Everyone said I was the luckiest Luna to marry the Alpha of the strongest Pack.

Even though our marriage was quiet, he always protected me from the pack elders' scrutiny.

When the rogue wolves attacked our borders, he stayed by my side for three sleepless nights.

Whenever someone challenged my authority, he swiftly silenced them and secured my position.

I thought my silent devotion had finally melted his frozen heart.

Nine weeks ago, I discovered I was pregnant with our first pup.

I prepared a lavish dinner to tell him the good news, dreaming of our perfect family.

Everything changed when Celeste, his childhood sweetheart, returned to the pack.

During our anniversary banquet, she suddenly collapsed at my feet, coughing up dark blood.

Before I could even call for help, he grabbed my throat and threw me to the icy floor.

I was moments away from telling him about the baby when he dragged me into the pack hospital.

Everyone in the pack watched in awe as the Alpha tore the hospital apart for her.

But lying on the cold operation table, I heard the conversation that shattered my soul.

"Alpha, her body is too frail," the doctor's voice trembled through the thin curtain. "A second blood draw will definitely kill the fetus!"

"Do you think I don't know that?" Adrian's voice was devoid of any warmth.

"But your wife has been begging... she's nine weeks pregnant!"

"Draw the blood."

***

"Adrian, I need to tell you something."

I practiced the words under my breath while the Southern Pack's third-anniversary banquet swelled around me. Fifty elders, ranking wolves, and allied delegates filled the council hall beneath chandeliers carved from antler and iron. Glasses chimed. A string quartet played near the eastern windows. Every few minutes someone stopped to congratulate me on three years as Luna.

I smiled when required and kept one hand over the velvet handbag at my hip.

Inside it rested the ultrasound photograph I had carried all day. Beside it sat the encrypted southern defense key Adrian had ordered me to keep after Celeste crossed the border.

Nine weeks.

The technician had circled the tiny shape and written one word beneath it: healthy.

My husband stood across the room near an ice sculpture of the southern wolf crest, nursing a scotch and speaking with two border captains. Adrian looked as he always did in public—controlled, immaculate, impossible to reach. Our marriage had begun as a political alliance after the woman he loved disappeared. For almost three years, the bond between us had been dutiful and cold.

Then, two months ago, on the winter solstice, something changed.

Adrian had come to my rooms after midnight after a border dispute. Whiskey became an argument, then one honest conversation. By dawn, the distance between us had vanished for a night.

He never mentioned it again.

I had spent the last week deciding whether this child could become the first thing in our marriage that belonged to both of us rather than to the council.

Tonight, I intended to find out.

I crossed the hall, but Elder Mercer intercepted me with a hand raised in greeting.

"Luna Elena. Your security revisions passed unanimously."

"Good. The western patrols were understaffed."

"Your husband is fortunate to have a mate who notices what his generals miss."

I almost laughed. Adrian noticed everything except me.

When Mercer moved on, I looked toward the ice sculpture again.

A blonde woman had joined Adrian.

My steps stopped.

Celeste.

She had returned to Southern territory that morning after five years away. The news had traveled through the estate before breakfast. No one had explained where she had been. No one needed to explain who she was.

Celeste had been Adrian's first love, the woman who once took a poisoned blade meant for him during a border raid. The pack still called her his savior. When she disappeared a year later, Adrian searched the southern woods for three days and came back with blood on his hands and her silver pendant in his pocket.

A month after that, the council arranged our marriage.

Now she stood close enough to touch his sleeve.

Adrian bent his head when she spoke. The guarded line of his mouth softened in a way I had never seen directed at me.

My fingers tightened around my handbag.

I could have turned around. I could have hidden the ultrasound photograph in my desk and pretended the pregnancy was merely another duty to be announced at the proper council meeting.

Instead, I walked toward him.

Celeste looked up first.

Her pale blue eyes moved over my black evening gown, the Luna crest at my collar, and finally my bare left hand. Adrian had never given me the family mating ring. The omission had once embarrassed me. Under Celeste's measuring stare, it felt deliberate.

"Elena," Adrian said.

Not mate. Not Luna. Just my name.

"I need a minute with you. In private."

His attention shifted past me toward Celeste. "Can it wait?"

The ultrasound image inside my bag felt absurdly fragile.

"No," I said. "It cannot."

Celeste smiled faintly. "I can give you two privacy. I was only thanking Adrian for allowing me back into the territory."

"You don't need to leave," Adrian told her at once.

The answer landed before I could stop it.

"Of course she doesn't."

Adrian's gaze sharpened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I am asking my husband for five minutes at our own anniversary banquet."

A server passed between us carrying champagne. Celeste reached for a flute. Her hand trembled hard enough that the rim clicked against her ring.

"Are you all right?" Adrian asked.

