Five years. It had been five years since Alpha Gunner Mitchell claimed me, the broken, wolfless girl from the Silver Moon Pack, as his mate. Five years of sleeping beside him, breathing in his scent of pine and rain, and five years of ignoring the whispers that followed me like a shadow.

“The Black Widow,” they called me. The cursed girl. The one whose lack of a wolf brought death to her parents and would surely bring ruin to the Blood River Pack.

Tonight, however, the whispers were drowned out by the swell of violins. The Grand Hall was draped in crimson and gold to celebrate the fifth anniversary of Gunner’s Alpha ceremony. I stood by his side, my hand trembling slightly in the crook of his arm. I wore a gown of midnight blue, chosen by Gunner to match the night sky, but I felt like an imposter wrapped in silk.

“Chin up, Camila,” Gunner murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my ribs. He leaned down, brushing his lips against my temple. “You are their Luna. Let them see you.”

I looked up at him. His jaw was set, his blue eyes storming with a fierce protectiveness that made my heart ache. He knew. He always knew how the Council looked at me.

Across the room, Head Elder Marcus Reynolds raised a glass in a toast that felt more like a threat. His eyes lingered on my neck, bare of the Luna mark Gunner had placed there years ago—a mark that couldn't fully form because my wolf was dormant. A murmur rippled through the gathered crowd, a wave of sneers and averted gazes.

Gunner stiffened. The air in the room suddenly grew heavy, charged with the static of his Alpha aura. The music faltered.

“My mate,” Gunner’s voice boomed, not a shout, but a command that silenced the room instantly. He pulled me flush against his chest, his hand splayed possessively over my lower back. “Is the heart of this pack. Disrespect her, and you challenge your Alpha.”

He released a pulse of pure dominance. It hit the room like a physical blow. Around us, knees buckled. Warriors, Deltas, even the arrogant Elder Marcus, were forced to bow their heads, their necks bared in submission. It was a terrifying display of power, a shield forged from his own authority to protect me.

“I love you,” I whispered, burying my face in his chest to hide the tears burning my eyes.

“Always,” he breathed back.

But the moment of triumph was shattered by the frantic arrival of Gamma Silas. He burst through the double doors, his face pale and slick with sweat. He didn't bow; he rushed straight to Gunner, whispering urgently into his ear.

I felt the change instantly through our bond. Gunner’s calm dominance fractured, replaced by a spike of cold, sharp dread. He pulled away from me, his warmth vanishing.

“Stay here, Cam,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Entertain the guests.”

He strode out with Silas, leaving me alone in the center of the bowing crowd. But I couldn't stay. The dread leaking through the bond was too potent. It tasted like ash.

Ignoring the glares of the guests as they straightened up, I slipped out the side door, following Gunner’s trail toward the pack borders.

The night air was thick, unusually stagnant. When I reached the northern perimeter, I saw them. Gunner stood near the tree line, staring at the ground. Dozens of dead birds littered the grass, their bodies twisted as if they had fallen mid-flight. Beyond them, the shimmering air of the border wards—the magical barrier that kept Rogues out—was flickering.

“It’s dissolving, Alpha,” Silas said, his voice trembling. “Just… melting away. We’re losing power.”

Gunner swayed. I gasped, feeling a sudden drain on my own energy, a sympathetic echo of the sap on his strength. He was the battery of the pack; if the wards were dying, it was draining him dry.

“Gunner!” I cried out, stepping forward.

Before he could answer, a figure emerged from the shadows of the neutral territory beyond the failing ward.

A woman. She was tall, draped in white robes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. She didn't look like a Rogue; she looked regal, her dark hair cascading down her back like a river of ink. But as the wind shifted, her scent hit me. It was sweet—cloyingly sweet, like lilies left too long on a grave.

“Who goes there?” Gunner snarled, his claws extending.

“Peace, Alpha Mitchell,” the woman said. Her voice was melodic, carrying a strange resonance. “I am Mavis Torres. A daughter of the Lycan bloodline, and a servant of the Moon.”

Just then, a sentry who had been patrolling the breach collapsed, convulsing, foam gathering at his mouth. The dark energy seeping through the broken ward had hit him.

