"Mommy, look what I made with the chefs." Bill pushed a small white plate across the marble kitchen island.

I smiled at my five-year-old son, wiping a smudge of flour off his chubby cheek. "For me? You shouldn't have."

"Eat it now," he demanded, bouncing on his toes. "I want to see if you like it."

"What flavor is it?" I asked, picking up the silver dessert fork.

"Chocolate surprise," Bill answered quickly.

"I love surprises." I cut a large piece of the dark pastry. The rich icing hid the danger perfectly. I took a bite, savoring the sweetness.

"Is it good?" he asked, his blue eyes wide and unblinking.

"It's delicious," I started to say, but the words died on my tongue.

An earthy, gritty texture coated the roof of my mouth.

My throat closed instantly. The fork clattered onto the granite counter.

"Mommy? Are you eating it all?"

I clawed at my neck. My airway sealed shut.

"Peanuts," I wheezed.

I slid off the tall stool. My knees slammed into the hardwood floor.

Bill stood perfectly still. He didn't run for help. He didn't scream for the pack guards.

"Why aren't you eating more?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Help... me..." I gasped, reaching a trembling hand toward him.

He took a step back, staying just out of my reach.

"Aunt Jessica said if you ate this, she could be my mom," he stated.

His childish voice held no malice, only a simple, chilling truth.

Ice flooded my veins. The son I nurtured, the boy I loved more than my own life, had poisoned me.

"Bill..." I choked out. A single tear escaped my eye, blurring my vision.

"She promised to take me to the amusement park," he added, watching me collapse fully onto the tiles. "And she plays video games with me. You never play video games."

My lungs burned. The edges of the room faded into shadows.

"Don't worry," Bill said, his voice dropping as my hearing gave out. "Aunt Jessica will take good care of me."

Darkness swallowed me whole.

***

The sharp beep of a heart monitor dragged me back to consciousness.

"Finally awake," a stern voice noted.

I cracked my eyes open. A nurse in blue scrubs stood over my bed, adjusting an IV drip.

"Water," I croaked. Every syllable felt like sandpaper against my swollen throat.

She handed me a plastic cup with a straw. "Sip slowly. You went into severe anaphylactic shock."

I drank, the cool liquid soothing the burn.

"You are the Luna of the Iron Blood Pack," she scolded, crossing her arms. "You know you have a lethal peanut allergy. Why did you eat that cake?"

"I didn't know," I whispered, handing the cup back. "My son gave it to me."

The nurse frowned, her expression skeptical. "A five-year-old baked a cake? You still should have checked. You almost died, Luna Rebecca."

"He said it was chocolate," I defended myself weakly.

"You need to take better care of yourself. We barely stabilized your heart rate. Another few minutes and your throat would have closed permanently."

I ignored her reprimand. I scanned the sterile white room. Empty chairs. A closed door.

"Where is Alpha George?" I asked.

She paused, glancing at her clipboard. "He isn't here."

"Did he step out to speak with the doctor?"

"No, Luna. He never arrived."

I gripped the thin hospital blanket. "And Bill? My son?"

"You were brought in by a border patrol guard," the nurse explained flatly. "No family members accompanied you."

A hollow ache expanded in my chest. "Did anyone call my husband? He needs to know I'm here."

"We left three urgent voicemails," she replied. "No response."

"Call him again," I insisted, my voice gaining a fraction of its usual authority.

"The front desk tried five minutes ago. It went straight to voicemail."

"What about the pack mind-link? He never shuts off his Alpha link."

"He blocked external links. We have no way to reach him."

"Then send a runner to the Pack House," I commanded.

"We already did," the nurse sighed. "The guard returned and said the Alpha ordered not to be disturbed under any circumstances."

My chest tightened. The words felt like a physical blow.

"Not to be disturbed?" I repeated.

"Those were his exact orders. I suggest you rest, Luna." She turned on her heel and exited the room.

Left alone in the deafening silence, I needed answers.

I closed my eyes and reached deep into my core. As Luna, my spirit tied directly to the pack's lands. I possessed the unique ability to project my sight anywhere within our territory.

The hospital walls faded. The grand living room of the Pack House materialized in my mind.

Thunder rattled the virtual windowpanes. A heavy storm raged outside.

