My knees ached against the cold, hard tiles of the pack house kitchen. Just yesterday, in my mind at least, I was the revered Luna of the Blood Moon Pack. Today, I was a ghost shoved into an ill-fitting, scratchy Omega’s uniform, scrubbing grout until my knuckles bled. My inner wolf whined, scratching weakly at the back of my mind. The eight years of experimental ice still clung to my bones, making every movement stiff and agonizing.

"Oh, Elora," a sickeningly sweet voice cooed from above.

I looked up, pushing a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. Amber stood over me. She was wearing my favorite silk robe—the one Vincent had bought for me in Milan—and a pristine, lacy apron that was clearly just a prop for her little charade. In her hands, she held a massive, cast-iron pot of boiling beef stew.

Before I could even blink, she tilted her wrists.

The scalding stew cascaded onto the freshly scrubbed floor, splashing heavily against my shins. I bit back a scream as the boiling liquid burned my skin, a stark, agonizing contrast to the lingering frost in my veins.

"Oh my goodness, I am so clumsy!" Amber gasped, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. But her eyes, staring down at me, were cold, calculating, and viciously victorious. Several pack members in the adjoining dining room turned their heads, their whispers buzzing like angry hornets.

Amber sighed loudly, her voice dripping with fake, theatrical pity. "Elora, I know you've been asleep for a very long time, and your brain is a little... slow. But you really need to watch where you're going. You're just so incompetent. Clean this up before Alpha Vincent sees what a mess you've made of his kitchen."

I swallowed the lump of utter humiliation burning in my throat. I didn't argue. I couldn't. I just grabbed my soaking rag and began to wipe up the greasy, scalding mess, my tears mixing with the spilled broth.

Later that afternoon, my burned skin bandaged with scraps of old cloth, I saw my chance. Colter was walking down the main hallway alone, dragging his fingertips along the oak wainscoting. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the small, soft blue-and-silver blanket I had hand-knit for him while I was pregnant. It was the only thing I had left of the boy I loved more than life itself.

"Colter?" I whispered, stepping tentatively out of the shadows.

He froze, his dark eyes widening. "What do you want?" he snapped. He tried to sound brave and authoritative, mimicking his father, but he just sounded like a scared pup.

"I just wanted to give you this," I said softly, holding out the folded yarn. My hands trembled. "I made it for you. Before I had to go away into the ice. I never wanted to leave you, sweetheart. I fought to wake up just for you."

He stared at the blanket. A flicker of hesitation crossed his young face, his inner wolf perhaps recognizing the faint, fading scent of his true mother. For a split second, I saw my little boy.

"Colter! Get away from her!"

Amber’s voice sliced through the quiet hallway like a silver blade. She rushed forward, grabbing Colter by the shoulders and pulling him behind her as if I were a rabid beast. "Don't touch my son," she hissed, her eyes flashing with venom.

"It's just a blanket," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Please."

Amber looked down at Colter, her lower lip trembling in a flawless performance of maternal distress. "Colter, she's trying to trick you. She abandoned you because she didn't love you enough to stay awake. I'm the one who stayed up with you when you had fevers. I am your mother."

Colter's hesitation vanished, instantly replaced by a fierce, misguided anger. He stepped around Amber and snatched the blue blanket from my hands.

"I don't want your stupid trash!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls.

With a sharp, violent tug, he ripped the delicate, aged yarn. The physical sound of the threads snapping echoed in my ears. The stitches I had painstakingly woven with love and hope unraveled instantly. He threw the torn, ruined pieces right at my feet and turned his back on me.

A choked sob escaped my lips. I dropped to my knees, gathering the frayed yarn to my chest as if I could somehow put it back together. Down the hall, a shadow shifted. It was Eleanor, the Former Luna, Vincent’s mother. She stood frozen by the grand staircase, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide with silent, devastating horror at what her grandson had just done. But she didn't step forward. She just looked at me with profound, helpless grief before slipping away.

