The morning sun glinted off the ice-covered lake, casting diamond-like reflections that mocked my dark reality. Dorian's hands gripped the handles of my wheelchair, pushing me across the frozen ground with deliberate slowness.

"Fresh air will do you good before tonight's procedure," he announced to no one in particular, though several pack members nodded in agreement.

I stared at the gathering crowd—my packmates, people I'd grown up with, danced for, served loyally for eight years. Their eyes slid past me with practiced avoidance. Some looked at me with pity. Others with thinly veiled disgust.

"The cripple's out of hiding," someone whispered, not quite quietly enough.

"I heard she hasn't been able to shift since the attack," another replied.

I kept my face carefully blank, though each word cut deeper than any silver blade. My hands gripped the armrests of the wheelchair, knuckles white with tension.

"Look who's decided to join us!" A sweet voice rang out, dripping with false warmth.

Lexi Hughes glided toward us, her perfect figure wrapped in a crimson coat that matched her lips. She moved with the fluid grace of a she-wolf who'd never known weakness—everything I'd once been.

"Lila, darling," she cooed, kneeling beside my wheelchair. "How wonderful to see you out and about. We've all missed you terribly."

I forced a smile. "Thank you, Lexi."

She placed a manicured hand on my arm, her touch burning like acid. "The pack is so excited about tonight's ceremony preparations. Dorian's been working so hard to make everything perfect."

"Yes," I said, my voice hollow. "He's been... very dedicated."

Something flashed in her eyes—triumph, perhaps—before she leaned closer. "I've been practicing your dance routines. Dorian says I have a natural talent for it."

Before I could respond, she straightened, her smile never wavering. "Oh! Let me help you get a better view of the lake. It's beautiful today."

With that, she placed her hands on my wheelchair and gave a sharp push.

Time slowed as I felt the chair tilt backward. The world spun in a dizzying arc of sky and ice. I heard gasps from the crowd, felt the rush of cold air, and then—

Impact.

The freezing water engulfed me instantly. My body went into shock, muscles seizing as the cold penetrated my clothes, my skin, my bones.

"Dorian!" I screamed, though it came out as a gurgled choke.

I thrashed wildly, but my legs remained useless beneath me. The water dragged me down, my heavy winter clothes turning into anchors. I surfaced once, gasping for air, only to sink again.

"Help!" I cried out, looking desperately toward the shore.

Dorian stood motionless at the edge of the lake, arms crossed over his chest. His face was a mask of cold indifference as he watched me drown.

No one moved to help. No one dared.

Then I understood—he was using his Alpha aura, commanding them all to stay back.

"Please," I begged, my voice barely audible as water filled my mouth.

A figure dove into the water—not Dorian, but someone else, their face obscured by spray and ice. Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me toward shore.

When we reached the bank, Dorian was suddenly there, taking over, lifting me from the water with a show of concern that made my stomach turn.

"Look what happened," he said loudly to the gathering crowd. "She fell in. Someone should have been watching her more carefully."

He cradled me in his arms, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "A Luna cannot be weak, Lila. Remember that."

By nightfall, I lay shivering in my hospital bed, my body burning with fever from the lake incident. The isolation ward was quiet except for the occasional squeak of medical equipment.

In the next room, I could hear Marcus preparing something—the final syringe, no doubt. The 99th treatment that would end my life.

"I'm sorry, Lila," he murmured through the wall. "I have my orders."

Orders. Always orders.

I closed my eyes, blocking out the dim light of the room. My time had run out. If I stayed, I would die tonight.

"Shadow," I called internally, reaching for that faint presence in my mind. "Please. I need you now more than ever."

A faint stirring, like the flutter of moth wings against my consciousness.

"I know you're there," I whispered. "I know you're still fighting."

I took a deep breath and centered myself, focusing on the core of heat that remained deep within me—the spark that silver and wolfsbane couldn't quite extinguish.

"Help me," I begged. "One last time."

Something shifted inside me—a primal response to my desperation. Shadow surged forward with a desperate energy I hadn't felt in months.

Bone cracked. Muscle tore. Pain exploded through my body as I forced a partial shift—not a full transformation, but enough to temporarily bypass the paralysis in my legs.

I screamed silently as my spine elongated, my nails extending into claws that dug into the hospital sheets.

The door opened. Marcus entered with the syringe.

"What are you doing?" he gasped, dropping the needle as he saw my contorted form.

I looked up at him through eyes that had shifted to amber, my voice a guttural growl as I pushed myself off the bed.

"Escaping."

