The apple pie was still warm when I carried it up the stairs of the Pack House.

Cinnamon. Brown sugar. A lattice crust I'd redone twice because the first one looked crooked.

Dylan loved apple pie. He'd loved it since we were teenagers, back before he was Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack, back when he used to steal slices off my plate and grin like a thief.

Six years of marriage. A five-year-old son. A pack that bowed its head when I walked by and called me Luna.

I really believed I had it all.

"Luna Quinn!" One of the young omegas, Tessa, nearly bumped into me in the hallway. Her eyes dropped to the pie, then darted toward the study door. "Oh. Are you... going in there?"

"I am. He's been buried in border reports all week. He needs a break."

"Maybe you should wait. He said no interruptions."

I laughed. "He always says that."

Tessa opened her mouth, closed it, and hurried away without another word.

Strange girl.

The study door was cracked open. I lifted my hand to knock.

Then I heard it.

A woman's moan. Low and breathy.

"Dylan... right there. Don't stop."

My knuckles froze an inch from the wood.

That voice. I knew that voice. I'd sat beside it at every pack dinner for three years. I'd held it while it sobbed at a funeral.

I leaned closer to the gap in the door.

My husband had a woman bent back across his desk. Her dress was shoved up around her waist. His shirt hung open. Papers I'd watched him stress over were scattered on the floor under their feet. His mouth was on her throat, and his hips were moving against her in a hard, steady rhythm.

Her red nails dug into his shoulders.

Anna.

His brother's widow.

"Tell me," Anna gasped, tugging his head up by the hair. "Tell me you like me better than her."

Dylan chuckled. The same lazy chuckle he gave me on Sunday mornings.

"Quinn's a good wife," he said. "But she's so boring. You're the only one who makes me feel anything anymore."

The plate slid out of my fingers.

It hit the floor with a crack. Glass and apple filling splattered across the hallway, sticky and hot against my ankles.

Inside, the moaning stopped.

"What was that?" Anna whispered.

I didn't wait to hear his answer.

I ran.

I didn't feel the stairs. I didn't feel the doorknob of our bedroom. I only felt the lock click under my shaking hand, and then my back sliding down the door until I was sitting on the cold floor.

Boring.

I pressed my fist against my mouth, but the sound came out anyway. Ugly, choking sobs that shook my whole body.

Boring. After six years. After I gave him a son. After I stood next to him through every challenge, every rogue attack, every sleepless night.

And Anna. Of all people.

Mark had only been dead three years. Dylan had cried at his brother's grave. I'd watched him do it.

A tiny knock tapped against the door.

"Mommy?"

I wiped my face hard with both palms. "Just a second, baby."

I stood, smoothed my hair, and opened the door.

Jacob stood there in his dinosaur pajamas, clutching Mr. Biscuit, the brown teddy bear with one ear chewed flat. His dark eyes went straight to my face.

"You're crying."

"No, sweetheart. I just got something in my eye."

"Both eyes?"

A laugh burst out of me. Wet and broken, but a laugh.

He walked in, set Mr. Biscuit on the bed like a guard, then stood on his tiptoes and reached for my cheek. I knelt down so he could reach. His small thumb dragged across my skin, clumsy and serious.

"Did Daddy hurt you?" he asked.

My heart stopped.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because you only cry when Daddy is mean." His little chin jutted out. "I'll go beat him up. I'm strong. I can do a wolf growl. Listen."

He bared his baby teeth and made a sound like a squeaky door.

I pulled him into my arms before he could see my face crumple again.

"Daddy didn't hurt me," I whispered into his hair. "He's just really busy with work. That's all. I'm not sad. I promise."

"You promise promise?"

"Promise promise."

He sighed against my neck, like he didn't quite buy it but had decided to let me win.

I held him until he fell asleep in our bed, Mr. Biscuit tucked under his chin.

Then I carried him to his room and waited.

Dylan came home after midnight.

I heard his footsteps in the hall, heavy and unhurried. The bedroom door opened. He smelled like soap.

He'd showered. Somewhere else.

"Still up?" He crossed the room and bent to kiss my forehead.

His lips were warm. I wanted to scrub the spot off with my nails.

"Where were you?" I asked.

"Working. Where else?" He tugged off his watch and tossed it on the dresser. "By the way, there was no dinner downstairs. I'm starving, Quinn. You couldn't leave a plate out?"

I stared at him.

He actually looked annoyed. Like I'd failed him.

"I made you a pie today," I said quietly.

"Yeah? Where is it?"

"On the floor outside your study."

He paused with one hand on his collar. Just for a second. Then he shrugged.

"Somebody probably knocked it over. I'll have Tessa clean it up tomorrow."

He pulled his shirt over his head.