I retreated to the damp, drafty Omega quarters, clutching the ruined blanket. My heart was completely shattered, my mate bond a bleeding, agonizing wound in my chest. But I severely underestimated Amber. My mere existence was a threat to the stolen crown on her head, and humiliation wasn't enough for her. She wanted me gone. Permanently.

Hours later, as dusk settled over the pack house, frantic shouts erupted from the courtyard. The heavy, metallic scent of panic and fresh blood flooded the air. I rushed out of the servant's door, following the chaos toward the edge of the woods.

Pack warriors were gathered frantically near the tree line, their flashlights cutting through the gathering dark. Alpha Vincent pushed through the crowd, his crushing aura suffocating everyone in his path, his face pale and twisted with absolute terror.

"Where is she?" he roared, his Alpha tone making my knees buckle.

I pushed my way to the front and froze. There, caught on the jagged thorns of the bordering bushes, was a piece of Amber's silk dress. Below it, a massive, horrifying pool of dark crimson blood stained the fresh snow.

A trail of blood and dragged footprints led straight into the dark, forbidden trees—feral Rogue territory.

"She's been taken," Beta Marcus announced grimly, sniffing the air. "Rogue scent. Heavy. They dragged her into the dead zone."

I stared at the perfectly placed torn fabric and the excessive, theatrical amount of blood. It was too perfect. Too neatly staged. A cold, absolute dread settled in the pit of my stomach. Amber hadn't just humiliated me today. She had orchestrated a fake kidnapping to drag the pack into the deadliest part of the forest, framing it as a mortal peril. And as Vincent’s wild, desperate eyes slowly turned to lock onto mine, I knew, with sickening certainty, exactly who was going to be used as bait to get her back.

I was still on the cold floor of the drafty Omega quarters, clutching the torn pieces of Colter’s baby blanket to my chest, when the heavy wooden door was kicked open. The rusted hinges screamed in protest.

Vincent stood in the doorway. His massive chest heaved, and his eyes were wild, bloodshot pools of panic. The intoxicating scent of rain and pine that usually surrounded him was completely choked out by the sour, metallic stench of his fear.

"Get up," he snarled.

I shrank back against the freezing stone wall, my fragile bones aching. "Vincent, please—"

"Shut up!" he roared.

His Alpha aura flooded the tiny room, heavy and suffocating. The sheer pressure of it slammed into my chest, stealing the air from my lungs. He didn't offer a hand. He lunged forward, his fingers wrapping around my frail bicep like a vice, and dragged me to my feet.

"They took her," he breathed, his voice trembling with a rage that wasn't meant for me. "The rogues took Amber into the Dead Zone. And you are going to help me get her back."

I stared at him, my mind struggling to process the absolute cruelty of his words. "You want to use me as bait?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "Vincent, I just woke up. I'm sick. I can't survive out there!"

"They want a Luna. I’ll give them one," he said coldly, his grip tightening until I whimpered. "Amber is the mother of my child. I will not lose her."

"I am your mate!" I cried out, fighting weakly against his iron hold. "I am Colter's mother!"

Vincent’s eyes darkened into pitch-black voids. He didn't see me. He only saw an obstacle. "I command you to walk into the Dead Zone and draw them out."

He dropped his voice into the terrifying, vibrating register of the Alpha command. It wasn't a request. It was a supernatural compulsion. My body instantly betrayed me. My spine snapped straight, and my legs began to move against my will, compelled by the absolute, crushing power of his rank. Tears streamed down my face as my own feet marched me out of the pack house and toward the jagged tree line.

The winter wind bit through my thin, scratchy Omega uniform. The snow soaked through my shoes, awakening the lingering, painful frost of the cryogenic stasis in my veins. Behind me, the pack warriors stopped at the border. Vincent stayed with them, hidden in the shadows, leaving me completely exposed in the freezing dark.

I stumbled deeper into the feral woods. The trees twisted like skeletal fingers against the moonless sky. Inside my mind, my fragile wolf whimpered, pacing wildly. *Danger. Mate betrayed us. Danger.*

A heavy branch snapped to my left.

