In the highest tower of the Ironcrest fortress,Alpha Dike Fitzsimmons stood before the open balcony,the night wind tugging at his cloak.

Between his fingers,he rolled a string of ancient moon-beads.The cord was frayed,nearly breaking—but he could never bring himself to part with it.

It had been a gift from Savina.

His voice came low,tinged with bitter amusement.

“Back then,you were willing to sell every estate your bloodline owned,just to help that wolf rise from nothing.And afterward,you stayed by his side—content to be his nameless shadow.”

His tone hardened,cold as obsidian.

“I told you long ago,Myron Lestrange brings ruin,not peace.Walk beside him,and one day you’ll bleed for it.”

The wind swept down from the northern cliffs,carrying frost across Savina’s fur-lined cloak.She shivered and pulled it tighter around her shoulders,letting out a soft,bitter laugh.

“You were right,”she murmured.“I was blind then.But now…now,I finally see.”

Her breath caught.Then she asked quietly,“You once told me,no matter what happens—if I ever need your help—I could call upon you.Does that vow still stand?”

Silence hung heavy across the bondstone that linked them.

With each passing heartbeat,her chest grew colder.She didn’t blame him.The fault was hers.

Taking a slow breath,she whispered,“Forgive me.I shouldn’t have asked.”

She was about to release the bond when Dike’s voice cut through the silence,deep and sharp.

“Savina,I let you go once before.But now that you’ve called me again—I won’t let you walk away a second time.”

His tone dropped to a growl.

“Break your bond with Myron.When the next moon wanes,I’ll come for you myself.”

He paused,his voice lower,colder.

“Remember this,Savina.If you become mine,I could only be widowed—never abandoned.”

Before she could reply,the bondstone flickered dark.

The night wind lashed her face.She gave a faint,broken laugh.

Years ago,Dike had been the youngest Alpha to ever rise from the trade packs—a prodigy of the Moon Market,feared by elders and courted by clans.

For three years,he had pursued her,his patience unwavering.

Her heart had nearly yielded…until Myron appeared.

Back then,she had been a rising strategist among the merchant wolves,her name whispered across the continent.When she found Myron—wounded,discarded,desperate—she had pitied him.

One act of mercy became another.Pity turned to care.Care turned to love.

By the time she realized what she’d done,she’d already cast Dike aside.

Now,under the pale light of the moon,she swore that by the end of this moon cycle,she would settle everything—once and for all.

When she returned to her den,the first thing she did was summon her kin from the neighboring clan.

“Find my cub,”she ordered.“Whatever it takes—trace him from the healers’caves to wherever Myron has hidden him.”

Then she climbed to her sleeping chamber and began to pack.

Every relic Myron had ever gifted her—necklaces,carved stones,scrolls of promise—she wrapped and placed into wooden boxes.

Each piece was listed through the traders’exchange,one by one,until all of it was spoken for.

Just as she was moving the last box toward the door,Myron entered.

His eyes narrowed the moment he saw the luggage.His tone dripped disdain.

“Running again?”he scoffed.“You’re no longer a young wolf,Savina.I’ve no time to soothe your tantrums.”

He crossed his arms,the arrogance of an Alpha in his posture.

“If you can endure this life,stay.If not,leave.But the cub remains with me.Don’t even think of taking him.”

He said it with complete certainty,as though he believed she no longer had claws to fight back.To him,she was no longer the sharp,fierce wolf who once ruled the Iron Markets—just his tamed mate in a gilded den.

Savina laughed softly,though her heart ached.

This was the male she had loved for seven years.

If love could rot so completely,could family do the same?Could a father truly discard his own blood without shame?

Her hands curled into fists.She raised her head,her voice trembling but strong.

“Myron,I’ll ask you once more—will you truly not save our cub?Will you let him remain in that healer’s cave,trapped between pain and death?”

Myron’s expression darkened.His tone was calm,but sharp enough to cut.

“Must you always imagine horrors,Savina?Helene told me the healers’cave is for his recovery.He’s safe there.”

His frown deepened,annoyance replacing reason.

“Tell me—are you truly worried for the cub,or are you just jealous of Helene and looking for another fight?”

The light in Savina’s eyes dimmed.Her heart froze solid.

Even now,he thought it was jealousy.