And there it was. On the side of his neck, right below his ear. A dark red mark, ringed with tiny teeth prints.

Not mine. I'd never left a mark like that on him in my life.

Something cold crawled up my spine and settled in my stomach. For six years, I'd thought this was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

Now he just made me sick.

"Dylan." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "What's on your neck?"

He touched the spot. His jaw flexed.

"What are you talking about?"

"That bruise. Right there."

"It's nothing. Training with the warriors. Somebody got rough."

"With their teeth?"

His eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you trying to say, Quinn?"

I stood up from the bed. My hands were shaking, so I crossed my arms.

"I'm saying I was at the study door today. I'm saying I heard—"

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

The screen lit up between us.

Neither of us moved.

Then I looked down.

A photo. Anna, lying across white sheets, wearing nothing but a lazy smile and one of Dylan's shirts, unbuttoned all the way down.

Under it, a message.

*Baby, I still want you.*

Dylan snatched the phone off the nightstand before I could touch it.

"Anna's been drinking again," he said, thumbing the screen dark. "She sends weird stuff when she's grieving. Don't make this into something it isn't."

"She sent you a naked photo."

"She sent me a *sad* photo." He tossed the phone into his pocket. "I'm going to sleep. You should too."

He was snoring in ten minutes.

I didn't close my eyes once.

I lay there listening to him breathe and thought about the Moon Goddess altar six years ago. Candles everywhere. My hands shaking in his. Dylan, twenty-three and nervous, saying it loud enough for the whole pack to hear.

"I'm yours, Quinn. Only yours. Until the moon stops rising."

Then I thought about the border war two years later. The rogue Alpha's claws aimed at Dylan's throat. Me throwing myself in front of him without thinking.

The scar still runs from my ribs to my hip. On cold nights it aches like it remembers.

"You saved my life," he'd whispered in the healing den, kissing my bandages. "I'll never forget it."

He forgot.

By sunrise, I'd made a choice. For Jacob, I'd give Dylan one more chance. One real conversation. No yelling.

I went downstairs to make breakfast.

Two suitcases sat in the front hall. Pink leather. Monogrammed *A.R.*

"Oh, good morning!"

Anna was at the breakfast table, sipping coffee from *my* mug. She had on one of Dylan's white dress shirts. Nothing else, as far as I could tell. Her bare legs were crossed, one foot bouncing.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Didn't Dylan tell you?" She pressed a hand to her chest. "Living alone in that cottage was killing me, Quinn. Every room smells like Mark. I wake up and reach for him and he's just... gone." Her voice cracked right on cue. "I needed family. Dylan said I could stay as long as I want."

"As long as you want."

"Mm-hmm." She set the mug down and smiled at me over the rim. "Being the sister-in-law is so convenient, isn't it? Dylan will never leave me."

My fingers curled around the back of a chair until the wood bit into my palm.

"That's his shirt," I said.

"Is it? I grabbed the first thing in the laundry."

"Take it off. Go get dressed. And watch yourself in my house, Anna. You're a guest here. Act like one."

Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes slid past me.

"Quinn."

Dylan stood in the doorway, hair still wet. A few of the pack's warriors stood behind him, plates in hand, freezing in place like they'd walked into a fight.

"Apologize," he said.

I actually smiled. I don't know why. "For what?"

"For attacking a woman who buried her mate three years ago." His voice carried. He wanted it to carry. "She's alone. She's hurting. And you're standing here jealous over a *shirt*?"

"Dylan, you know exactly why—"

"I know you're being petty. In front of my warriors." His eyes went hard. "Anna is family. If you can't be kind to her, at least keep your mouth shut."

Anna dabbed at her eye with her sleeve. His sleeve.

"It's okay," she sniffed. "She doesn't mean it."

Nobody said a word as I walked out.

That night, Jacob burned up.

I found him curled under his blanket, cheeks blotchy red, Mr. Biscuit clamped in his fist. His skin felt like a stovetop.

The thermometer beeped. 104.

"Mommy," he mumbled. "My head is too big."

"I know, baby. I've got you."

I called Dr. Morrow. Voicemail. I called again. On the third try, his nurse picked up.

"He's at the eastern border, Luna. A patrol got ambushed. He won't be back until tomorrow."

"My son has a fever of a hundred and four."

"Then you need to get him to the human hospital. Now."

I ran down the hall and threw open the bedroom door.

Dylan was on the bed, scrolling his phone.

"Jacob's sick. Really sick. The doctor's gone and I need you to drive us to the hospital. Please."

He sat up. "How bad?"

"A hundred and four, Dylan. *Please*."

For a second he looked like the man I married. He was off the bed in one move. He scooped Jacob out of his blankets and carried him down to the car while I grabbed the bag and Jacob's shoes.