I froze. From the shadows of a rotting oak tree, a massive, heavily scarred wolf stepped into the clearing. It didn't attack. Instead, it shifted, bones cracking and rearranging until a tall, rugged man stood before me in the freezing mud. He reeked of rotting meat and wet earth.

Silas. The ruthless leader of the feral rogues.

He didn't look like a man running from an Alpha's wrath. He looked incredibly amused.

"Well, well," Silas purred, circling me with slow, predatory steps. "The legendary Luna Elora. Or should I say, the disposable bait."

I backed away, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Where is she?" I rasped, my breath pluming in the freezing air.

Silas threw his head back and laughed. The sound was dry and wicked. "Amber? Oh, she's perfectly safe back at the edge of the woods. She paid me handsomely for this little theatrical performance."

He stopped pacing, his yellow eyes locking onto mine with malicious glee. "She wanted to see if your mighty Alpha would actually trade his fated mate's life for an Omega's daughter. And look at that. He marched you right into the slaughterhouse without a second thought."

The words tore through my chest, sharper than any claw. Vincent knew I was weak. He knew I was his fated mate. Yet he willingly threw me to the wolves for a woman who had orchestrated the entire lie.

"Time to finish the job," Silas sneered. He took a step back and pulled a small, metallic canister from his coat pocket.

My eyes widened in pure terror. "No—"

Silas tossed it at my feet and pressed a detonator.

The world erupted in blinding, scorching white light. The shockwave slammed into my chest, lifting me off my feet and throwing me backward through the air. But it wasn't just fire and concussive force.

It was silver.

A dense cloud of burning silver dust and jagged shrapnel ripped through my skin. I hit the frozen ground with a sickening crunch. Agony, pure and concentrated, flooded my veins. The silver poisoning burned like liquid acid, melting through my flesh and diving straight into my soul.

Inside my mind, my wolf let out one final, blood-curdling scream.

I felt the exact, devastating moment she shattered. The bright, warm presence that had lived inside me since I was a teenager splintered into a million pieces, retreating into a suffocating, bottomless dark. She was gone.

Then, the pack mind-link—the constant, comforting hum of hundreds of voices that connected me to my home—snapped like a dry twig. The silence that rushed in was deafening. I was entirely severed.

I opened my mouth to scream, to beg for help, to cry out to the Moon Goddess for mercy.

Nothing came out.

My throat convulsed, tearing with the effort, but there was no sound. The sheer psychological terror and the catastrophic physical shock seized my vocal cords, locking them in a cage of absolute silence. I gasped, clawing at my own throat, but the silence remained unbroken.

I was wolfless. I was packless. And as the darkness finally pulled me into its freezing embrace, I realized I had lost my voice, too.

I do not remember the journey back to the pack house. I only remember the brutal, jarring agony of my broken body being dragged through the snow by rough hands. My vision swam with dark, dizzying spots. The silver shrapnel burned in my veins, a liquid fire that refused to go out, eating away at my flesh and my soul. I tried to gasp, to plead for the pack healer, but my throat was a sealed tomb. No sound. No wolf. Just an echoing, terrifying emptiness where my other half had lived for years.

We reached the grand front steps of the pack house. Vincent stood there, his arms crossed over his massive chest, his jaw clenched in fury. I looked up at my fated mate, my eyes begging for mercy. Blood soaked my torn Omega uniform, leaving a grisly trail on the pristine white snow.

Instead of horror, his face twisted in pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Stop this pathetic performance, Elora," his Alpha tone rumbled, vibrating against my aching skull. "You failed to draw the rogues out, and now you're throwing a tantrum? Refusing to speak? You think playing the victim will make me forget you abandoned us?"

I shook my head frantically. I clawed at my throat, my tear-filled eyes wide with panic, but only a dry, wheezing breath escaped my lips. *I can't speak! She's gone!* I screamed in my mind, but the pack mind-link was entirely dead to me.

"Alpha, she's bleeding heavily. We should take her to the Healer," Beta Marcus suggested, stepping forward with a hesitant frown.

