I stood outside Legend's office, my hand trembling as I raised it to knock. The championship victory still clung to my skin like sweat, but the triumph had curdled into something bitter and cold. Six years of waiting, of enduring, of believing—all of it led to this moment of confrontation. My knuckles rapped against the heavy oak door, each tap measured and deliberate, like the heartbeat of a woman who had finally run out of patience.

The door swung open, and there he stood. Legend Hayes, the Alpha's son, my fated mate, the man who had been a ghost at my greatest achievement. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, his usually commanding presence seemed muted, but his eyes—those eyes that had once looked at me with what I thought was love—were carefully blank.

'Juliana.' My name on his lips sounded like an accusation. 'I was wondering when you'd come.'

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me with a soft click that felt like the sealing of a tomb. 'Where were you tonight?' My voice was quiet, too quiet, but it filled the space between us like smoke.

'Border patrol,' he said, the lie slipping out with practiced ease. 'We had reports of rogue activity.'

'Don't.' The word cut through the air like a blade. 'Don't lie to me. Not now.' I pulled out my phone, the mind-link broadcast still glowing on the screen. The words burned into my vision: *Code 0143 confirmed. Welcome home, Waverly.*

Legend's jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. 'You're being paranoid, Juliana.' His voice shifted, taking on the weight of his Alpha tone, the sound that made lesser wolves cower. 'Waverly needed support. She's been away for years, and her return is... complicated.'

The Alpha tone washed over me, but I didn't bend. Not this time. 'Paranoid?' I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. 'You gave me her code, Legend. The one you swore was ours alone. You stood me up on the night I proved myself to this pack, and you went to her.'

'You're blowing this out of proportion.' His tone was cold now, dismissive. 'Waverly needed help adjusting. She's an old friend of the pack.'

'An old friend,' I repeated, tasting the words like poison. 'Is that what you call her when you're whispering in her ear? When you're giving her the codes that were supposed to be mine?'

His eyes flashed, not with guilt but with irritation. 'Enough, Juliana. This isn't about you.'

The words hit me like a physical blow. Six years of my life, reduced to an inconvenience. I turned to leave, my hand on the doorknob, when his voice stopped me.

'Where are you going?'

'To dinner,' I said, the words hollow. 'Since you missed the celebration, I figured I'd at least eat.'

His expression didn't change. 'Good. Waverly will be there. Try to be civil.'

I walked out, my spine straight and my heart breaking.

The dining hall was a sea of voices and clinking silverware when I arrived. My squad members waved me over, but I froze in the doorway. There, at the head table, sat Legend. And beside him, in the Luna's chair—the chair that should have been mine—was Waverly Wallace.

She was beautiful in that effortless way that made my chest ache. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her laughter carried across the room like music. She leaned close to Legend, her hand resting on his arm with casual ownership, and he didn't pull away.

Every eye in the room darted between us, waiting for the drama to unfold. I felt the weight of their stares, the silent judgment, the pity.

I walked to the table, my steps measured, and stopped directly in front of them. 'Waverly,' I said, my voice carrying just enough to cut through the dinner chatter. 'You're in the Luna's seat.'

Legend's gaze snapped to mine, hard and warning. 'She's a guest, Juliana.'

'A guest,' I echoed, the word tasting like ash. 'How fortunate for her.' I turned and walked out of the dining hall, the sound of Waverly's laughter following me like a curse.

The next morning, the punishment came. Border patrol—double shifts, back-to-back, with no rest. The same grueling schedule he'd forced on me after the Emerald Table incident, when I'd dared to accept a ride from another pack member.

As I stared at the assignment board, the memory of that humiliation crashed over me. History repeating itself, with Waverly at the center of it all.

'Again?' Nolan's voice came from behind me, his tone heavy with disbelief. 'He's doing this again?'

I nodded, unable to speak. The pattern was clear now, carved into my soul with brutal clarity. In Legend's world, my pain was the price of Waverly's comfort. And I was done paying it.

The training grounds were empty when I arrived, the morning mist still clinging to the grass like ghostly fingers. I welcomed the solitude—after last night's humiliation, I needed space to breathe, to think, to plan my next move. The championship victory felt like a distant memory now, overshadowed by Legend's betrayal and Waverly's triumphant return. I began my warm-up routine, pushing my body through the familiar motions, letting the physical exertion quiet the storm in my mind. That's when I heard the footsteps behind me.

Light, measured, deliberate. I didn't need to turn to know who it was.

'Juliana.' Waverly's voice carried across the field, sweet as honey and sharp as a blade. 'I was hoping we could talk.'

I straightened, my spine locking into place as I faced her. She stood there in designer workout gear, her golden hair pulled back in an artful ponytail, looking like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine rather than a werewolf pack. 'We have nothing to discuss,' I said, my tone clipped.

She smiled, all teeth and no warmth. 'Oh, but we do.' She glanced around, confirming we were alone, then stepped closer. The mask slipped, her pretty features twisting into something cruel. 'I know all about your little secret, Delta.'

My blood turned to ice. 'What are you talking about?'

'The mate bond.' She laughed, the sound like breaking glass. 'The precious, sacred bond the Moon Goddess blessed you with. Legend told me everything.'

The words hit me like a physical blow. I fought to keep my expression neutral, but my hands curled into fists at my sides. 'If you know, then you understand there's nothing you can do. The Moon Goddess's will—'

'Is irrelevant,' she cut me off, her voice dripping with venom. 'A piece of paper, a mystical decree—it means nothing compared to history, to choice. Legend and I were chosen long before your Goddess decided to play matchmaker.' She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. 'And you're just a Delta. A glorified soldier. You think you can compete with me?'