"George, make it stop. I'm so scared," a trembling voice whimpered.

Jessica.

She cowered on the center of the plush leather sofa, her knees pulled tight to her chest.

George and Bill gently comforted her, as if they were the family.

Meanwhile, I, the real wife and mother, lay in grave danger, and no one cared.

I closed my eyes, a tear sliding down my cheek.

I pushed the heavy oak door of the Pack House open. The storm raged behind me, soaking the back of my hospital discharge clothes.

"Mommy!" Bill's voice echoed from the grand staircase.

He bounded down the carpeted steps, his little feet thumping against the wood. He stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pajamas.

"Are you better now?" he asked.

I stared at the boy I had carried for nine months. My throat still throbbed from the intubation tube.

"I survived, Bill," I said.

"Oh." He didn't smile. He kicked the edge of the woven rug. "What a pity."

"A pity?" I asked, dropping my plastic hospital bag onto the hardwood. The thud echoed in the quiet foyer. "You wanted me to die, Bill?"

"Aunt Jessica can't be my mom now," he complained, crossing his arms. "She promised we would go to the amusement park tomorrow if you didn't come home."

"She told you to give me that cake?"

"She said it was a magic test. If you were a fun mom, you'd eat it."

"I am allergic to peanuts. It stops my breathing."

"Aunt Jessica says you're just dramatic," Bill retorted, tilting his chin up. "She says you pretend to be sick so Daddy will stay home."

"I was in the hospital. I almost didn't wake up."

"You're lying!" Bill yelled, stamping his foot against the floorboards. "You just want to make Aunt Jessica look bad. You're jealous because she's a genius and you're just a Beta's daughter!"

That phrase hit me like a physical blow. A five-year-old didn't invent that insult.

"Who taught you to say that?" I demanded, stepping closer.

"Everyone knows it," Bill sneered. "Aunt Jessica has a Master's degree. She went away to study during the war. You just stayed here and trapped Daddy into marrying you."

"Trapped him?" I repeated, my voice shaking with a cold fury.

Five years ago, the Iron Blood Pack bled into the soil. George's fated mate, Jessica, packed her bags and fled to the safe interior rather than risk dying beside him.

I was the one who stayed. I married the broken Alpha to unite the remaining fighters.

"I fought for this pack," I told my son, pointing at my own chest. "I gave you life. I taught you how to read, how to respect our elders. When you were sick with the winter fever, I stayed awake for three days holding you."

"Aunt Jessica says you only did that to look like a good Luna," Bill shot back.

"She told you that?"

"She tells me the truth. She says Beta wolves are sneaky."

"I am your mother!"

"You're not my fated mother!" Bill screamed. "Daddy was supposed to marry her!"

Three months. That was all it took.

Jessica returned with her fancy degree, slipping into our lives as Bill's highly-paid tutor.

Since then, George barely came home. And my son had just tried to kill me.

"Go to your room, Bill," I commanded softly.

"I don't have to listen to you," he snapped, turning his back on me.

"Keep your voice down," a deep baritone commanded from the staircase.

George descended the steps. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his hair slightly rumpled.

He didn't rush to my side. He didn't ask why I wore a hospital wristband.

His gaze swept over my damp clothes with mild irritation.

"You smell like antiseptic," George noted, wrinkling his nose. "Where have you been all evening?"

"The clinic," I answered, testing him.

"Right. The storm," he dismissed, not even registering my raspy tone. "You should have called a driver instead of walking in the rain."

"I couldn't call anyone," I stated flatly. "My phone was left in the kitchen when I collapsed."

George finally reached the bottom step. He placed a protective hand on Bill's shoulder.

"Why are you upsetting the boy?" my husband asked.

"He's upset because I survived," I replied.

George rolled his eyes. "Always the victim, Rebecca. Stop exaggerating."

"The hospital called the Pack House. They sent a runner."

"I gave orders not to be disturbed," George snapped. "I had important matters to attend to."

"More important than your Luna going into anaphylactic shock?"

George frowned. He finally noticed the red marks on my neck from where I had clawed at my own throat.

He didn't apologize. He merely sighed. "You're clearly fine now. You're standing right here."

"My heart stopped, George."

