Elena POV

Pain was the first thing to return.

It wasn't a single sensation, but a chorus. A throbbing pulse in my jaw, a sharp, stinging ache in my wrist, and a deep, hollow sorrow that seemed to cave in my chest.

I forced my heavy eyelids open. I wasn't in the damp darkness of the dungeon. I was in the Healer's clinic, tucked away in the private back room.

The air didn't smell of rot and fear; it smelled of sharp antiseptic and the dusty, comforting scent of dried sage.

"You're awake," a soft voice said.

It was Mara, the Pack's head Healer. She was an older woman, her gray hair pulled back into a severe bun that pulled at her temples. She was the one who had stitched me up after the poison dagger incident three years ago. In this entire hellhole of a pack, she was the only soul I dared to trust.

"My baby?" I whispered, my hands flying instinctively to my stomach.

Mara's eyes widened slightly. "You know?"

"I saw the report," I rasped, my throat dry as sandpaper. "Is it...?"

"The little one is stressed, but alive," Mara said, glancing at the monitor humming beside the bed. "But Elena... you can't stay here. The stress, the abuse... you will lose the pregnancy. Or worse, Jackson will end it."

I sat up, gritting my teeth against the wave of dizziness that washed over me. "I know. That's why I need your help."

I didn't hold anything back. I told her everything-the conversation in the garden, the prenatal supplements laced with Wolfsbane, and Joey's terrifying confession.

Mara listened, her face draining of color with every sentence. By the time I finished, her hands were trembling with suppressed rage.

"That bastard," she hissed, her voice shaking. "After everything you sacrificed for this family."

"I need to leave, Mara. Tonight."

"You can't just walk out," she countered, anxiety tightening her features. "The border guards are on high alert for rogues. Jackson has locked down the perimeter tight."

"I'm not walking out," I said, my voice steady despite the fear fluttering in my heart. "I'm being carried out."

I looked past her to the shelves of glass jars lining the wall. "You have Nightshade? And Ghost Root?"

Mara gasped, taking a step back. "Elena, that combination creates a state of suspended animation. It mimics death down to the faintest heartbeat. It's incredibly dangerous. If the dosage is off by even a milligram, you won't wake up."

"It's the only way. If I die, Jackson will want my body gone immediately. He won't want a funeral with the pack watching. He'll want to bury his shame as quickly as possible."

"He'll burn you," Mara whispered, horrified. "That's the tradition for disgraced wolves."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "He won't. He wants to pretend he's a benevolent Alpha. He'll agree to a private burial outside the Pack lands. You'll tell him it's... infectious. A plague brought on by the poison."

Mara looked at me for a long, agonizing moment, searching my eyes for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she slowly nodded.

"I have a contact," she said quietly. "A powerful Alpha in the North. Hamilton. He owes me a life debt. I can call him to retrieve your 'body'."

Hamilton. The name struck a chord of familiarity, a distant echo I couldn't quite place, but I didn't have the luxury of time to analyze it.

"Do it," I said.

We spent the next hour preparing. Mara mixed the potion with shaking hands. The result was a thick, viscous sludge that looked like liquid tar.

Just as she finished pouring it into a cup, the door to the clinic banged open.

Jackson strode in. He looked unkempt, his shirt collar askew. Was that guilt on his face? No. It was pure annoyance.

"Is she awake?" he barked at Mara.

"She is resting, Alpha," Mara said, stepping protectively in front of me.

Jackson pushed past her without a glance. He looked down at me, his eyes cold and devoid of warmth.

"You embarrassed me tonight, Elena. Attacking the future Luna? Are you insane?"

"She admitted to planning to kill me," I said, my voice quiet but firm.

"She was upset! She didn't mean it," Jackson said, waving his hand dismissively as if swatting away a fly. "Look, I'm tired of this drama. I have the rejection papers here."

He pulled a crumpled, stained document from his pocket and tossed it onto the bedsheets.

"Sign them. Admit you are unfit. And I will let you live in the servants' quarters. You can be a maid."

A maid. In the home I built. Scrubbing floors while watching him play house with her.

I reached into my bag, my fingers brushing against the cold manila folder I had prepared.

"I have a counter-offer," I said.

I threw the photos onto the bed next to his papers. Grainy images I had pulled from the security logs weeks ago-Candida meeting with known rogue wolves at the border. And then, the final blow: a DNA test report I had stolen from Candida's private suite.

Joey's paternity test.

Father: Unknown Rogue.

Jackson stared at the papers. The color drained from his face, leaving it a sickly gray. The silence in the room was deafening.