My chest tightened, each word a dagger to my pride. But I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break. 'I don't need to compete. The bond is already established.'

Her laughter rang out again, sharper this time. 'Then why is he still running to me? Why did he miss your precious championship?' She tilted her head, studying me like a predator. 'Face it, Juliana. You're a placeholder. A warm body to keep the Moon Goddess happy while he waits for what he really wants.'

I stepped toward her, my Alpha tone slipping into my voice. 'You don't know anything about me or my bond.'

She didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled again, a cold, calculated thing. 'I know enough. And soon, everyone will know exactly what kind of mate you really are.'

With that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the distance. I stood there, frozen, as her words echoed in my mind. A placeholder. A warm body. The insults burned, but the truth behind them cut deeper.

I didn't see her slip away from the training grounds, making her way toward the territory border. I didn't notice her pause near a group of traders, her voice carrying just loud enough to be overheard. 'Oh, you're looking for the Black Moon Pack House? It's just past the eastern ridge, about two miles down the main road. Can't miss it.'

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. 'And if you're looking for someone specific, the Delta—Juliana—she runs solo patrol along the northern perimeter every third day. Always alone, always predictable.'

The trader nodded, a greedy light in his eyes. 'Thank you for the information, miss.'

Waverly's smile was pure venom. 'No problem at all. I'm always happy to help... visitors.'

As she walked away, satisfaction radiating from her pores, she didn't see the shadows in the trees. Didn't notice the hungry eyes watching from the darkness. Didn't realize she'd just lit a fuse that would soon explode into chaos.

I smelled them before I saw them.

Three miles into my northern perimeter patrol, the wind shifted, and the stench hit me—unwashed fur, old blood, the particular sour edge of wolves who hadn't belonged to a pack in years. Rogues. Multiple.

I didn't slow down. I recalibrated.

They came from three directions at once, which told me two things immediately: they'd scouted this route in advance, and someone had told them exactly where to be. I dropped low as the first one lunged, letting his momentum carry him over my shoulder, and drove my elbow into the back of his skull on the way down. He hit the dirt and didn't get back up.

The second caught me across the ribs before I could pivot. The impact cracked through my side like a gunshot, and I tasted copper. I kept moving. A Delta who stops moving is a Delta who dies.

For a while, it was close enough to manageable. I was faster, sharper, and I knew this terrain the way I knew my own heartbeat. But there were seven of them, and I was one, and by the fourth minute my left arm was bleeding from a gash I hadn't felt until I saw the blood.

I was on my knees when Legend arrived.

His wolves came in hard and fast, scattering what remained of the rogue formation. I heard his voice cutting through the chaos—commands, clean and authoritative—and then the sounds of fighting, and then quiet.

I was already back on my feet by the time he reached me.

'Juliana.' His voice was rough. His eyes moved over me the way they always did after a fight—quick, assessing, looking for damage he could catalog and then feel responsible for. 'How bad?'

'I'm standing,' I said.

He didn't look reassured.

I turned away from him and walked toward the nearest body on the ground. Something had caught my eye in the last seconds of the fight—a folded piece of paper half-crushed under a dead rogue's hand. I crouched down and pulled it free.

It was a map. Hand-drawn, precise. The Black Moon Pack House was marked with a circle. My patrol route was traced in red ink, every third-day variation accounted for.

And underneath the paper's surface, faint but unmistakable, was the smell of white peonies and warm vanilla.

Waverly.

I stood slowly and held it out to Legend. 'Her scent is on this.'

He took it from me. Looked at it. His jaw tightened.

'No,' he said.

The word landed like a door slamming shut.

'Legend—'

'No.' His voice sharpened, and I heard the edge of his Alpha tone underneath it—not fully deployed, but present, like a blade not yet drawn. 'This doesn't prove anything. Rogues are scavengers. They steal what they can from pack territories—clothing, gear, anything with a scent on it. They could have found something of hers at the border. They could have—'

'She told me she knew about our bond this morning,' I said quietly. 'She came to the training grounds and told me to my face.'

Something flickered across his expression. Not guilt. Frustration.

'You're looking for reasons to blame her,' he said. 'After everything with the code, after last night—you want it to be her. I understand that. But Waverly would not do this.'

I looked at him for a long moment. The bleeding from my arm had slowed to a steady drip that was pattering onto the frost-hardened ground between us. I watched it fall.

'Okay,' I said.

Just that. Nothing else.

I walked back toward the pack house alone.

---

The infirmary was empty when I got there. I preferred it that way.

I sat on the edge of a treatment table and worked through the gash on my arm with a needle and medical thread, my movements methodical and unhurried. The pain was manageable. Pain usually was, once you stopped fighting it and just let it exist alongside you.

I was halfway through the third stitch when I heard footsteps in the doorway.

'You're going to want to pull that tighter,' Nolan said. 'Or it'll scar crooked.'

I didn't look up. 'I know how to stitch a wound, Rodriguez.'

He came inside anyway, dropping into the chair across from me with the unhurried ease of a man who had decided he was staying regardless of whether he was welcome. He was quiet for a moment, watching me work.

Then: 'I tracked the rogues' trail back to the eastern ridge before Legend's team cleared the scene.' A pause. 'Her scent was on three of them. Not just the map. The wolves themselves.'

My needle stopped moving.

'Clothing transfer doesn't work that way,' he continued, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. 'Not that concentrated. Not on multiple targets.' He let that sit for a second. 'You weren't imagining it, Jules.'

I finished the stitch. Tied it off. Set the needle down.

Outside the infirmary window, the afternoon light had gone gray and thin, the kind of light that couldn't decide whether it wanted to be day or something else entirely. I stared at it for a moment.

'I know,' I said.

The problem was, so did Legend.