Lana POV:

The rain in the city was relentless, washing the neon lights into blurry streaks on the pavement.

I sat in the passenger seat of Jameson's black SUV. The silence between us was thick enough to choke on.

Before we left the hotel, I had done something petty. Something small. I had posted a photo on the Pack's social media page. It was a picture of Jameson sleeping, captioned: My Alpha. Finally at rest.

It was a territorial marker. A digital pissing contest. I wanted Caren to see it. I wanted her to know that legally, publicly, he was mine.

Now, we were parked outside the Witch Doctor's clinic in the supernatural district.

"Let's get this over with," Jameson grumbled, turning off the engine.

We walked in. The air smelled of sage and antiseptic. The Witch Doctor, an old woman with cloudy eyes, prepared the laser and the magical salve.

"This will hurt, Alpha," she croaked. "Removing ink infused with magic requires burning the skin deep."

Jameson sat on the table, shirtless. He looked at me, his eyes challenging. "See? I'm removing it. Because I love you, Lana."

The words were hollow.

Suddenly, Jameson stiffened. His eyes glazed over. He was getting a Mind-Link message.

His face went pale.

"No," he whispered. "Where? Is she bleeding?"

My stomach dropped.

He jumped off the table, pushing the Witch Doctor aside.

"I have to go," he said, grabbing his shirt.

"Jameson, sit down," I said, standing in front of the door. "We are doing this now."

"Move, Lana!" he roared. "It's Caren. Rogues attacked her apartment. She's hurt!"

"The patrol warriors are already there," I said calmly, though my heart was hammering. "I saw the dispatch report on the pack network. She is safe. Sit down and remove the mark."

"She needs me!"

"She is an Omega. The warriors can handle it. You are the Alpha. You are my husband. If you leave now, everyone will know who you really prioritize."

Jameson looked at me with pure hatred. It was a look no mate should ever receive.

He looked around the room frantically. His eyes landed on the tray of instruments.

He lunged.

Before I could react, he grabbed a silver scalpel.

Silver. The bane of our existence. It burns us like acid. It stops our healing.

Jameson pressed the silver blade directly against the tattoo on his chest.

Sizzle.

Smoke rose from his skin. The smell of burning wolf flesh filled the small room.

"Jameson!" I screamed.

He didn't flinch. His eyes were wild, manic.

"If you don't move," he snarled, his voice trembling with pain, "I will cut this piece of flesh out right now. I will dig it out of my chest until I hit my heart. Do not test me, Lana!"

I stared at him in horror.

He was burning himself. He was willing to mutilate himself with silver just to get to her.

This wasn't love. This was obsession. This was madness.

"You're insane," I whispered.

"I'm going to her," he panted, the silver digging deeper. Blood, dark and thick, began to trickle down his ribs.

I stepped aside. I couldn't watch him kill himself.

He dropped the scalpel. It clattered to the floor, stained with Alpha blood.

He didn't even look at me. He threw the door open and sprinted into the rain. A moment later, I heard the sound of bones cracking and clothes tearing as he shifted into his massive black wolf, tearing down the street toward the slums.

I stood there, shaking. I knew Caren was manipulative, but seeing Jameson like this... it was pathetic. He wasn't a King; he was an addict, and she was his drug.

Five minutes later, my phone buzzed.

It was a photo from Caren.

There were no Rogues in the picture. No blood. No destruction.

She was lying on a couch, a small, superficial scratch on her arm-likely self-inflicted.

Jameson was there. He was in his human form again, kneeling beside her. His head was bowed over her arm.

He was licking the scratch.

In wolf culture, licking a wound is intimate. It is a claiming act. It releases enzymes that soothe pain, but it is also deeply sexual. It says, I will heal you because you are part of me.

Caren: He was so worried. He says his heart hurts when I bleed. Does he ever look at you like that, Lana?

I looked at the silver scalpel on the floor.

No. He had never looked at me like that. He had only looked at me with a blade pressed to his own heart, threatening to die if he had to stay with me.

Lana POV:

The house was too big. The silence was too loud.

I sat on the floor of the master bedroom, surrounded by unopened wedding gifts. Crystal vases, silver platters, silk sheets. All for a life that was a lie.

The landline phone on the bedside table began to ring.

I stared at it. Nobody called the landline.

I picked it up. "Hello?"

There was no answer. Just sounds.

Heavy, ragged breathing. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin. The creaking of a bedspring.

My blood ran cold.

"Oh, goddess... Alpha... right there..."

It was Caren's voice. High-pitched, breathless.

"You like that, my little charm?" Jameson's voice. Rough. Guttural.

It was a pocket dial. Or, knowing Caren, a deliberate "mistake."

I should have hung up. I should have thrown the phone against the wall. But I was frozen.

I listened.

I heard the distinct, animalistic growls that accompany the Heat.

The Heat is a biological imperative. When wolves are in Heat, pheromones flood the brain. Logic disappears. It is raw, primal need.

Jameson was spending his Heat with her. Not me.

In the corner of the room, our pet parrot-a rare, magical bird from the Amazon that could mimic any sound perfectly-flapped its wings.

"Lucky Charm! Lucky Charm!" the bird squawked. "Harder, Alpha!"

I covered my mouth. The bird had heard them. They had been here. In this room. In my bed. Before the wedding.

A wave of nausea hit me. It wasn't just disgust. It was physical.

The world spun. I dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I emptied my stomach.