"She's playing you, Jackson," I said, watching him crumble. "But I don't care anymore. I don't want to save you."

"If this gets out..." he whispered, his voice trembling. "I'll be a laughingstock. The Pack will revolt."

"Exactly," I said. "So here is the deal. I will die tonight."

He snapped his head up, startled. "What?"

"I have a condition that is killing me. The poison damaged me more than you know. Mara will confirm it. I will die. You will let Mara take my body away quietly. No funeral. No scandal. You get to be the grieving widower, and then you can deal with Candida however you want."

He looked at the photos, then back at me. I saw the calculation shifting behind his eyes. He didn't grieve the loss of his mate; he was relieved by the solution to his problem.

"Fine," he said abruptly. "Do it."

He turned to leave, eager to be away from the mess he had created. At the door, he paused, his hand on the frame.

"You know," he said, his voice flat. "I never really wanted a mate who was stronger than me. You were always too much trouble. Even in death, you're a burden."

The door clicked shut.

That was it. The last thread of my heart didn't just break; it disintegrated.

I turned to Mara. Tears were streaming silently down her face. She handed me the cup of black liquid, her hands shaking.

"It will hurt," she warned. "Like fire."

"Not as much as staying," I said.

I raised the cup to my lips.

"I, Elena, reject Jackson as my Alpha and my Mate," I whispered into the liquid, sealing the words with the magic of the brew.

I drank it.

Liquid fire tore through my throat. My lungs seized, refusing to draw air. Darkness rushed in from the edges of my vision, consuming the room, consuming the pain.

My last thought was of the tiny spark of life inside me.

Hold on, little one. We're going to be free.

Then, the world went black.

Mara POV:

The glass slipped from Elena's limp fingers, shattering against the stone floor.

The sound was final, a sharp punctuation to the end of an era.

I immediately checked her pulse. It was gone. The Ghost Root had done its work perfectly. To the naked eye, and even to a werewolf's heightened senses, she was dead.

Her chest was still, her skin cooling rapidly beneath my touch.

I swallowed the hard lump in my throat.

"May the Moon Goddess guide your spirit, my Luna," I whispered into the silence.

It was a lie, of course. I knew her spirit wasn't journeying to the ancestors; it was simply trapped in a chemical cage, waiting for freedom.

I stood up and yanked open the door to the hallway.

"Alpha!" I screamed, forcing the panic to shred my voice. "Alpha Jackson! Help!"

It took three minutes.

Three entire minutes for the so-called mate of the Luna to arrive. When he finally appeared, he didn't run. He didn't rush.

He walked.

Jackson stood in the doorway, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. He looked at the bed, staring at the pale, lifeless form of his wife with zero emotion.

"Is it done?" he asked.

No tears. No dropping to his knees in anguish. Just a cold, clinical assessment.

"She is gone, Alpha," I said, my voice trembling with a genuine rage that I carefully masked as grief. "Her heart gave out. The poison... the stress... it was too much for her body to bear."

Candida appeared behind him a moment later. She was wrapped in a silk robe, looking as though she had been inconvenienced by a nap. She peered over Jackson's shoulder with wide, faux-innocent eyes.

"Oh no," she said, her voice dripping with synthetic sorrow. "Poor Elena. Is she really...?"

She didn't bother finishing the sentence. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, sharp and victorious.

"Cover her," Jackson ordered, his voice flat. "I don't want the Pack to see her like this. It projects weakness."

"Weakness?" I snapped, losing control for a split second. "She died of a broken heart, Jackson! She died because you betrayed her!"

Jackson's eyes flashed gold-his wolf rising to the surface in a warning snarl. "Watch your tone, Healer. Or you will join her."

He stepped fully into the room, but he didn't go to the bedside to touch her one last time. Instead, he went to the fireplace.

He picked up a poker and stirred the ashes where Elena had burned the supplements earlier that day.

"We need to move on," he said, staring into the soot. "The Pack needs stability. Candida, go prepare. We will hold the Luna ceremony tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" I gasped, horrified. "Her body isn't even cold!"

"The Pack cannot be without a Luna," Jackson said, turning his back on his dead wife. "It brings bad luck."

He looked at me with dead eyes. "Dispose of the body, Mara. Burn it. Bury it. I don't care. Just make sure it's gone before sunrise. I don't want a shrine for people to weep over."

"You won't even say goodbye?" I asked, tears of fury burning my eyes.

"I said my goodbyes a long time ago," he muttered.

