Recovering from another death escapades, my breath hitched in frustration and pain as the low inaudible voices from our vehicle was becoming clear enough.

I’ve lost count of how many times my mate has offered me to the rogue wolves in the pack. They would stab me multiple times, and on several occasions they would tie me to a bicycle and drag my body around just to please him and his mate. His damned mistress.

To be precise, this is the ninety-nineth time.

That’s how many deaths I’ve clawed my way back from—each time to the sound of his voice, colder than the winter moon, telling someone to "deal with it."

The most recent one was when he didn’t hesitate to shove me straight into the path of a rampaging rogue in its beast form. Just to shield her—his radiant Debbie—from a splash of blood.

"She’s sensitive," he growled, not even glancing at my crumpled body. "Debbie can’t stomach the scent of carnage right now."

Someone lifted my limp form and tossed it into the bed of a rusted pickup like I was just another piece of trash from the battlefield.

“Make sure she doesn’t bleed out here,” Trixie added, wiping his hands on a silk handkerchief. “I don’t want the stench fouling the ride.”

I didn’t fight. My bones cracked with every breath. I curled into the shadows, listening to the low murmur of voices, muffled by metal and dust.

“She always comes back,” someone scoffed. “Bet she’ll mutter ‘sorry’ again when she does. Ninety-nine times now, yeah?” I could easily recognize the voice. It belonged to Tisha, Debbie's evil sister.

Another voice, amused. “I’ll put fifty million on it.” That voice belonged to Chelsea, Debbie's best friend.

"That snitch..." I muttered in my quivering voice. I remember when I caught her and Trixie having sex together while Debbie was at the hospital. Foolish Debbie. I don't want to talk about how trashy they are. I let out a scoff.

They didn’t know it was remaining one last time. Death number one hundred would sever the bond. The Moon Goddess herself would let me go. I wouldn’t return for him again.

No more love. No more pain. No more begging to be seen.

When my lungs filled with air again, it wasn’t relief I felt—it was fury.

The bed of the truck reeked of rust and rot. Dried blood clung to my ribs like old paint.

From the cab came the sound of heaving. Debbie’s nausea was always louder than it needed to be.

The engine screeched to a halt. Gravel bit into the tires.

A door slammed. Trixie’s boots crunched toward me. He stared down like I was something he’d rather step over than acknowledge.

“You’re alive.”

The tone in his voice was more serious to make it a question. He was making a complaint.

“Get out. Debbie’s going pale from the smell.”

I didn’t argue. I pushed off the bed, my fingers slipping in the congealed mess beneath me.

My shirt—what was left of it—was already soaked. Still, I wiped the blood from the rusted metal as best I could. Debbie hated filth. Once, she refused to wear shoes after they touched a patch of dirt.

Trixie had forced me to crawl ahead of her, skin to stone, to keep her steps clean.

As I finished, his voice came again, low and almost… placating.

“Behave. Once Debbie delivers the heir, maybe I’ll—”

She gagged again.

And he forgot I existed. He turned, rushing back to her side, one hand shielding her swollen belly, the other brushing her hair back as though the world revolved around her morning sickness.

He barked into his comm: “Send another ride. Ten minutes.”

He was breathless—anxious, even. The last time I saw that kind of panic in his eyes was the first time I died for him.

A fight had broken out in the forest during full moon training. He’d been dragged into the lake by a feral shifter. I dove in, claws first, dragging him to the shore.

My lungs gave out. My heart followed.

He had screamed for help then. Promised anything.

“I’d trade places with her! Just bring her back!”

But that was then. Before the pattern became a rhythm.

Three deaths. Then ten. Then ninety-nine.

By the hundredth, he didn’t flinch anymore. I was just another object in his orbit, used to keep Debbie smiling.

A breeze sliced through the clearing. I stepped down from the truck, every bone aching.

“Hey.” His voice, sharp and familiar, sliced through the air behind me. “Forgot something?”

I didn’t look back.

“...Sorry.”

My voice was flat. Mechanical. He always made me say it.

Sorry for bleeding.

Sorry for breathing.

Sorry for being.

I started to walk.

Too obedient this time, I suppose. He sounded almost pleased.

“Truck’s filthy. Clean it. We’ll wait for the new ride.”

They stepped out together. Trixie kept his arm around her, shielding her like she was a crown jewel. His eyes were full of her—never once flicking toward me.

I remembered once being the one he protected.

Three moons after I conceived, my wolf pup barked at Debbie. She shrieked. Claimed trauma.

Trixie snapped his fingers. Two trained hounds were released. They didn’t stop until I couldn’t stand. Until the child inside me was nothing but a memory.