Mavis didn't hesitate. She stepped through the flickering barrier as if it weren't there. She knelt beside the convulsing wolf and placed a hand on his chest. A blinding flash of white light erupted from her palm. When the light faded, the wolf lay still, breathing peacefully. The foam was gone.

Gunner stared, his desperation warring with his instincts. I saw his eyes flash gold—Titan, his wolf, was surfacing, growling low in his throat. Titan didn't like her.

“The rot is deep in your lands, Alpha,” Mavis said, standing up and brushing dirt from her pristine robes. She looked at Gunner with eyes that seemed too old, too knowing. “The Goddess has sent me to purge it. But I cannot help you if you do not invite me in.”

Gunner looked at the dead birds. He looked at the healed sentry. Then, he looked at me, standing in the shadows. I shook my head slightly, a silent plea. *Something is wrong.*

But Gunner was an Alpha watching his kingdom crumble. Fear for the pack eclipsed the warning of his wolf.

“You saved my man,” Gunner said, his voice rough. He forced his claws to retract. “If you can save my pack… you are welcome here, Mavis.”

Mavis smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.

As she stepped fully onto pack lands, a chill raced down my spine, colder than any winter night. The bond between Gunner and me gave a violent shudder, as if something sharp had just been driven between us.

The morning sun offered no warmth in the town square. It felt as though the very heat had been sucked out of the Blood River territory, leaving the air brittle and gray. I stood beside Gunner on the raised platform, my hand gripping his so tightly my knuckles turned white. Below us, the pack gathered—warriors, mothers, elders—their faces gaunt with worry.

Mavis Torres stood in the center of the crowd, her white robes stark against the muddy ground. She didn't look like a stranger anymore; in just twenty-four hours, she had become a beacon of hope for everyone but me.

"The earth is crying," Mavis announced, her voice carrying without a microphone. She raised her hands, palms open to the sky. "I have walked your borders. I have tasted the soil. The wards are not failing because of an external attack. They are starving."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Gunner stiffened beside me. I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. He was exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes were bruises of fatigue, evidence of how much energy he was pouring into the failing barriers.

Mavis turned slowly, her eyes locking onto me. A cold shiver raced down my spine.

"Energy cannot be created or destroyed," she continued, her voice dropping to a sympathetic purr. "It flows. But here, in the heart of the pack, there is a void. A hollow vessel that consumes but does not give back."

She didn't say my name. She didn't have to. The crowd’s gaze shifted to me in unison. I saw the recognition in their eyes, the reignition of old hatreds. *The Black Widow. The Cursed One. The Wolf-less.*

"She is my mate!" Gunner growled, stepping forward, his Alpha command vibrating in the air. "She is your Luna."

"And I do not seek to harm her, Alpha," Mavis replied smoothly, bowing her head in false reverence. "I only speak what the Moon reveals. A mate without a wolf is like a lung without air. She unintentionally draws on your strength to survive the supernatural pressure of your aura. It is not her fault... but it is killing your pack."

The silence that followed was deafening. I felt like I was shrinking, the weight of a thousand accusing eyes crushing me. Gunner squeezed my hand, but for the first time in five years, his grip felt desperate rather than assured.

***

An hour later, the atmosphere in Gunner’s office was suffocating.

"I won't reject her," Gunner slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk, making the lamp rattle. "Do not suggest it, Mavis."

Mavis sat calmly in the visitor's chair, sipping herbal tea. "I would never suggest breaking a mate bond, Alpha. That is a sin against the Goddess. But Camila is sick. Her spirit is blocked."

She turned to me, her smile tight and predatory, though her eyes feigned concern. "There is a ritual. An ancient purification. If we can cleanse the blockage in her blood, her own wolf might finally awaken. She would stop draining the pack. She would be whole."

I shook my head, backing away. "I don't have a blockage. I was born this way."

"Gunner," Mavis said softly, ignoring me. "Look at the borders. Look at your warriors. They are weak. If the Rogues attack now, Blood River will fall. This ritual could save everyone. It could save *her* from the hatred of your people."

Gunner looked at me. His blue eyes were swimming with conflict. He walked over and cupped my face in his large, rough hands.

"Cam," he whispered, his voice cracking. "If this works... if you could have your wolf... the whispers would stop. You'd be safe. The pack would be safe."