"Just tired." She pressed two fingers to her temple. "Traveling took more out of me than I expected."

I watched her take one small sip.

For an instant, I smelled something bitter beneath the champagne. Metallic. Almost medicinal.

Before I could place it, Celeste lowered the glass.

Her face went white.

"Adrian..."

The flute slipped from her fingers and shattered on the marble.

She grabbed her throat.

"Alpha Adrian!" someone shouted.

The crowd opened around us. Celeste staggered once, then twice. Black blood spilled over her lower lip.

She collapsed at the tips of my shoes.

"Celeste!"

Adrian hit the floor beside her. He rolled her onto her side as another convulsion ripped through her body. The banquet erupted into motion—chairs scraping, elders shouting for the healer, guards sealing the doors.

I crouched instinctively, but Adrian shoved my hand away.

"Don't touch her."

"I was checking her airway."

His eyes lifted to mine.

The expression in them stopped me cold.

Suspicion.

A guard bent near the broken champagne glass. "Alpha. There is something here."

He held up a small glass vial between two gloved fingers.

It had been lying beside my right shoe.

My handbag hung open against my hip.

I knew I had latched it ten minutes earlier.

"That isn't mine," I said.

Adrian rose so fast I barely saw him move.

His hand closed around my throat.

The force lifted me off my feet and drove me backward into the buffet table. Crystal flutes shattered behind me. A shard sliced the back of my hand, and warm blood soaked into my sleeve.

"What did you do to her?" Adrian demanded.

I clawed at his wrist. "Nothing. I came here to tell you—"

"Don't lie to me."

The guard passed him the vial.

Adrian brought it close enough to smell. Every trace of shock disappeared from his face.

"Silver Thorn."

The name silenced the hall.

Silver Thorn was not a sedative or a common poison. It attacked a wolf's blood, destroying the body's ability to heal until the organs failed one by one. Possession without council authorization carried a death sentence.

"Adrian," I rasped. "Look at my bag. Someone opened it. Check the cameras."

His grip tightened.

"You were standing over her. The vial was at your feet."

"Because she fell in front of me."

Behind him, Celeste gave a wet, broken cough.

Adrian released me so abruptly that I hit the floor on one knee.

He scooped Celeste into his arms.

"Seal Elena's rooms," he ordered the enforcers. "No one leaves the estate. Take her to the clinic under guard."

I pressed one bloody hand to my bruised throat and stared at the man carrying his first love toward the doors.

The ultrasound photograph remained hidden inside my open bag.

I had come to tell Adrian he was going to be a father.

Instead, before he learned our child existed, he had already decided I was a murderer.

"Alpha Adrian," Dr. Thorne stammered, his knuckles white around the metal clipboard. "The stat blood work... I need you to look at this."

"Is it the venom?" Adrian snapped. He stood still, not taking his eyes off the glass partition.

On the other side of the glass, Celeste lay on a stark white bed. An oxygen mask covered half her face. Her chest barely rose and fell.

"No, Alpha. It's your mate." The doctor swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing above his tight collar. "She's pregnant. Nine weeks."

I lay on the gurney, the glass shards from the banquet hall still stinging my spine. I waited for him to turn around. To rush to my side. To realize the gravity of what he had almost done to me.

He didn't move. His gaze remained locked on Celeste's pale, lifeless face.

"Did you hear him, Adrian?" I croaked. My throat throbbed from where his fingers had bruised my windpipe just twenty minutes ago. "We're having a baby. The night of the winter solstice... it happened."

He finally turned his head. His eyes, usually a warm amber, were flat and dead. There was no joy. No surprise. Only a chilling emptiness that made my stomach drop.

"How much blood can you extract from her?" he asked the doctor.

The words hung in the harsh fluorescent light.

"Alpha?" Dr. Thorne blinked, taking a step back. "She's carrying your pup. Significant blood loss could trigger a spontaneous abortion. Her body is already under immense stress from the physical trauma."

"I asked you a medical question, Doctor." Adrian stepped closer to the older man. His voice dropped to a lethal calm. "The Silver Thorn venom requires a continuous transfusion from a purebred wolf to flush the toxins. How many milliliters can you take from her without stopping her heart?"

"Adrian, no!" I shot up from the mattress, ignoring the pain radiating down my back. "You can't do this."

"Pin her down," Adrian ordered.

Two pack enforcers stepped out of the shadows. Heavy hands clamped onto my shoulders.

"Keep her still," Adrian commanded, adjusting his cuffs.

"Yes, Alpha." The taller enforcer pressed his forearm across my collarbone, forcing me flat against the thin mattress.

"Get off me!" I thrashed against their grip, kicking my bare legs against the metal bed frame. "Adrian, please! It's our child! The heir you wanted!"

"We made a mistake," he replied coldly. "A mistake that won't cost Celeste her life."