He truly didn’t know that Helene had deceived him.

Savina had already learned the truth—none of the cubs taken into that healer’s cave had ever returned alive.

Her lips parted,desperate to warn him.

“Myron,Helene lied to—”

A sudden sound from the hall cut her off.

Myron’s face changed instantly.Panic flickered through his eyes as he rushed out.

When Savina followed,she saw him kneeling beside Helene,his hands trembling as he wiped a droplet of blood from her lip.

She had bitten herself on a piece of fruit.That was all.

Yet Myron called for the house healer,his voice frantic.

He didn’t even notice Savina standing there—nor the blood dripping from her own hand.

Her chest felt as though it would burst.

Then his voice came again,colder this time.

“Helene just returned from the Northern Courts.She has nowhere to stay,so she’ll live here for now.”

Before Savina could speak,Helene lowered her gaze demurely.

“Myron,that’s unwise,”she said softly.“Savina dislikes me.I’d hate to make her uncomfortable.”

Before Savina could answer,Myron’s tone sliced through the air.

“This is my den.If she’s unhappy,she can leave.”

Savina froze.

This den—this home—had been hers.He had once told her he built it for them.

Helene smiled sweetly then,eyes glinting like sharpened glass.She pointed at the pendant hanging from Savina’s throat.

“That moonstone you’re wearing—it’s lovely.I want it.”

Before Savina could even speak,Myron turned toward her,his tone firm and final.

“Savina,”he commanded coldly,“take it off.Give it to Helene.”

When they first built the hold together,Savina stayed up night after night to aid Myron;the sleepless moons left her with a lingering ailment and a fragile body.

The pendant at her throat was a ward he had begged from the Moon Shrine—he had knelt three times upon cold stone,asking the Goddess for pardon,just to pray for her safety.He’d said it would keep her from harm.

But now,the one Myron wished to shelter was Helene,and Savina no longer wanted the charm.

Generously,she unclasped the safety talisman from her own neck and placed it in Helene’s palm.

Myron’s face tightened.He knew Savina despised Helene,and that pendant had rested over Savina’s heart for seven years;she had never once removed it.He had expected her to refuse.He had not expected her to yield so easily.

That loss of control unsettled him.He frowned,voice turning sharp.“You always said that pendant was the most precious thing you had.Why give it away so easily this time?”

Savina lifted her head and met his gaze,calm as still water.She returned his question with one of her own.“Wasn’t it you who told me to give it to her?Am I making you unhappy by obeying?”

Her cool teasing stole the words from Myron’s mouth.He had no reply.

After handing the pendant over,Savina turned and left.

All day,she kept herself relentlessly busy,never pausing.

Myron convinced himself her generosity was a show;he believed she would come seeking him within half a day.But when evening fell,she had not approached him once.Instead,she had servants summon him to the meal hall.

Savina had prepared three dishes and a broth—simple,measured,the kind of quiet household grace a stranger might practice.She was already seated when Helene arrived.

“Eat,”Savina said,coldly.

Upon the table were the kinds of foods Dike favored—fire-pepper stews and seared meats.

Savina was leaving at moon’s end;now was the perfect time to practice.

Myron,blind to that intent,only supposed she had cooked to please him.The thought eased his unsettled heart.

Helene sat.Myron kept filling her bowl,even tearing meat for her with his own hands.

Savina’s arm tensed—once,he had often done that for her,but now,he no longer did.

After a few bites,the spice made Myron’s brow furrow.“You know my stomach is delicate.I don’t like fiery dishes.Why make so many tonight?”

Savina glanced at him.Dike liked spice;these plates were meant for practice,not for Myron.

Myron was eating them only because Savina refused to waste food.The explanation rose to her lips,but Helene spoke first.

“Myron,don’t blame her,”Helene murmured.“After all,you two aren’t childhood wolves.How would she know every like and dislike?Don’t worry;I’ll make other dishes for you.”With that,she tugged him toward the hearth.

She chopped;Myron hovered,fearful she might nick a finger,so he took the knife.She guided from behind while he stirred the iron pan,afraid hot oil might kiss her skin.

Savina watched,a little dazed.Once,she had imagined being at the hearth like that with Myron—cooking together—but he had always said he had no time.