Afterward, he knelt by Debbie’s side and said, “There’ll be other children. But if I don’t punish her, she’ll never learn.”

I never conceived again. The healers said the damage was... final.

But maybe that was freedom.

I limped behind them, my steps barely audible under their laughter. The front gates opened.

The housekeeper—Mrs. Smith—stood in my way. Her eyes flicked over me, her face tightening.

“The young master said… Miss Debbie’s scent is too refined. She can’t bear the smell of blood. You know how she gets.”

I nodded. I didn’t plead.

Mrs. Smith turned on the hose.

Ice-cold water slammed into me. I hit the stone tiles, arms wrapped around my gut, barely breathing.

Ten minutes. Maybe more.

When the torrent finally stopped, I crawled inside.

Past the doors I once opened freely.

Past the rooms I once called mine.

Dripping, invisible, broken.

I found the downstairs bathroom, shut the door, and peeled off what was left of me.

Then I sat beneath the sink, knees to chest, heart to silence.

There was only one left.

The final shift. The last breath. The edge of the line.

Debbie’s voice slithered through the silence like smoke. “He’s done ninety-nine. That kind of survival? You can't breed that—it’s forged. Maybe if our pup had even half that spine…”

Trixie didn’t look at her. His eyes were on the fire, jaw clenched so tightly it could snap. “There’s a den near the lowlands,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “They don’t train halfbloods. They dismantle them. Tear out instincts and rewire the brain. Like machines.”

Debbie hummed, almost delighted. “Is that what makes them… obedient?”

He didn’t answer.

She tilted her head. “We could take him there.”

His voice dropped, edged with steel. “Not now.”

The stillness returned, but something about it felt wrong—like standing in the eye of a storm, knowing the rest is just waiting to hit.

Then she giggled, as if none of it mattered. “Do you think this peach is safe?” she asked brightly, lifting the fruit with an elegance that masked her cruelty.

I had just stepped in.

I froze.

She moved toward me like a predator cloaked in grace. “Selena, darling,” she purred, extending the peach, “be a dear and try it for me. Just one bite.”

I didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

Trixie’s eyes flicked toward me. Then the fruit. Then my lips.

He remembered.

He should’ve stopped her.

But he didn’t.

So I did what I always did. I took the poison.

My fingers curled around the velvet skin of the fruit. I bit down.

The sweetness was a lie. The taste was violence.

Juice spilled down my chin, sticky and warm. It clung to me like guilt. My body began to revolt, every nerve screaming—but I didn’t stop.

Let it be over.

Let me go.

Then he moved.

Faster than breath, Trixie crossed the room and seized me by the back of the neck. The pain made stars explode behind my eyes as the fruit fell from my lips.

His palm struck my face.

Hard.

The room tilted. My head rang.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he barked. His voice cracked—too loud, too human. “Do you want to die? Is that it?”

I didn’t speak.

I swallowed what was left.

His hand trembled against my skin.

Then something shifted. His grip loosened. His touch changed.

He cupped my face as though I might break. “Spit it out,” he whispered. “Please. Don’t make me watch this.”

But it was already happening.

My chest seized.

Air became knives.

I fell to the ground, fingers clawing at wood. My body convulsed. My vision blurred.

Behind me, Debbie made a gagging sound that was too practiced, too convenient.

Trixie spun. “She’s reacting again—Debbie!”

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” Debbie whimpered, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “It just… smells off.”

The housekeeper rushed in, skidding to a halt at the doorway.

“Oh goddess—she’s seizing again!” he gasped. “Should I call the Pack Healer?”

Trixie hesitated.

That heartbeat of doubt cracked something in me.

Then he swept Debbie into his arms like she was the one dying.

“She can’t be around this. Take care of her first. Lock Selena in the washroom. I don’t want her scent in the nursery.”

He didn’t look at me when he said it.

“Do it,” he snapped at the housekeeper. “Now.”

But I didn’t wait.

I dragged myself upright. My legs were shaking. I staggered into the guest bath, locked the door, and collapsed against the wall.

Outside, the house fell into muffled murmurs and shifting feet.

“She just wants attention,” Trixie said eventually, his voice barely audible through the door. “She’s acting out.”

No. I wasn’t acting. I was vanishing.

When I came to, hours had passed. The quiet was thick enough to choke on.

I was still alive.

Of course I was.

The dose had been too light. Again.

I turned my head. The nightstand glowed under the lamplight. A pill bottle stood beside a folded note.

Take these when you wake. I’ll be back soon.

No name. But I knew that handwriting. It used to cover my walls, years ago.

You looked cold today. Stay inside.

Don't run during your cycle. Let me pace you.

You're strong. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.

The notes disappeared long before the person did.

I exhaled slowly, eyes burning.