He leaned over the gurney and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His grip was devoid of affection. "You poisoned her the moment she returned to the pack. You'll pay whatever price it takes to keep her breathing."

"I didn't poison anyone!" I screamed, tears finally spilling over my cheeks. "Someone framed me! The vial was just dropped there!"

"The vial was at your feet." He released my face with a look of pure disgust. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers, as if touching me had soiled him. He nodded at the doctor. "Do it. Now."

"Alpha, I must protest—" Dr. Thorne started.

"Draw the blood, or I will find a doctor who will, and you will leave this territory tonight," Adrian snarled.

Dr. Thorne's hands shook as he swabbed my inner elbow with alcohol. The scent burned my nose.

"Forgive me, Luna," the doctor whispered.

The steel needle pierced my vein. I squeezed my eyes shut. A sting radiated up my bicep. The dark red fluid shot through the clear plastic tubing, racing away from me.

"Keep the bags flowing to Celeste's room," Adrian instructed. He didn't spare me another glance.

He walked out of my cubicle and straight into hers. Through the glass window separating our rooms, I watched my husband pull a plastic chair to Celeste's bedside. He wrapped both his hands around her limp fingers and pressed his forehead against her knuckles.

The centrifuge hummed beside my bed, collecting my life force. The plastic bag filled rapidly. My fingers grew numb. A deep, bone-chilling cold crept up my arms and settled into my chest.

"Please," I mumbled to the enforcer standing guard at my door. "Tell them to slow it down. I feel dizzy."

The guard crossed his arms, staring straight ahead. "Murderers don't get to make requests."

A sharp, tearing cramp ripped through my lower stomach.

I gasped, curling inward as far as the restraints allowed. Another spasm hit, harder than the first, twisting my insides like a wet towel.

Then came the dampness.

A heavy, wet warmth slipped between my thighs, pooling beneath me on the crinkling paper of the exam table.

"Help," I whispered.

I stretched my free hand toward the plastic call button clipped to the bedrail. I slammed my thumb against the red circle.

A faint buzz echoed in the hallway.

I waited. I watched the door.

No one came.

I pressed it again. And again.

"Please," I called out, my voice cracking. "Someone. My baby."

A young nurse hustled past my open door. She carried fresh IV bags and heart monitors.

"Nurse!" I shouted. "I'm bleeding! Please, I'm losing the baby!"

She paused, glancing into my room. Her eyes darted to the dark red stain spreading across my white sheets, then up to my face. She scoffed.

"Save the acting for the council, Luna," she spat. "You almost killed her."

She turned on her heel and hurried straight into Celeste's room.

I was the vicious jealous wife. The attempted murderer brought in by the Alpha himself. No one cared if I bled out in this sterile room.

Minutes bled into hours. The enforcer finally unclipped the blood bag, swapping it for a fresh one. He didn't even look at my face.

By the time they finished the extraction, the enforcers left, locking the door behind them. I was alone in the empty observation room.

I dragged my heavy, trembling body upright. Every muscle screamed in protest. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and shuffled toward the small sink in the corner.

I grabbed a handful of rough, brown paper towels from the dispenser.

Sitting back on the edge of the mattress, I bit down hard on my pale lip to keep from sobbing. I reached under my ruined dress and began to wipe away the dark, sticky evidence of my threatened miscarriage.

The coarse paper scratched my sensitive skin. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my womb.

Through the crack under the door, Adrian's frantic voice drifted down the hall.

"Is her heart rate stabilizing? Did the toxins clear?" he demanded.

"The venom is diluting, Alpha," Dr. Thorne replied warmly. "The transfusion worked. She's going to make it."

"Thank the Goddess," Adrian breathed out, his voice thick with relief. "I won't lose her again."

I stared at the crimson-stained paper towel in my hand.

He wouldn't lose her. But he didn't care if he lost us.

I swallowed the pathetic cries for help that had been burning in my throat. I crushed the blood-soaked paper into a tight ball and reached for the heavy metal IV pole beside my bed.

Three hours after the enforcers left me to bleed out on the thin mattress, the metal door to my room slammed open. The force was so violent the handle punched a deep dent into the drywall, sending white dust drifting to the floor.

He didn't offer a word. He marched straight to the side of my bed, grabbed the clear plastic tubing taped to my inner elbow, and yanked.

The steel needle ripped out of my vein. Dark red drops splattered across the white sheets and dotted the toe of his polished dress shoe.

"Adrian, what are you doing?" I grabbed my bleeding arm, pressing my thumb hard over the torn skin.

He threw a stack of photographs at my face. The corner of a picture sliced a thin line across my cheekbone before the stack scattered over my lap and onto the floor.