I heaved until there was nothing left, my body trembling.

I sat back against the cold tiles, wiping my mouth.

Wolves don't get sick. Our immune systems are perfect. Unless...

I looked at the cabinet under the sink. I had bought a box of pregnancy tests weeks ago, just in case. Wolf pregnancies are rare. It usually takes years of trying.

My hands shook as I opened the box. I took the test.

Three minutes.

I sat on the bathroom floor, counting the seconds. The recording on the phone in the other room was still going, faint moans drifting through the open door.

I looked at the stick.

Two lines. Positive.

The scent of milk and honey suddenly flooded my senses-the scent of a new life. My scent changed.

I was pregnant.

I was carrying the Alpha's heir.

I laughed. It was a dry, broken sound that hurt my throat.

The Moon Goddess had a cruel sense of humor.

I was carrying his child while he was knotting another woman.

The front door downstairs slammed open.

"Lana!" Jameson's voice boomed through the house.

He was back.

I stood up, hiding the test in my pocket. I washed my face, scrubbing my skin until it was red.

I walked out to the landing. Jameson stood in the foyer. He looked disheveled. His hair was messy, his shirt missing buttons.

And the smell.

He reeked of sex. He reeked of her Heat. It was a thick, musky odor that clung to him like a second skin.

He looked up at me, his eyes devoid of guilt. He actually looked annoyed, as if coming home to his wife was a chore he had to endure.

"We need to talk," he said, adjusting his collar. "The Elders are pressuring me. They want an heir to secure the lineage. We need to start trying tonight."

I stared at him from the top of the stairs.

He had just come from her bed, and now he wanted to use my body as an incubator for his legacy.

"Tonight?" I asked, my voice flat.

"Yes. It's my duty. It's your duty," he said, walking toward the kitchen as if nothing had happened. "I'm hungry. Make me a steak."

I touched the plastic stick in my pocket.

My poor pup, I thought. Your father is a monster.

Lana POV:

It was my birthday.

I hadn't expected a party. I hadn't expected anything. But the doorbell rang at 7:00 PM.

Jameson opened it.

"Caren!" he exclaimed, stepping aside to let her in. He didn't look surprised. He looked relieved.

She walked in, holding a thermos flask. She was wearing a dress that was a little too tight, a little too short. She looked at me, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"Happy Birthday, Luna Lana," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "I brought you something special. A fertility tea. My grandmother's recipe. It helps... broken wolves heal."

"Get out," I said.

Jameson slammed his hand on the table. "Lana! Be polite."

"She is an Omega. She does not belong in the Alpha house uninvited," I said, trying to summon the authority I didn't feel.

"I invited her," Jameson snapped. "She's trying to help us, Lana. She knows we're struggling to conceive. Drink the tea."

"I'm not drinking anything she made," I said, backing away. The thermos smelled wrong. Beneath the peppermint and sage, there was a bitter, metallic undertone.

Jameson's eyes flared. "Stop acting like a child. You're embarrassing me. Drink it. That is an order."

"No."

"I said drink it!"

The Alpha Voice hit me like a sledgehammer. Drink.

My knees buckled. My wolf whined in submission against my will. I collapsed into the dining chair.

Caren smirked. She poured the dark, steaming liquid into a cup. As she leaned in, she whispered so only my wolf hearing could catch it:

"Enjoy it, you barren bitch. You can't even shift. You'll never give him a pup."

My hand moved on its own, fighting every inch of the way. My fingers trembled as I lifted the cup. I didn't want to drink it. My instincts were screaming DANGER.

But the Alpha's Command overrides instinct.

I swallowed the liquid.

It tasted sweet for a second.

Then, fire.

It felt like I had swallowed a mouthful of broken glass and battery acid. My throat seized instantly.

I dropped the cup. I clawed at my neck.

Wolfsbane.

For humans, it's a mild toxin. For wolves, it is death. It shuts down our connection to the moon. It corrodes our insides.

"Lana?" Jameson frowned. "Stop being dramatic."

I couldn't breathe. My airway was closing. Purple spots danced in my vision.

I tried to shift. If I could shift, my healing would accelerate. I pushed, I strained.

Nothing. The poison had locked my wolf away.

I fell off the chair, writhing on the floor.

"Oh my god!" Caren gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. "Did she choke? Is she allergic to sage? I didn't know!"

I pointed to the sideboard. The antidote. Every wolf household keeps a vial of Wolfsbane antidote for emergencies.

I crawled toward it. My lungs were burning. My heart was stuttering.

Jameson stood up. He looked confused.

I reached for the vial.

"Jameson!" Caren shrieked. "She's going to attack me! Look at her eyes!"

My eyes were bloodshot, bulging. I must have looked terrifying.

Jameson didn't think. He reacted.

He saw me reaching out-not for the medicine, but in Caren's direction.

"Back off!" he roared.

He shoved me.

He shoved his dying, pregnant wife.

I flew backward, hitting the wall. The vial of antidote rolled under the sofa, out of reach.

I lay there, gasping like a fish out of water. My vision was going black.

Jameson stood over Caren, shielding her. "Don't you dare touch her, Lana! Apologize to Caren!"

I looked at him. I saw the man I had loved. I saw the father of the child dying inside me.

I summoned every ounce of strength I had left. I didn't use my voice. I used the Mind-Link, forcing it through his block with the sheer power of my desperation.

My Pup... I screamed into his mind. You are killing our Pup...

Then, darkness took me.