"Gunner, I don't trust her," I pleaded, my voice trembling. "She smells like... like old flowers covering up rot."

"She healed the sentry," he countered, desperation creeping into his tone. "We are out of options. Please. For us."

His plea broke me. I could endure the insults, but I couldn't endure being the reason his legacy crumbled. I nodded, tears stinging my eyes. "Okay. For us."

***

The pack's sacred cellar was carved from the bedrock beneath the main house. It was cold, smelling of damp earth and stone. Mavis had prepared a stone basin in the center of the room, filling it with a shimmering, translucent liquid.

"The water is blessed by moonlight," Mavis said, gesturing for me to undress. She wore a heavy ceremonial apron.

Gunner stood by the heavy iron door. "I'll be right here, Cam. Right outside."

"Why can't you stay?" I asked, clutching my robe.

" The energy must be pure," Mavis interjected. "The Alpha's aura is too dominant. It will disrupt the flow."

Gunner kissed my forehead, a lingering, fearful press of his lips. "Be brave, my love." Then, he walked out, and the heavy door groaned shut, sealing me in with her.

The moment the latch clicked, Mavis’s face changed. The concern evaporated, replaced by a look of clinical boredom.

"Get in," she ordered.

I dropped my robe and stepped into the basin.

Agony.

Instant, blinding agony. It wasn't water. It felt like liquid fire. My skin hissed as I submerged my legs, a violent, searing heat that tore a scream from my throat.

"It burns!" I shrieked, trying to scramble out.

Mavis shoved me back down by the shoulders, her grip possessing unnatural strength. "It is silver-laced holy water, you fool. It burns the impurity out."

Silver. Poison to our kind. Even without a wolf, my biology was werewolf. She was bathing me in acid.

"Gunner!" I screamed, thrashing in the basin as the silver water splashed over my chest and stomach. The pain was absolute, white-hot needles piercing every pore. "Gunner, help me! It's killing me!"

I threw my mind open, forcing the distress call through our mate bond. *Gunner! Stop her! It burns! Please!*

I felt him on the other end of the link. I felt his panic, his instinct to tear the door down.

"It is working!" Mavis shouted toward the door, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "The screams are the curse leaving her body! Do not interrupt, Alpha, or the process will fail! She will remain a leech forever!"

*Gunner!* I screamed internally, the physical pain merging with the terror of Mavis’s cruel, smiling face hovering above me.

Then, I felt it.

A wall.

Not a physical one, but a mental one. Gunner didn't kick down the door. He didn't roar in fury. Instead, he slammed a barrier down across our bond.

*I'm sorry, Cam,* his voice echoed, faint and distorted, before being cut off completely. *It's for the pack.*

Silence.

He had blocked me. He was standing five feet away, on the other side of that door, listening to me scream, and he chose to cover his ears.

Mavis leaned close, her breath smelling of decay. "See?" she whispered, pushing my head under the burning silver water. "He knows what you are. A sacrifice."

The blisters on my legs from the silver water were weeping again, staining the white sheets of the infirmary bed. I had collapsed during the morning prayer—or rather, the morning torture session Mavis called ‘cleansing.’ My body felt heavy, not just with pain, but with a strange, new exhaustion that settled deep in my bones.

Dr. Evans, the pack’s elderly healer, pulled the stethoscope from his ears. His hands were shaking. He looked at Gunner, then at me, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Alpha,” he stammered. “It’s… it’s a miracle. The Luna is pregnant.”

For a heartbeat, the room went still. The oppressive weight of the dying pack, the failing wards, the suspicion—it all vanished. Gunner’s face, gaunt and gray from weeks of stress, suddenly cracked open. A light I hadn’t seen in years flooded his blue eyes. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, ignoring the smell of burnt flesh coming from my legs, and pressed his face against my stomach.

“A pup?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Titan… Titan is purring. We’re going to have a pup, Cam.”

Tears pricked my eyes. For the first time since Mavis arrived, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this was the sign we needed. Maybe a new life would heal the pack.

Then, the temperature in the room dropped.

“A miracle?” Mavis’s voice was like shattered glass. She stood in the doorway, her white robes pristine, her face twisted in a mask of horrified pity. “Oh, you poor, foolish Alpha.”