"You couldn't just let her live," he snarled. His voice vibrated with a lethal rumble, shaking the empty glass vials on the nearby counter. "The transfusion worked. She was stabilizing. And you simply couldn't stand it."

I picked up the top photograph from my lap. My fingers trembled, smearing a drop of my own fresh blood across the glossy paper.

The image was a grainy security feed. It showed the dimly lit hallway outside the intensive care unit. A woman stood near the glass partition of Celeste's room, wearing my beige cashmere trench coat. The timestamp in the corner marked the footage at just ten minutes ago.

"Her organs are failing," Adrian stepped closer, his shoulders blocking out the harsh fluorescent light above. "The venom in her system spiked again. Someone slipped past the guard rotation, entered her room, and injected a second dose of Silver Thorn into her IV line."

"And you think this person is me." I held up the photo, my voice rough from disuse.

"I don't think. I know." He pointed a rigid finger at the picture. "That is your coat. You were seen in the corridor by the night staff."

"Look at the picture, Adrian." I tapped the center of the image, holding it higher. "Really look at it."

"The woman is wearing my coat, yes," I continued, keeping my tone dead flat to mask the rising panic. "But look at her shoulders. Look at the height of the hem. This person is at least three inches taller than me. Her frame is different. The sleeves barely reach her wrists. This is a clumsy frame-up."

"Stop lying!" He struck the metal IV pole beside my bed. It crashed to the linoleum floor with a deafening clang, rolling into the wall.

"I am bleeding from a threatened miscarriage," I fired back, pointing to the dark, dried stain crusted on the examination paper beneath my legs. "I haven't had the strength to stand up for three hours. The room was locked from the outside. How could I possibly walk down the hall, bypass your elite guards, and poison her again?"

"You are the Luna of this pack." His amber eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "The guards are trained to look the other way when you issue a command. You used your authority to clear the hall and finish the job."

"Why would I do that?" I demanded. "Why would I risk my life and my child's life to hurt a woman I barely know? I have nothing to gain from her death."

"You have everything to gain." He leaned over the bed, planting both hands on the mattress and trapping me in his shadow. "You saw me sitting with her. You realized your position was threatened. You decided to eliminate my savior before she could wake up and expose whatever twisted plot you started at the banquet."

"The only setup here is the one you orchestrated." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You planned the timing perfectly. You wanted the entire pack to see her fall, to cement your dominance. But she survived the first dose, so you went back to ensure she didn't survive the night."

"Your savior," I repeated the words, testing how hollow they felt on my tongue. "Is that what she is to you?"

"She sacrificed everything for this pack," he shot back, his face inches from mine. "She took a lethal blow meant for me years ago. She finally comes home, and you give her a death sentence."

"You are cruel," he whispered, his grip tightening until my teeth ground together. "You are so terrified of losing your status that you would murder a defenseless woman in her hospital bed. You have no conscience."

The burning pain in my lower abdomen flared again, a reminder of the child he was actively ignoring. I ignored the cramp. A strange, freezing calm washed over my chest, extinguishing the last pathetic spark of hope I held for this marriage.

"If you are so certain I am the murderer," I said, my voice steady and devoid of warmth, "then arrest me."

He straightened up, his brow furrowing deep into his forehead. "What did you say?"

"You heard me." I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, planting my bare feet on the freezing floor tiles. I stood up. The room spun for a second, but I locked my knees to keep from collapsing. I faced him squarely. "Stop playing the enraged judge in a private hospital room. Call your enforcers back in. Strip me of my title. Throw me in the pack dungeon."

"Do not test me."

"I am not testing you. I am telling you to end this hypocritical trial." I met his furious gaze without blinking, refusing to back down an inch. "If I am the villain you want me to be, treat me like one. Lock me in a cell. Put me in silver chains. But stop standing here pretending you care about justice when all you want is an excuse to punish me for not being her."

"You think I won't lock you away?" he asked, his voice lowered.

"I think you are a coward," I replied. "You need me to be the villain so you don't have to face the guilt of what you're doing to your own pregnant wife. If you lock me in the dungeon, the council will demand a formal investigation. They will review the footage. They will see the height difference. You don't want an investigation, Adrian. You just want a punching bag."

Adrian took a step forward, raising his hand.

Before he could touch me, the frantic squeak of rubber soles echoed in the corridor. The sound grew louder, tearing through the tense silence of the hallway.

A young nurse skidded into the open doorway. Her blue scrubs were disheveled, and her face was drained of all color, leaving her skin a sickly gray. She gripped the metal doorframe with both hands to stop her momentum, breathing hard.

"Alpha!" she screamed, her voice cracking in absolute panic.

Adrian spun around, his murderous focus transferring from me to the terrified woman. "What is it?"

"It's Celeste," the nurse gasped, pointing a trembling finger down the hall toward the intensive care unit. "She's coding. Her heart just stopped."