Now she understood:it wasn’t that he had no time;it was that the wolf had changed.

Savina rose to leave,unwilling to remain,but when she turned,the dishes were already carried out.Myron’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Stop.Our guest just finished cooking.What do you mean by rising and pulling a face?Sit.”

Savina clenched her fists,ready to refuse.Helene leaned close and breathed a threat into her ear,soft and venomous.

“If you don’t behave,I’ll have people hurt your cub.”

Savina’s eyes went shockingly red in an instant.For her child,she sat back down.

Across from Myron and Helene,she watched them—his attentive hands,the way he fed her again and again—and felt a sharp ache spear her chest.

Myron kept spooning food into Helene’s bowl;Helene said,deliberately loud,“Savina,you’re not eating.Do you dislike my cooking?Myron told me you aren’t picky.Could it be that…you simply don’t like me?”

Myron’s gaze hardened.“Savina,Helene made these with her own hands.Don’t be ungrateful.”

Savina looked over the table and laughed,brittle and low.She was allergic to most of these foods.Apparently,even Myron had forgotten.

When she still didn’t move,he slammed his bone spoon against the table.

She lifted her eyes to his.“I can eat,”she said quietly.“But in exchange,let me see my son.”

At first,he meant to refuse;Helene had told him the healer’s cave forbade outsiders.

But when he met Savina’s eyes,he could not push the denial past his tongue.At last he said,“Fine.I agree.”

Savina picked at the dishes and forced them down.Not long after,a rash bloomed across her skin—angry and red.

Had Myron cared for her even a little,he would have noticed the change in her breath,the heat in her cheeks.But his attention never left Helene.

So stark,the difference between being loved and not.

That night,Savina’s reaction worsened.She went to find an anti-rash draught.When she reached the stairway,Helene stood there already,arms full of small vials.

As Savina approached,Helene sneered.“You.I don’t like you.Myron is mine,yet you bore his cub.”

“You,or that cub?You both deserve to die.”With that,Helene pulled the corks and poured every vial into the waste basin,flushing them away with a pitcher of water.

Savina’s hand twitched,ready to teach her a lesson—but the image of her son,bound to a healer’s pallet,held her in place.She turned to leave.

Helene wasn’t finished.She stepped in front of Savina and flung a stack of illusion-slates at her—images of Alonzo being abused.

In the visions,the boy’s limbs were bound;treatments showed healers driving needles and bone awls again and again into tender flesh.

Blood glistened—Savina’s vision filmed scarlet.

Something inside her snapped.She seized Helene’s throat with both hands and hissed,“Bitch!Lay a finger on my cub and I’ll tear out your throat!”

Before she could squeeze,Myron lunged,shoving Savina away,then struck her hard across the face.“Savina,you’re hurting Helene again!”

The blow stunned her;her head rang.In all these years,he had never hit her—until now.

He didn’t spare a glance for the torn skin along her arms;all his concern fastened on Helene.He swept the woman into his embrace and murmured,“Helene,I’m sorry you suffered this.I’ll take you away.”

Passing by Savina,he shoved her aside.She crashed into a side table;her shoulder struck wood,and her arm refused to lift.

Myron did not offer a single word.He turned and left.

When she tried to move the injured arm,pain speared to the bone.

The servants,unable to bear it,stepped forward.“My lady,you’re badly hurt.Shall we summon the healer?”

She managed a bitter smile.“No need.I don’t require one.”

She forced herself upright and crawled back to her chamber.The first thing she did was press her palm to the bondstone.

“Dike,”she said,voice tight,“I know you have wolves in this land.Help me shorten the purification—I want the severing in seven days.”

Dike gave a short,quiet order to his scouts,and before the sun had crossed the ridge,everything was arranged.

Seven days later,Savina was finally free.

Her soul-bond with Myron Lestrange was broken by the decree of the Moon Council.

That night,pain devoured her—sharp,raw,and unending.

She didn’t seek the healers’herbs,nor did she drink the draught of numbness.

She wanted to remember this agony,carve it into her bones—the price of loving the wrong wolf.

She drifted in and out of restless dreams until the next dawn,when an enraged voice tore through the den.

Myron had come to confront her.

“Savina!”he roared.“You’re the one who denounced Helene before the Healers’Circle,aren’t you?She’s been suspended because of it.Are you pleased with yourself now?”

