. As the metal clicked shut, a searing heat scorched my skin.

"Silver," I gasped, pulling against them. The burn was immediate and agonizing, like holding dry ice. "Greyson, it burns!"

"Good," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He stepped into the cell, looking down at me with disgust. "Your aura... it makes me sick. It still feels noble. It still feels like a Luna's. But it's a lie. Just like you."

He turned to the guards. "Leave us. I need to ensure she can't hurt anyone else."

As the heavy iron door clanged shut, leaving us alone in the flickering torchlight, I looked at the man who was supposed to be my soulmate.

"I am going to dampen you, Helena," he whispered, reaching into his pocket. "I am going to make sure you never have the strength to lift a hand against my pack again."

The bucket in Greyson’s hand sloshed as he approached, the liquid inside dark and viscous. It didn't smell like water. It smelled like burning sulfur and death. My breath hitched in my throat, a ragged sound in the damp silence of the dungeon cell.

"Greyson, please," I whispered, my voice cracked from screaming. The silver chains bit into my wrists, holding me upright against the cold stone wall. "You don't have to do this. Just look at me. Look at your mate."

He stopped just out of reach. His eyes were a storm of conflict—gold flashing against the brown, his wolf fighting the man. But then he looked at the bandage on his forearm, a phantom injury from where Francesca had cut herself, and the gold vanished. The man won. The lie won.

"My mate wouldn't try to kill my brother's pup," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. It was terrifyingly calm. "You are a sickness, Helena. A rot in this pack. And rot must be burned out."

He lifted the bucket.

"No!" I screamed, thrashing against the chains. "Greyson, it's Wolfsbane! You'll kill her! You'll kill Selene!"

He didn't hesitate. With a grunt of exertion, he threw the liquid.

Time seemed to stretch and warp. I saw the dark wave coming, saw the droplets catching the torchlight like black diamonds. Then, it hit.

It wasn't like fire. Fire is hot; fire consumes. This was cold. It was a liquid freeze that sank instantly through my skin, bypassing muscle and bone to attack the very essence of my soul. It felt like acid eating through my veins.

I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The pain was too absolute. It seized every nerve ending, turning my body into a single, vibrating wire of agony. My skin blistered instantly, the Wolfsbane reacting violently with my healing bloodline. Steam rose from my arms, my chest, my face.

But the physical pain was nothing compared to what happened inside.

*Helena!* Selene roared in my mind, a sound of pure terror.

I felt her thrashing within me, clawing at the walls of my consciousness as the poison flooded our bond. It was suffocating her. The Wolfsbane was designed to suppress a wolf, but in this concentration, poured directly onto a shifter... it was an execution.

*Fight it, Selene!* I begged, though I couldn't form the words. *Stay with me!*

*I... cannot...* Her voice grew faint, distorted like a radio losing signal. *It burns... the link... it's breaking...*

And then, the worst sound I have ever heard echoed through my skull. It wasn't a roar or a growl. It was a whimper. A high, broken sound of a dying animal.

Then silence.

Absolute, crushing silence.

The connection that had been there since I was sixteen, the comforting presence that was always in the back of my mind, was gone. It was like going blind and deaf all at once. I was hollowed out. Empty.

My knees gave way. If not for the chains, I would have collapsed into the puddle of poison. As it was, I hung there, limp, my head lolling forward. Darkness clawed at the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw before the blackness took me was Greyson dropping the bucket, his hands shaking violently.

***

While I floated in the void, miles away, a different kind of darkness was spreading.

Francesca stood at the northern border of the Silver Moon territory. The wind whipped her hair around her face, carrying the scent of pine and impending rain. She didn't look like a grieving widow now. She looked like a predator.

She checked her watch. 3:00 AM. The witching hour.

She pulled a small, jagged stone from her pocket—a rune stone, carved with symbols that made the eyes ache to look at. She pressed it against the invisible barrier of the pack's wards. The magical shield shimmered, a translucent dome of energy that protected the families sleeping in the valley below.

"Open," she whispered, her voice laced with power that didn't belong to a wolf.

The stone pulsed red. The wards groaned, a low vibration that only the most sensitive wolves would feel in their teeth. Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, a hole opened in the barrier. It wasn't big, just enough for a signal to pass through.

Francesca pulled a flare gun from her coat. She didn't aim it at the sky. She aimed it into the dense woods beyond the territory line, pulling the trigger. A streak of green light shot into the trees.

"Come and get them," she smirked, tossing the rune stone into the underbrush. "Dinner is served."

***

I woke up to the sound of dripping water.

My body felt heavy, impossibly heavy, like my bones had been replaced with lead. I tried to take a deep breath, but my ribs screamed in protest. Every inch of my skin felt raw, tight, and hot.

*Selene?* I called out internally, a reflex.

Nothing. Just the echo of my own thoughts in a vast, empty cavern.

A sob caught in my throat. She was gone. He had killed her.

Footsteps approached the cell. Heavy, erratic footsteps. I didn't have the strength to lift my head, but I smelled him. Greyson. But beneath his scent of cedar and rain, there was something else—sour, acrid fear.

The cell door creaked open.

"Helena?"

His voice was a whisper. He stepped into the torchlight, and for the first time in three years, he looked at me. Really looked at me.

He saw the blisters covering my arms. He saw the way I hung from the chains, broken. And then, his hand flew to his chest, right over his heart.

He gasped, staggering back as if he'd been struck. "It... it hurts."

The bond. Even through the Wolfsbane, even through the lies, the mate bond was a fundamental law of nature. He was feeling my pain. He was feeling the echo of the emptiness where Selene used to be.

"Why does it hurt?" he choked out, his eyes wide and bewildered. He reached a hand toward me, his fingers trembling. "I... I shouldn't feel this. You're a traitor."

For a second, the fog in his eyes cleared. He looked at his own hands, then at the empty bucket in the corner, horror dawning on his face. "What have I done?"

He took a step toward me, reaching for the keys on his belt. "Helena, I—"

"Greyson!"

Francesca appeared in the doorway, breathless, her eyes wide with fake panic. She didn't look at me. She grabbed Greyson's arm, her nails digging into his bicep.

"Don't listen to her magic!" she shrieked. "She's trying to bewitch you again! Remember the baby, Greyson! Remember the blood on the library floor!"

Greyson froze. He looked at me, then at Francesca. The conflict raged in his eyes, a war between the truth of his soul and the poison in his ear.

"She killed him," Francesca sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "She killed your brother's baby."

The clarity vanished from Greyson's face, replaced by a wall of ice. He dropped his hand from his chest, his jaw tightening until a muscle feathered in his cheek. He stepped back, away from me, away from the truth.

"You're right," he muttered, his voice hollow. He turned his back on me, leaving me in the dark. "Let her rot."