"No," Vincent snapped, his voice slicing through the freezing air like a blade. "She doesn't deserve the pack's medical resources for a few scratches she probably caused herself. Amber, you handle her. Patch her up in the Omega quarters. Maybe some isolation will cure her sudden, convenient muteness."

Before I could even brace myself, the warriors hauled me up and dragged me down to the damp, drafty basement. They threw me onto the cold stone floor of my room. The heavy wooden door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place.

Amber dropped her sweet, innocent facade the second we were alone. She walked toward me, her heels clicking sharply against the stone. She set a metal basin on the floor. The water inside shimmered with a sickly, metallic sheen.

"You really thought you could ruin my plans, didn't you?" Amber whispered, her voice a venomous hiss. She dipped a rough rag into the basin. The sharp, toxic scent of liquid silver hit my nose, making my stomach heave.

I scrambled backward, my spine hitting the freezing wall. I opened my mouth to scream, but the silence remained absolute.

Amber smiled—a wicked, triumphant stretch of her lips that made my blood run cold. "Go ahead. Scream. Call out to your precious Alpha through the mind-link. Oh wait... you can't."

She lunged forward and pressed the soaked rag directly into the deepest, most shredded gash on my shoulder.

My back arched violently off the floor. The pain was blinding, a white-hot explosion of pure agony that tore through my nervous system. I thrashed against her hold, my mouth stretched wide in a silent, agonizing shriek. Hot tears poured down my cheeks as the silver-laced water melted into my raw flesh, intentionally burning away any chance of natural healing.

"Vincent is mine," she sneered, twisting the rag deeper into my wound. I convulsed, my fingernails scraping desperately against the stone floor. "Colter is mine. This pack is mine. And you are nothing but a broken, wolfless freak."

She spent an hour meticulously cleaning my wounds with the poisoned water. When she was finally done, I was a trembling, broken heap, unable to even lift my head.

Later that evening, the heavy door opened again. Two warriors dragged my limp, shivering body up the stairs and threw me onto the polished hardwood of the grand hall. The entire Blood Moon Pack was gathered. The room buzzed with angry whispers. I knelt on the floor, clutching my bleeding ribs, too weak to stand.

Amber stood at the front of the room, clinging to Vincent’s muscular arm. She looked radiant, wearing my ancestral Luna necklace, while I was covered in bloody, makeshift bandages.

"I tried my best to help her," Amber cried, her voice trembling perfectly. A single, flawless tear slipped down her cheek. "I cleaned her wounds, but she just glared at me. She refuses to speak to anyone. She’s completely shut us out of the mind-link."

The pack muttered angrily, the sound swelling like a dark tide.

"She's faking it," Amber sobbed, burying her face in Vincent’s chest. "She wants us to pity her. She wants to make you look like a monster, Alpha. She’s pretending her wolf is gone just to punish us for moving on!"

I looked around the room, desperate for a single friendly face. But the few pack members who had once looked at me with sympathy now glared with outright contempt. To a werewolf, faking the loss of a wolf was the ultimate blasphemy. It was a sick, twisted lie in their eyes, a mockery of the Moon Goddess's gifts.

"Is this true, Elora?" Vincent demanded. His voice echoed off the high ceilings, dripping with venom. "Are you really this manipulative?"

I stared at him. The man I had loved. The man I had frozen myself to save. I tried with every ounce of strength I had left to form a single word. *No.* But my vocal cords were dead. My wolf was a ghost. I just wept silently, my shoulders shaking with the weight of my shattered heart.

"Disgusting," a warrior spat from the crowd.

"Attention-seeking Omega," another muttered.

Vincent’s jaw locked. His eyes were colder than the ice I had slept in for eight years. "You disgust me," he snarled, turning his back on me. "Keep your silence, then. But you will do it at the absolute bottom of this pack. You are dead to us."

Amber looked over Vincent’s broad shoulder. As the entire pack turned their backs on me, she gave me one last, victorious smirk. I lowered my head to the cold floor, entirely trapped in my cage of silence.