"And yet, you have the energy to argue." He walked past me.

"Daddy, tell her to stop yelling," Bill whined, burying his face in George's side.

"Your mother is just tired," George soothed him. Then he turned back to me. "The rain is too heavy tonight."

I braced myself against the mahogany banister. "And?"

"Jessica will stay at the Pack House for the night," he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Absolutely not," I said.

George's eyes flashed with Alpha authority. "I wasn't asking for your permission."

"She has an apartment in town. Send a driver."

"The roads are flooded," he countered sharply. "She's terrified of thunder. She had a severe panic attack earlier."

"She had a panic attack?" I laughed. A harsh, grating sound that scraped my raw throat.

Tears should have fallen. Instead, my chest shook with dry amusement.

"I was on a ventilator, and you were holding her hand through a thunderstorm?" I asked.

"She is our guest," George warned, his voice dropping an octave. "She is Bill's tutor. Show some respect."

"Respect? She fled when the pack was attacked five years ago. Now she comes back with a degree, and suddenly she's the victim?"

"She made a strategic choice for her education," George defended her instantly. "She secured alliances with the interior packs while we fought on the front lines."

"She ran away," I corrected him. "She left you bleeding in the mud. I was the one who pulled you out."

"Do not bring up the past," George growled, stepping closer. "You agreed to this marriage knowing the circumstances. We needed a Luna, and you were available."

"Available," I whispered. "Is that all I was?"

"You've had a comfortable life here," George continued, oblivious to the cracks forming in my heart. "You have status. You have Bill. Don't ruin it by being petty over a thunderstorm."

The insult landed perfectly, right in the center of my chest.

"She is staying in the east wing," George declared.

The east wing. My old suite before we moved into the Alpha quarters together.

"Yay!" Bill cheered, pumping his small fists in the air. "Aunt Jessica gets to stay!"

I looked at my son. I looked at my husband.

They stood together, a united front against the woman who bled for them.

My nails dug into my palms. The sharp sting grounded me, leaving tiny crescent moons in my skin.

"Fine," I smiled bitterly, releasing my grip on the banister. "Let her stay."

George blinked, clearly expecting a longer fight. "Good. See that she gets extra blankets."

"I'll handle it," I lied.

He nodded, taking Bill's hand and leading him toward the kitchen for a late-night snack.

I stood alone in the dim foyer.

A floorboard creaked above me.

I tilted my head up. Jessica stood at the top of the landing.

She wore George's oversized black shirt. Her legs were bare.

And dangling from her fingers was the silver necklace I had worn on my wedding day.

"Daddy, I'm tired," Bill mumbled, rubbing his eyes as they walked out of the kitchen.

George scooped our son into his arms. "Let's get you to bed, buddy."

They walked up the grand staircase, entirely ignoring my presence in the foyer. The heavy oak doors shut down the hall, sealing them in the Alpha suite.

Jessica descended the steps a moment later. Her bare toes padded softly against the carpet. She stopped on the bottom stair, forcing me to look up at her. She wore my husband’s shirt and a mocking smirk, playing the role of the house's true master.

"Look at you," Jessica sneered, crossing her arms. "So pathetic."

I stared at the silver wedding necklace dangling from her fingers. "Take that off."

"Why?" She chuckled, slipping the chain over her neck. "It looks better on me. George was always mine, Rebecca. You are just a replacement."

"I am his wife," I stated, keeping my voice steady. "And the Luna of this pack."

"Not for long." Jessica stepped onto the hardwood floor, closing the distance between us. "Bill likes me too. He already calls me mom when you aren't listening. Soon, I will be the real Luna."

"You manipulated a five-year-old into poisoning me," I snapped.

"I just gave him a recipe." She shrugged, her eyes gleaming with malice. "If your own son wants you dead, maybe you don't belong here."

"You coward," I spat. "You ran from the war. You abandoned this pack when we bled. You will never be a true Luna."

Jessica’s smile vanished. Her eyes flashed a brilliant, unnatural gold.

"Shut your mouth, Beta trash," she growled.

A deep rumble vibrated in her chest. Her nails lengthened into sharp, jagged claws. She lunged at me, her wolf surfacing in a burst of violent energy.

I didn't back down. I sidestepped her initial swipe, letting my own claws extend.