Rain was already hammering the driveway. Dylan laid Jacob across the back seat and tucked the blanket under his chin.

Then he stopped.

His eyes went glassy and unfocused. The Mind Link.

"Dylan?"

He pressed two fingers to his temple. His face changed. Softened.

"Anna," he said out loud. "Slow down. Breathe."

I grabbed his arm. "What is she saying?"

"She dreamed about Mark. She's falling apart. She says—" His throat moved. "She says she doesn't want to live anymore."

"She's in the guest house. Fifty yards away. Send someone."

"I'm not sending *someone*. She'll do something stupid."

He leaned into the back seat, lifted Jacob out, and pushed him into my arms.

I staggered under the weight. "You're *leaving*?"

"You can drive. It's twenty minutes."

Jacob's hot little hand found his father's sleeve. His eyes barely opened.

"Daddy," he whispered. "Don't go, okay?"

Dylan peeled his fingers off.

"You're five now, buddy. You need to learn to be strong."

He turned and jogged across the lawn toward the guest house lights. He didn't look back. Not once.

Jacob didn't cry. That was the worst part. He just turned his face into my neck and went quiet.

I buckled him in and drove.

The rain came down so hard the wipers couldn't keep up. I hunched over the wheel, following the white lines, talking the whole way so Jacob would hear my voice.

"Stay with me, baby. Tell me about dinosaurs. Which one's the biggest?"

"...Argentino... saurus."

"That's right. Keep going."

"Mommy... it's really dark."

"I know. We're almost there."

I ran him into the emergency room soaking wet, screaming for a nurse.

They took him from me at 11:47. I remember because I stared at the clock over the doors the whole time they worked on him.

At four in the morning, a doctor with tired eyes found me in the waiting room.

"His fever broke. He's stable. You got him here just in time."

I thanked her. I think I thanked her five times.

Then I sat down beside Jacob's bed, held his cool little hand, and pulled out my phone to text Dylan that his son was alive.

Anna's post was at the top of my feed.

A photo. Dark bedroom. Dylan asleep on his side, his arm wrapped tight around her waist, his face buried in her hair. Peaceful. Like he didn't have a son in the world.

*Thank you for always putting me first.* 💕

I stared at it until the screen dimmed.

Then I tapped it awake again and looked at the timestamp.

Posted 11:47 PM.

The exact minute they wheeled my son into the ER.

My hand stopped shaking.

And I started to plan.

Jacob came home from the hospital quiet.

He didn't sit by the front window at six o'clock anymore. He didn't ask when Daddy would be back. He ate his cereal and lined up his dinosaurs and said "okay" to everything.

On the third day, I found the photo.

It was face-down in his sock drawer. Dylan and Jacob at the lake last summer, both of them grinning, fish held up between them.

"Baby?" I held it up. "Why is this in here?"

Jacob didn't turn around from his blocks. "I don't want to look at it."

"Daddy loves you. He's just been really busy lately. Busy doesn't mean he doesn't love you."

"He wasn't busy." Jacob stacked another block. "He was with Aunt Anna. I heard the nurse say you came alone."

I opened my mouth. Nothing honest came out, so I closed it.

"Mommy, you don't have to pretend," he said. "I'm not a baby."

He was five. He was absolutely a baby.

I put the photo back on his dresser anyway. Face-up.

That afternoon, I was folding laundry in the sunroom when I heard Anna's voice in the hallway. She was on the phone, laughing.

"Oh, please. Quinn? She's furniture. Pretty furniture, but still." A pause. "Give it a few months. Dylan's done with her. He'll toss her and the kid out, and then guess who gets to be Luna?"

Small feet pounded across the floor.

"You're a *bad woman*!"

I dropped the towel and ran.

Jacob stood in the hallway in his socks, fists balled at his sides, face red to the ears. Anna stared down at him with her phone still pressed to her cheek.

"You're not gonna be Luna!" he shouted. "My mommy is the Luna! You're mean and you're a liar and you smell like Daddy's shirt!"

Anna's face crumpled so fast it was almost impressive.

"What is going on out here?"

Dylan came down the stairs two at a time. Anna turned to him, one hand fluttering to her chest.

"I was just talking to a friend, and he—he screamed at me, Dylan. He called me bad."

Dylan looked at his son. Not at me. Not at Anna. At Jacob.

"Did you yell at your aunt?"

"She said you're gonna throw us away!"

"That's enough." His voice dropped into the tone he used on misbehaving warriors. "You do not speak to an adult like that. Ever. Apologize to Anna. Right now."

Jacob's chin wobbled. He looked at me.

I stepped between them.

"No," I said.

Dylan's eyes snapped to mine. "Excuse me?"

"He's not apologizing. He heard what she said. So did I."

