"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."

"The toxins mutated, Alpha!" The nurse shrieked, her voice shattering the tense standoff in my hospital room.

She gripped the metal doorframe, her knuckles stark white against the blue paint. "Her organs are shutting down. The venom is attacking her nervous system. If we don't perform a second, high-concentration blood purification right now, she won't survive the night."

Before I could register his movement, his hand locked around my wrist like a steel vice. The bruising pressure sent a shockwave of pain up my arm.

"Adrian, stop!" I yelled, trying to yank my arm back.

He pulled me forward with brutal force. I had just shoved my feet into my discarded stilettos moments ago, and the sudden momentum sent me stumbling. I barely caught my balance before he began dragging me out into the corridor.

"Move!" he barked at the medical staff crowding the hallway.

I dug my heels into the linoleum. The points of my stilettos screeched a harsh, grating friction across the floor tiles, leaving dark scuff marks in our wake.

"Let go of me!" I thrashed against his grip, using my free hand to pry at his fingers. "You are hurting me! Someone, help me!"

Adrian ignored my protests, hauling me toward the extraction room. The overwhelming stench of industrial bleach and rubbing alcohol flooded my nose, turning my stomach and making my eyes water.

"Listen to me!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the sterile white walls. "I am already bleeding! The first draw caused a threatened miscarriage. If you take more blood now, the baby will die!"

He didn't even turn his head. His long strides ate up the distance to the extraction room.

"Are you deaf?" I sobbed, stumbling as a fresh, agonizing cramp ripped through my lower abdomen. It felt like a serrated blade twisting in my gut. "You are killing our child!"

We crossed the threshold of the blood room. He shoved me forward. I collided with the heavy leather examination chair, the impact sending a jolt of pain straight up my spine.

"Strap her down," Adrian commanded the two enforcers trailing behind us.

"Don't touch me!" I scrambled backward, putting the chair between myself and the advancing guards. I clutched my stomach, bending slightly as another wave of wet warmth slipped between my thighs, soaking into the fabric of my ruined dress.

The taller enforcer lunged, grabbing my upper arms. I kicked out, my stiletto catching him in the shin. He grunted but didn't let go, wrestling me into the leather chair. The second guard quickly secured the nylon straps over my wrists and ankles, pinning me flat.

"Get your hands off me!" I screamed, thrashing against the restraints. The leather squeaked under my struggling weight. "Adrian, tell them to stop!"

Dr. Thorne stepped into the center of the room. He positioned his body in front of the operating table, effectively blocking Adrian's path.

Sweat beaded across the older doctor's forehead, gleaming under the harsh glare of the overhead surgical lights. He held his metal clipboard against his chest like a shield.

"Alpha," Dr. Thorne started, his voice wavering slightly. "You need to understand the medical reality of what you are asking."

"The reality is Celeste is coding," Adrian snapped, stepping right up to the doctor. "Extract the blood. Use the highest concentration filters. We don't have time for a debate."

"I cannot recommend this procedure." Dr. Thorne held his ground, though his knees visibly trembled against the fabric of his slacks. "Luna's vitals are critically unstable. Her blood pressure is already plummeting from the first session. Her core temperature is dropping."

"Fix her blood pressure later," Adrian ordered, pointing a rigid finger at the empty IV bags hanging from the metal pole. "Start the line now."

"You don't understand the mutation, Alpha." The doctor swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly. "The venom has bonded with Celeste's bone marrow. To flush it, I have to draw double the volume we took earlier. If I force a second draw tonight, especially at a higher concentration, the fetus will not survive. That is a one hundred percent certainty. The trauma will terminate the pregnancy immediately."

I watched Adrian's face, praying for a flicker of hesitation. I searched his rigid jawline for any sign of the father he was supposed to be.

Nothing changed. His expression remained carved from ice.

"Furthermore," Dr. Thorne continued, wiping a drop of sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, "the sheer volume required will drain her reserves. It will permanently destroy her physical foundation."

"Speak plainly, Doctor," Adrian growled, towering over the older man.

"She may never carry a pup again," Dr. Thorne stated, his voice dropping to a grim whisper. "Her body will be barren. Her immune system will collapse. She might even slip into a permanent coma. You are asking me to trade one life for another."

Dead silence slammed into the room.

The enforcers stopped moving. The nurses in the hallway froze in their tracks.

The only sound left was the frantic, shallow rhythm of my own breathing and the steady, mechanical ticking of the heart monitor echoing from Celeste's room next door.

Adrian stood still. His broad back faced me, rigid and unyielding as a slab of granite under the blinding white halogen bulbs.

"Adrian," I whispered. My voice cracked, raw and pathetic.

I strained against the nylon straps, lifting my head off the examination chair to look at him.

"Please," I begged, the fight draining out of me. "I am begging you. Let me keep my baby. Let me keep our child."

He didn't move.

One second passed.

The ticking of the machines felt like a hammer striking against my skull.

Two seconds. Three.

"We can find another donor," I pleaded, tears finally breaking free and tracking hot, humiliating paths down my cheeks. "There are other purebred wolves. Call the neighboring packs. I will pay whatever they ask. I will give them my dowry. Just give me time to make the calls."

Four seconds. Five.

"Alpha," Dr. Thorne urged softly, stepping closer to my husband. "We have to explore other options. I can try a synthetic flush to buy us a few hours."

"A synthetic flush will fail against Silver Thorn," Adrian replied, his tone frighteningly even.

Seven seconds. Eight.

"Adrian, look at me," I sobbed, dropping my head back against the leather cushion. I closed my eyes, trying to hold my broken body together through sheer willpower. "Don't do this to us. Don't murder your own flesh and blood."

Ten seconds.

A full ten seconds of agonizing, suffocating silence.

Then, Adrian turned around.

I opened my eyes, staring into the face of the man I had married. I searched for the Alpha who had stood at the altar with me three years ago, the man who had spoken vows of protection, loyalty, and honor.

That man was gone.

His amber eyes held zero warmth. They were hollow, calculating, and detached from the pregnant woman weeping in the chair.

He looked right past my desperate, tear-soaked face, fixing his attention on the physician standing by the operating table.

"Do it."