She slashed at my face. I caught her wrist, twisting it hard. Jessica shrieked, kicking her leg out and sweeping my feet from under me.

We crashed into the mahogany console table. Wood splintered. The massive iron candelabra tipped over, the lit tapers smashing onto the dry, antique silk rug.

Flames erupted instantly.

The fire fed on the silk, creating a wall of heat between the front door and the staircase. I shoved Jessica off me, coughing as thick, dark smoke filled the foyer.

"Help!" Jessica screamed, scrambling backward away from the spreading blaze.

She bumped into the stairs, completely safe from the fire, but she curled into a ball and wailed.

The flames boxed me into the corner. My hospital-weakened lungs rejected the smoke. I dropped to my knees, covering my mouth with my arm.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs.

"Jessica!" George roared.

He vaulted over the banister, landing directly beside her.

"Daddy!" Bill cried from the top of the landing. "Save Aunt Jessica!"

"I've got you," George promised, pulling her into his chest.

"George," I choked out, reaching a hand through the gap in the flames. "The smoke..."

My husband glanced at me. He saw the fire creeping toward my clothes. He saw me gasping for air on the floor.

He didn't reach for me.

"Are you hurt?" George asked Jessica, frantically checking her face.

"She attacked me," Jessica sobbed, burying her face in his neck. "She tried to burn me alive."

George’s jaw tightened. He scooped Jessica up in his arms.

"George," I whispered, my vision blurring.

He turned his back on me and carried her up the stairs to safety.

"Aunt Jessica is safe now," I heard Bill say.

The roar of the fire drowned out their voices. The heat blistered my skin. I collapsed onto the floorboards, the darkness pulling me under once again.

***

The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor greeted me.

I opened my eyes. The sterile white ceiling of the pack clinic came into focus.

My throat burned worse than before. Bandages wrapped tightly around my left forearm where the fire had grazed me.

"You're awake," George said.

He stood at the foot of my bed. Bill hid behind his father’s legs, glaring at me.

"Water," I rasped.

George didn't move to pour me a cup. He crossed his arms, his expression hardened into a glare.

"Are you out of your mind?" George demanded.

I slowly turned my head. "What?"

"Attacking our guest in our own home," he scolded, his voice echoing in the small room. "Your jealousy has spiraled out of control, Rebecca. You nearly burned the Pack House down."

"She attacked me," I replied, fighting the urge to cough.

"Liar!" Bill shouted, peeking out from behind George. "You're a bad mom! You hurt Aunt Jessica!"

I stared at my son. The boy I had protected from every nightmare, every fever.

"She summoned her wolf first," I told George. "Look at the scratch on my neck."

"Jessica has a bruised wrist and minor burns on her ankle," George interrupted. "She is traumatized. She barely survived the war, and now she has to survive you."

"She hid during the war," I corrected him flatly.

"Enough." George slammed his hand against the plastic footboard. "I won't tolerate this behavior. You are the Luna. Start acting like one, or I will strip the title from you."

He didn't ask how my lungs felt. He didn't ask about my burns.

"We are leaving," George announced. "Jessica needs her bandages changed, and she asked for Bill to keep her company."

"Yeah!" Bill cheered. "We're going to play games!"

"Don't cause any more trouble, Rebecca. Stay here until you learn how to control your temper."

George turned on his heel. Bill followed him, not looking back at me once. The door clicked shut, leaving me in total silence.

I didn't cry. The tears had burned away in the fire.

I pushed myself up against the pillows. Reaching into the pocket of my discarded jeans on the bedside chair, my fingers brushed against cold metal.

I pulled out a heavy silver ring.

The band of severance. An ancient artifact used to dissolve a mate bond and a marriage contract. I had kept it hidden in my jewelry box for years, a relic from the old Alpha.

I rolled the ring between my thumb and index finger.

In three days, the pack would celebrate Bill’s fifth birthday. A grand party was already planned in the main hall. Everyone would be there.

"Three days," I whispered to the empty room.

I would leave for the Blue Moon Pack. I had an old alliance there, a place where Beta wolves were respected, not treated as disposable shields.

Breaking the engagement and severing the bond in front of the entire pack.

That would be my final birthday gift to Bill.