"Quinn, don't start—"

"She told someone on the phone that you'd throw out your wife and son so she could be Luna." I kept my voice flat. "Ask her. Go ahead. Ask her what she said."

Anna sniffled. "I would *never*—"

Dylan didn't ask. He didn't even blink.

"You're teaching him to hate his own family," he said.

I laughed. I didn't mean to. It just came out of me, short and dry, like a cough.

Then I picked Jacob up, grabbed my keys off the hook, and walked out the front door.

"Where are you going?" Dylan called.

I didn't answer him either.

The Woodland Fair was an hour north, tucked against the edge of the border forest. Twinkle lights, kettle corn, a carousel with hand-painted wolves instead of horses.

Jacob picked the gray wolf with the chipped ear.

"He looks like Mr. Biscuit," he said, climbing on.

We rode it three times. On the third ride, he laughed. A real one. The first I'd heard in a week.

We were walking back toward the parking lot, his sticky hand in mine, when I caught the smell.

Wet fur. Old blood. Rogue.

"Jacob," I said quietly. "Stay close to—"

Something slammed into the back of my head.

I woke up in the dirt with rope cutting into my wrists.

Pine trees. Gray sky. No twinkle lights. The border fence sagged a few yards away, rusted and broken.

Jacob was tied to a stump across the clearing. His cheeks were wet. He wasn't making a sound.

"There she is."

A man crouched in front of me. Thick beard. A burn scar across his jaw. Five others stood behind him, half-shifted, eyes glowing yellow.

"The Silver Moon Luna," he said. "And the little Alpha heir. Dylan's going to love this."

"What do you want?" My mouth tasted like copper. "Money? Territory? I can get you—"

"You can't get me my brother back." He smiled. "Your mate put him in the ground last winter. So I'm going to put you and the boy in the ground right here. Then I'll send Dylan the pieces."

"He's a *child*."

"He's a future Alpha. Same thing."

He stood and nodded at one of his men.

The rogue started toward Jacob, claws sliding out.

Something inside me snapped like a dry branch.

My wolf tore up through my skin before I even called her. The rope burst. Bones cracked and stretched. I hit the ground on four paws and launched myself across the clearing, landing in front of Jacob with my teeth bared.

"Mommy!" Jacob screamed.

The rogue swiped at me. I ducked and sank my teeth into his forearm until he howled. Another one hit me from the side. Claws raked my shoulder, deep and hot. I yelped, stumbled, and planted my feet again.

I didn't move from in front of my son.

"Stubborn bitch," the bearded one snarled. He shifted, a huge brown wolf, and circled toward Jacob's left side, where I couldn't block.

He crouched to spring.

The trees exploded.

A black wolf the size of a small car burst from the shadows and hit the brown one mid-leap. They rolled across the dirt in a blur of teeth. Then the black wolf was up and the brown one wasn't.

He took down two more before they could turn around. The last two ran.

The black wolf stood in the center of the clearing, breathing hard, silver eyes fixed on me.

Then he shifted.

Tall. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. A face I'd only ever seen across council tables, never smiling.

Alpha Karl. Blackwood Pack.

"Luna Quinn," he said. "You're bleeding."

I shifted back, shaking, and realized I was naked in the dirt in front of a rival Alpha.

He was already pulling his jacket off. He pulled on a pair of track pants from a pack strapped to a tree, then knelt and wrapped the jacket around my shoulders without once letting his eyes drop below my face.

"Hold still."

"I'm fine."

"You have four claw marks to the bone." He tore a strip off his own shirt and pressed it to my shoulder. I hissed. His jaw tightened. "Sorry. Almost done."

His hands were steady. Careful. Nobody had touched me carefully in a long time.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"These rogues have been crossing into my land for a month. I've been hunting them." He tied off the bandage. "I didn't expect to find a Luna fighting six of them alone."

"I had to."

"I know." He looked at me a moment longer than he needed to. "I watched you do it."

Then he stood, cut Jacob loose, and lifted him into his arms like he weighed nothing.

Jacob grabbed his neck and held on tight. He didn't cry. He stared at Karl's face, very serious.

"You're really big," he said.

"I eat my vegetables."

Jacob thought about that. Then he said, "Sir? Can you be my new daddy?"

My whole face went hot. "Jacob!"

"My daddy doesn't like me and Mommy anymore," Jacob said, ignoring me completely. "And you saved us. So you should do it."

I wanted the ground to swallow me.

But Karl didn't laugh. He didn't brush it off. He shifted Jacob to his hip and looked straight at me over my son's head.

"If your mom says yes," he said slowly, "I'd like that very much."

I couldn't breathe.

Then a sharp pressure split my skull. A voice I knew better than my own crashed into my mind.

*Quinn.* Dylan. Furious. *Why the hell did you take my son onto another Alpha's territory?*