And that was the sound he heard when he walked in.

“You mad it didn’t work?” Trixie asked, voice like frost.

I didn’t lift my head.

He moved closer, boots thudding against the floor like falling judgment. “Did you even take your meds?”

I gestured. The bottle was still full.

His jaw clenched.

He stared at me like I was some puzzle he once knew how to solve—but forgot the pieces to.

I picked up the bottle and dumped the contents into my palm.

Then I held them out to him.

“You want me quiet? Numb? Gone?” I said, my voice raw. “You can do it. You can finish what they started.”

His eyes locked with mine.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t move.

But I saw the flicker—the one thing he didn’t want me to see.

Fear.

Not for me.

Of me.

He took the pills from my hand. One by one.

Then he turned away again.

He always turned away.

And I—

I just kept waiting for someone to stay.

“That’s enough. Hand them over. I’ll take them myself.”

My voice was level—too level. Like the eye of a storm right before it swallows everything.

Trixie stilled. His shoulders squared, nostrils flaring as if scenting something off in my tone.

“Selena, don’t be stupid.” His growl trembled at the edges. “You don’t know what those will do to you.”

The bottle of wolfsbane capsules dangled between my fingers. Then, with a sudden roar, he slapped them from my hand. They hit the floor with a hard clatter, pills scattering like bones.

“You want to die?” His voice cracked, primal and shaking. “Fine. Then die. But not like this. Not in front of me.”

He went quiet after that, panting, fists clenched at his sides like he was holding back from shifting. Trixie wasn’t the kind to shout. Not usually. But his eyes—those cold, glacial things—were flooded with heat.

He tugged off his jacket, tossed it over the chair, and turned from me with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Enough of your theatrics.”

“You’re not dying,” he muttered, voice lowering to a dangerous pitch. “We’ve tested every bloodline theory. Every moon cycle. Still nothing. The Pack down north has a lab. They’re willing to study what’s inside you. If they can extract even a fragment of your regenerative strain… maybe it’ll help the pup growing in Debbie.”

There. He’d said it.

I didn’t flinch. Just rolled up my sleeve, offering my arm like a gift to the gods.

“Take it,” I said softly. “Take all of it if you want. Maybe you’ll finally be rid of me that way.”

Something inside him faltered. But his duty to Debbie—and to the unborn heir she carried—won out.

He called in the Pack healer.

The needle wasn’t silver, but it might as well have been. It burrowed deep, draining not just blood but memory. I watched it fill, red and thick with my DNA. The very thing they wanted. The very thing I hated.

I didn’t tell them the truth.

That I was dying, yes—but not from some disease. I was nearing my hundredth death. The last in a long chain of silent sacrifices that no one remembered, not even the wolf who had once howled my name under moonlight.

Once that final death arrived, I’d be gone—not just from this pack, but from the tether that bound me to this world.

Truly gone.

Trixie’s phone buzzed. Without a glance in my direction, he picked up.

“Tomorrow. I’ll drive her to the lab myself.”

The healer hesitated. “Alpha, she should rest. Her vitals are... thinning.”

“She won’t die.” Trixie’s voice was arctic.

The healer swallowed whatever protest he had. But Trixie didn’t come the next day. Or the one after.

Instead, the shared Pack account pinged with transactions.

Maternity coats. Fur-lined boots. A winter bassinet.

A memory slammed into me like a blow.

We were once on northern patrol—before the mating bond between him and Debbie. A blizzard hit, sudden and brutal. Debbie had tracked him up there, frostbitten and weeping. Trixie wrapped her in his coat. Then—without a word—ripped mine off too and draped it over her.

“She followed me,” he snapped when I opened my mouth. “And you left her out there. You heartless mutt.”

They left me behind that night.

My wolf nearly froze solid before dawn.

I came back only to find them already mated.

I blinked, coming back to the present.

I ordered them custom-matched arctic gloves.

Then I severed my link to the Pack’s joint account.

Later, Trixie sent a single message.

I didn’t reply.

Not long after, I heard heavy footsteps outside my den door. A familiar knock. Authoritative. Impatient.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

I rose silently. My limbs creaked like winter branches.

Debbie stood behind him, belly swollen, smile painted sweet as rot.

“Selena,” she purred. “It must be exhausting, donating so much of yourself for our pup. But if the lab finds nothing... we may need more. Maybe even open you up. Gently, of course.”

“For the child,” she added with a wink.

“I understand,” I said, utterly still.

Trixie’s jaw ticked. “That’s enough, Debbie.”

She laughed like she didn’t hear him. But I saw the flicker in her eyes—the momentary panic.

The three of us rode in silence.

Trixie turned on music. Something soft and old. It didn’t matter.

The silence drowned it out.