Her head pounded,her body hot with fever.Dazed,she forced out,“It wasn’t me.”

He let out a cold laugh.“Still lying?Pathetic.I’m sick of you.”

Before she could defend herself,Helene entered—delicate and pitiful as ever.

“Myron,let it go,”she said softly.“She just thinks I stole you.It’s my fault.”

Her false meekness only deepened his pity for her—and his disgust toward Savina.

“If you’ve done wrong,you’ll pay for it,”he said coldly.“No exceptions.”

Savina stared at him,unblinking.

Seven years together—and not once had he truly believed her.

Helene leaned into his arms,her eyes gleaming with victory.

“Myron,”she murmured sweetly,“there is one way I might regain my healer’s rank.The Circle is testing a new herb mixture—dragonbane and moonroot—but they need a wolf to endure its venom.If Savina’s willing,she’d be perfect.”

Savina’s face went pale.

Before she could speak,Myron answered for her.

“Fine.Send her.”

Savina snapped,voice cracking.“Myron,are you mad?Dragonbane is poison!You’d risk my life for her?”

Helene raised a brow,smiling faintly.“Such harsh words.Poison can also heal.You’d be helping the pack.What a noble deed.”

Savina seized a cushion from the seat and hurled it at them.“If it’s so noble,then you drink it!”

Helene burst into tears,trembling like a wronged maiden.

Myron’s eyes turned to stone.He called the guards.

“Take her to the alchemy caves.She will not leave until the trials are complete.”

Then,coldly:“This is what you owe Helene.”

As he turned away,something in Savina cracked.

How cruel could one wolf be?

Within the alchemy caves,she fought.She refused to drink their brews.

Each escape ended the same—dragged back,shackled in silver,wrists and ankles bound like a beast.

When she resisted,they shocked her with storm-rods until her body convulsed.

The healers there were no healers—they were monsters.

On the first day,they injected moonbane into her veins and watched her writhe,taking notes as if she were no more than a creature to dissect.

On the second,they flooded her body with new concoctions to test her endurance.

By the third day,her mind was unraveling.Then she saw Myron enter.

She called his name,desperate,reaching for him.

He looked down at her,expression cold.

“If she can’t survive this,”he said,“then it’s her fate.”

Those words extinguished the last flicker of her soul.

She stopped begging.

By the fifth day—the day she was meant to be freed—Savina appeared whole,but inside,her body was ruined.

As she was leaving,she overheard two alchemists whispering.

“Lord Lestrange’s cub won’t last much longer.Should we call the healers?”

“Of course not,”the other replied.“If we do,all this will be exposed.It’s one life.If he dies,he dies.”

Savina froze.

Her claws dug into her palms until they bled.

Alonzo…

She searched through every tunnel until she found him—small,still,his arms mottled with bruises from countless injections.

Biting back tears,she gathered him in her arms and ran.

Through the forest paths she fled,her breath breaking,clutching her cub to her chest.But when she reached the stone bridge leading to the healers’valley,a barricade blocked her path.

“Please,”she begged the guards,“let us through!My son is dying!”

One of them lowered his head.“Forgive me,my lady.This road is sealed.Lord Lestrange has claimed it for Miss Helene’s Moon-Day celebration.No one may pass.”

Her heart stopped.

The cub’s breaths were shallow,fading.

“Mother…”he whispered,voice soft as air.“Am I dying?Hold me again…”

Savina broke.“No,my baby,please—just a little longer.I’ll get you help.Please don’t leave me…”

She clutched him tightly,but his body grew cold in her arms.

He looked toward the sky,where fireworks of enchanted flame bloomed across the dark.

“Mother…the lights are so pretty.But I won’t see them again.”

His lips trembled.“I’m cold.Hold me tighter…”

Savina screamed,sobbing until her voice was nothing but hoarse air.

“My baby—please,please don’t sleep—don’t leave me,you’re all I have…”

But the small body in her arms went still.

At that very moment,as the night sky burst with the golden fire of Myron’s celebration for Helene,their cub drew his last breath.

Savina raised her tear-streaked face to the shining heavens,and her sorrow burned into hatred.

Her son was gone.

And she would never forgive Myron—or Helene.