The window latch gave way under my clawed fingers, the metal bending with a protesting screech. I didn't have time to be careful anymore. The 99th injection waited in Marcus's tray, ready to end my life the moment Dorian returned from his "ceremony preparations."

Outside, the pack grounds buzzed with activity—warriors stringing lights for the Winter Moon Ceremony, kitchen staff hauling supplies for the feast. No one noticed the partially shifted figure dragging herself from the isolation ward's window.

"Shadow," I gasped internally, "just a little longer."

My wolf's presence flickered weakly, but she gave me enough strength to pull my broken body across the snowy ground. My legs wouldn't support me properly—they buckled with each step, forcing me to crawl more than walk.

Blood trailed behind me, black and viscous against the white snow. I could smell it—the sickening sweetness of silver poisoning mingling with my natural scent. Any wolf would be able to track me.

"Over there!" someone shouted. "What is that?"

I pressed myself against the cold ground, willing my body to stop shaking. My vision blurred as I forced myself forward again, one clawed hand in front of the other.

"The Alpha said no one leaves the grounds tonight," another voice called. "Should we report this?"

"Not yet. Let's handle it ourselves first."

Panic surged through me, giving me a burst of energy. I pulled myself behind a storage shed, then toward the tree line. If I could reach the Forbidden Forest—the ancient boundary between pack lands and the Royal Territory—I might have a chance.

My lungs burned with each breath, silver shards scraping against my insides. The distance seemed impossible, yet I kept moving. One foot in front of the other. One clawed hand digging into the snow. One heartbeat at a time.

"Look at her," someone whispered as I passed. "The cripple's trying to run away."

"Should we help her?"

"No. Alpha's orders were clear."

Their words faded behind me as I reached the edge of the forest. Ancient pines towered overhead, their branches heavy with snow and secrets. Beyond them lay the border stream—and safety.

If I could cross it.

The water gleamed black in the moonlight, its surface frozen except for the center channel. I could smell it—the boundary marker that no pack warrior would dare cross without royal permission.

I dragged myself to the bank, my strength ebbing with each movement. The silver poison was winning, rushing back to my heart with every beat.

"Just... a little... further," I whispered to Shadow.

She whimpered in response, her presence growing fainter.

I plunged into the icy water, the shock of it momentarily clearing my head. The current tugged at my clothes, threatening to pull me under. I fought against it, clawing at the opposite bank.

My hand found purchase on the Royal side. One pull. Another. My body collapsed onto the snow, my vision tunneling to pinpoints of light.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the memory of my parents. "I tried."

The forest spun around me, trees blurring into darkness. I could feel the silver reaching my heart now, each beat slower than the last.

A new scent cut through my fading awareness—pine and rain and something wild that made what remained of Shadow stir.

"Shadow," I breathed. "Our mate."

I didn't hear his approach—only felt the sudden warmth as a massive cloak enveloped my shivering body. Strong arms lifted me from the snow, cradling me against a chest that smelled of sandalwood and power.

"Who did this to you?" The voice was deep, resonant with barely contained fury.

I forced my eyes open to see him—tall and imposing, with dark hair and eyes that glowed amber in the moonlight. Power radiated from him in waves that made the air shimmer.

"Alpha," I whispered, mistaking his title in my delirium.

His jaw tightened. "King," he corrected, his voice gentler now. "I am Eli Campbell, Lycan King."

He shifted me in his arms, and I felt a strange pull deep in my chest—not the silver poison, but something warmer, something that made Shadow surge forward with desperate energy.

"Mate," I breathed.

His eyes widened, then narrowed as he took in my condition—the black blood, the partial shift, the silver scent permeating my skin.

"What happened to you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl.

"Silver... poisoning," I managed. "Ninety-nine... treatments..."

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes—rage, fury, and something else I couldn't name.

"Who?" he snarled.

"Alpha... Dorian..."

A roar tore from his throat, echoing through the forest. Birds scattered from nearby trees as his aura expanded, pressing against mine like a physical force.

"I'll kill him," he promised, his voice deadly calm now.

He wrapped me tighter in his cloak, my body trembling against his warmth. I felt his mind reach for someone—a mental link opening with practiced ease.

"Isabella," his voice resonated in my mind as well as aloud. "Prepare the emergency trauma unit. Silver poisoning, advanced stage."

"But sire," a female voice protested through the link, "bringing a rogue directly to the castle—"

"She's not a rogue," Eli interrupted, his arms tightening around me. "She's my mate."

The world faded to black as he began running through the forest, carrying me toward an uncertain future.