Gunner froze. He looked up, his hand still resting on my belly. “What do you mean? It’s an heir.”

“Is it?” Mavis walked into the room, the scent of lilies and rot trailing behind her. She pointed a manicured finger at my stomach. “Think, Gunner. The wards are failing. The warriors are losing their ability to shift. The pack’s magic is being drained at an accelerated rate. And now, suddenly, a wolf-less vessel conceives?”

She leaned down, her dark eyes boring into mine. “That is not an heir. It is a parasite. It is an abomination created by the curse to suck the last drops of power from your bloodline. It is feeding on the pack to survive.”

Gunner snatched his hand away as if I had burned him. The light in his eyes died, replaced by a cold, dawning horror.

“No,” I whispered, reaching for him. “Gunner, don’t listen to her. It’s our baby.”

He didn’t take my hand. He stood up, backing away, his gaze fixed on my stomach with revulsion. “A parasite…”

***

The hopelessness was suffocating. I tried to find Molly, my only friend in this nightmare. I found her in the hallway outside Gunner’s office, her face pale, clutching a bucket of water.

“Luna!” she hissed, pulling me into an alcove. “I heard her. I heard Mavis by the reservoir. She wasn’t praying to the Moon Goddess. She was chanting in a language that made my ears bleed. She was pouring something black into the water supply!”

“We have to tell Gunner,” I said, gripping her arm.

We burst into the office. Gunner was pacing, Mavis sitting calmly in his chair.

“Alpha!” Molly cried, dropping to her knees. “She’s a witch! She’s poisoning the water! That’s why the warriors can’t shift!”

Mavis didn’t even blink. She reached into the pocket of her robe and tossed a handful of small, bone-carved totems onto the desk. They rattled like dry teeth.

“I found these under the Omega’s bed,” Mavis said softly. “Cursed objects. Bound with dark magic to block the pack’s connection to the Moon.”

“Liar!” Molly screamed. “I’ve never seen those!”

Gunner looked at the bones, then at Molly. The paranoia that Mavis had cultivated for weeks snapped into place.

“You dare?” Gunner’s voice was a low growl. “You dare sabotage my pack while we are dying?”

“Gunner, please!” I threw myself between them. “Molly is loyal! Mavis is lying! Look at her!”

Gunner grabbed my arm, shoving me aside with enough force that I stumbled. “Get her out of my sight,” he commanded the guards. “Exile. If she returns, kill her.”

“No!” I screamed as two warriors dragged a sobbing Molly away. “Gunner, you’re making a mistake! She’s innocent!”

He refused to look at me. “Take the Luna to her room. Lock the door.”

***

That night, the silence in the Pack House was heavy, broken only by the weeping of the wind. Dinner was a somber affair. The long table was full, but no one ate. Earlier that afternoon, a rogue skirmish on the southern border had resulted in three injuries because our warriors couldn’t shift. Their wolves were gone, silent in their heads.

Mavis sat at Gunner’s right hand—my seat. I sat at the far end, isolated, clutching my stomach.

Suddenly, Mavis stiffened. Her fork clattered onto her plate. Her head snapped back at an unnatural angle, her spine arching violently.

“Mavis?” Gunner stood up, alarmed.

A sound tore from Mavis’s throat—a distorted, multi-layered voice that vibrated the silverware on the table.

*“The rot deepens,”* the voice hissed. It wasn’t Mavis. It sounded ancient and angry. *“The vessel is full of poison. The abomination grows.”*

The entire room gasped. Warriors fell to their knees in terror. They thought the Moon Goddess was speaking through her.

Mavis’s eyes rolled back, showing only the whites. She pointed a trembling hand down the length of the table, directly at me.

*“To save the body,”* the voice shrieked, *“you must sever the rotting limb. The blood of the cursed one must be spilled, or the Blood River Pack will cease to exist before the next full moon.”*

Mavis collapsed forward onto the table, panting.

Every eye in the room turned to me. There was no pity left in them. Only hunger. Only the desperate need to survive.

Gunner looked at me. His face was a mask of torture, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked at my stomach, then at his trembling hands.

“Sever the rotting limb,” he whispered to himself.

I wrapped my arms around my belly, shrinking back into my chair, but I knew. The walls were closing in, and the man who promised to protect me was holding the knife.