He reached out and took Candida's hand. She beamed at him, practically skipping as they turned and left the room without a backward glance.

I stood alone with Elena. The silence they left behind was deafening.

"I promise you," I whispered to her sleeping form, my voice fierce. "He will pay."

I had to move quickly.

I wrapped Elena in a plain white sheet, shrouding her from the world. I gathered her few remaining belongings-a locket, a small bag of herbs.

Then, my eyes landed on the necklace on the bedside table. The Fated Mate bond necklace Jackson had given her years ago.

I picked it up. The silver felt heavy in my palm, weighed down by years of deceit.

With a sneer, I threw it into the fireplace.

I watched the silver chain turn black and begin to melt, symbolizing the absolute end of the Bloodmoon Pack's true lineage.

I lifted Elena into my arms. She was terrifyingly light, a featherweight burden of tragedy.

I carried her out the back exit, moving toward the shadows of the forest, toward the waiting car that would take us to the extraction point.

Behind me, the lights of the Pack House blazed through the windows. They were celebrating.

Let them celebrate.

They were dancing on an empty grave.

Mara POV

The cave was a jagged wound cut deep within the craggy cliffs of the northern border.

It was only a temporary shelter, a hollowed-out void where we could wait for Hamilton's transport.

I had laid Elena on a bed of moss. She looked like a marble statue carved by a grieving artist.

Her skin was ice cold. The Ghost Root suspended life, but the residual silver poison in her system was still fighting a war inside her veins.

I began to clean the "death" scent from her, wiping her brow with a cloth soaked in moon water.

"Going somewhere, Mara?"

My heart stopped.

I spun around.

Jackson stood at the mouth of the cave. The moonlight cast long, jagged shadows across his face, distorting his features into something monstrous.

He wasn't alone. Two warrior wolves flanked him, their eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"I told you to bury her," Jackson said, stepping inside. The air grew heavy with his Alpha aura. It tasted like ozone and rotting pine, choking the oxygen out of the small space.

"Why are you hiding her here?"

"I am preparing her for the pyre," I lied, standing between him and Elena, shielding her with my own trembling body. "It is the old way. A final cleansing."

"You're lying," Jackson sneered. "You stole her jewelry. The Pack assets. Hand them over."

"She has nothing!" I shouted, my voice cracking.

"You took everything from her! Her dignity, her title, her life! Let her rest!"

"She is my property," Jackson growled, his eyes drifting to the body behind me. "Dead or alive."

He moved to push past me.

"Stop!" I commanded, though I knew I had no authority over him.

Jackson laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound.

He backhanded me.

The force of it sent me flying into the stone wall. My head cracked against the rock, and granite bit into my spine as stars exploded in my vision.

"Pathetic," he spat. "You were always Elena's lapdog."

He walked over to Elena's body. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of regret.

But then he reached down and grabbed her wrist, lifting it roughly.

"Cold," he muttered. "Good."

Elena didn't move. She couldn't. But in the silence of the cave, I felt a shift. The air pressure dropped so sharply my ears popped.

Get away from her.

A voice echoed. Not in the room, but inside my head.

It was faint, but it vibrated with primal authority.

Jackson frowned. He dropped Elena's hand. It hit the stone with a sickening thud.

He spotted something on the ground near her head. A dagger.

It was the one Elena had kept for protection, the blade stained black with the silver residue she had been testing to build immunity.

"Suicide," Jackson said, picking it up. "She poisoned herself with silver. Coward."

He slipped the dagger into his belt. "Burn her, Mara. If she isn't ash by dawn, I will hunt you down."

He turned and left, the warriors trailing behind him.

I crawled over to Elena, wiping blood from my split lip.

"He's gone," I whispered, my hands shaking. "You're safe."

But she wasn't.

Her breathing had stopped completely. The Ghost Root was interacting with the silver in her blood. Her heart was failing for real.

"No, no, no," I panicked, placing my hands on her chest. I channeled every ounce of healing magic I had.

Her skin was turning gray.

Suddenly, her chest heaved violently. A gasp of air rattled through her throat like a tearing canvas.

Her eyes flew open.

They weren't her usual warm hazel eyes.

They were white. Pure, glowing, incandescent white.

A low growl emanated from her throat, sounding like a beast three times her size. The vibration shook the very floor of the cave.

The ancient bloodline. The White Wolf. It was fighting the death potion.

"Elena?" I whispered, terrified.

The white faded, replaced by the dull glaze of unconsciousness. Her eyes rolled back.

She was alive. But barely.

We had to move. Now.