Alpha Alex’s POV

The words hit me like a snapped rib. “She what?”

My secretary’s face drained under the cold desk light. “Sir… I-I’m sorry. Luna Thornclaw… Sofia… she-she killed herself.”

They should have been facts I could stack and shelve. Instead, they hooked into my ribs and pulled. The office tilted, the air conditioner hummed like a distant pack-call. I couldn’t breathe. “Where?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I meant, my wolf-quick.

“By the old pier. Police officers are there.”

I ran with the stupid, animal certainty of one answering the moon. Only this time my paws found concrete and salt, not forest. Ashley’s missed calls pinged and died against the drum of blood in my ears. Every step I took tasted like ash.

At the pier, lights slit the night into sterile strips. Tape snapped in the wind. Faces pressed at the barricade, small and human. The air hit me with the smell of tide and something foul: iron, the coppered tang of violence. Memory struck—this was ours once, the place the waves had kept our secrets. The wood knew our names.

“Alpha Alex.” Gideon’s voice cut through the static. He stood a few yards off, stone-faced, the older wolf to my simmering heat. Even before he spoke, I smelled him, sweat, cedar, the musk of a life that lived closer to the moon.

“They’re bringing her out,” he said. “They’re pulling her body now.”

Body. The word landed in my ears like a curse. When they lifted her, I saw Sofia stripped of motion, her hair glued to her face, skin milk-pale, lips bruised. A rational part of me catalogued evidence, waterlogged dress, hair, the guilty limp that gives no lie, while the rest of me remembered the laugh that used to light rooms, the way she’d stand for me like a blade. Each memory opened like a wound.

A detective approached, careful. “Sir, can you confirm if this is your wife?”

They offered a plastic bag. Inside, a crumpled scrap of paper. I took it like bone.

“I can’t do this anymore. The man I loved betrayed me. The perfect life I thought we had was a lie.”

The ink ran in my hands as if the paper bled. The words tilted, each line a wound. Pack protocol surged up like an old command in my marrow, deny, deflect, protect, muscle memory of a thousand shifts, and my throat obeyed before my heart could.

“She didn’t mean anything to me,” I spat, the lie tasting of metal and old excuses.

Gideon let out a short, hard laugh that smelled of smoke and iron. “Keep telling yourself that,” he growled, voice low as a threat. “See how long the pack lets that lie stand.”My beta’s accusation was not only human heat; beneath his words, I felt another current, something older and darker, like the rasp of claws under leather. In the pack, secrets are not merely sins; they are fissures in bone, places where the cold can enter. Sofia’s knowledge, what had she discovered? Had she found the ledger that named the sacrifices? The truth about the marking? About her mother? Or something smaller and more intimate, the single betrayal that would unravel a life?

“I don’t care,” I whispered. The words were a lie and a prayer at once.

A detective, patient in a way, police are when they lack cruelty, pressed. “Can you… Do you confirm this is your wife?”

“Yes,” Gideon answered for me, and a tremor ran through me so deep it felt like something in the marrow.

“No,” I said suddenly, hoarse and too loud. “It’s not her. This isn’t Sofia.”

The officers exchanged looks. A human being cannot look upon the corpse of someone they once touched and deny it without something snapping. I walked away because saying yes would be an admission, an alignment of the private and the public. To confirm would be to finalize. And I could not, would not make a ghost of what we had been if there remained the sliver of hope, the loophole, that she had been taken, that this had been staged, that the truth was still a thing I could hunt.

“Find everything about Sofia’s last movements,” I barked into my phone when I reached the car. My staff scrambled at the command, and under the mask of a man in control, my wolf began to stir. Fury rose behind my teeth, not only at what had been lost but at the violation of pack law. If Sofia had discovered what should have remained hidden, if she had learned the names passed beneath the moon, if she had been marked or denied a place by deceit, then whoever had done this had crossed a line they would pay for.

The tide pulled at the pier, indifferent to grief, to guilt, to the fragile bureaucracy of human justice. The moon hid behind a thin smear of cloud, coy and culpable. In that half-light, my throat tightened with the urge to howl, a sound that would have carried my claim, my rage, and a warning to any who’d think to kill without being ready to face a pack.

I told myself the howl would serve no purpose; I told myself it was only tragic theater. But the animal inside me knows its own hunger, and now that hunger had a name and a direction, I find the truth, find the hand that pushed, and decide whether justice would be human or wolves. Either way, there would be revenge.

I sat in the car while the city went on, indifferent and endless. My hands still shook. I read the note again and again, as if pages could be peeled back and new ink appear. The perfume on Sofia’s scarf lingered like a promise unkept. Somewhere beyond the sirens, beyond the tape and the flash of cameras, something older rose in me: an inherited sense that deaths do not happen in a vacuum.

If this was suicide, it was a wound I had made.

If it were murder, then someone had twisted my lies into their weapon. Either way, the truth gnawed; I had pulled her into my orbit, and now it had collapsed.

The moon broke through clouds, and the pack answered in a silence that rattled my bones. I drove, not to the police or the hospital, but to the warehouse by the river, the place where wolves spoke truth, where decisions carved futures.

Sofia was dead because of me. Whether by her hand or another’s, I would not let it stand. Someone had stolen what was mine.

Sofia’s POV

The scissors made a sharp snip, each lock of my hair tumbling to vanity like discarded fragments of a life I no longer claimed. My reflection warped in the cracked mirror, pale face hollowed by shadows, uneven strands framing eyes that were not mine anymore.

With every cut, I shed her, Sofia Black, Luna of the Thornclaw Pack, the Luna who had once trusted the wrong Alpha, the mate who had been betrayed and discarded like carrion. The bond that was supposed to mean everything had become a noose. And now, piece by piece, I was cutting it away.

I smeared pigments across my face, deepening lines, aging myself beyond recognition. Then I dragged a blade across wax, carving a jagged scar over my cheekbone, the kind that whispered survival through violence. In the mirror, a stranger stared back at me.

Behind me, the television droned, the anchor’s voice sharp with that human blend of pity and scandal.

“…the tragic suicide of Sofia, wife of businessman and the Alpha of the Thornclaw Pack, Alex Thornclaw…”

The screen flickered, showing the pier, our sacred place once claimed by moonlit vows. Wolves and humans both gathered, police tape glowing under headlights, reporters swarming like vultures desperate for scraps of grief.

The camera found him.

Alpha Alex.

He knelt by the water’s edge, his shoulders bowed, his face buried in his hands. His wolf’s energy rippled faintly in the air: grief, rage, denial, all cloaked in the act of a grieving mate. Tears streaked his cheeks, his chest heaving as they dragged the body they thought was mine out of the current.

I nearly gagged.

It wasn’t for me he wept. It was for the audience, the pack, the humans, the legacy he needed to protect. He had to appear broken, the devoted Alpha stripped of his Luna. He played the part beautifully.

The anchor continued, “…a suicide note was found, claiming betrayal. The Moon Court has opened an inquiry into Thornclaw Enterprises. Stocks are plummeting, and whispers of broken oaths already circle the pack.”

A smile ghosted across my lips. Good. Let the lies burn him.

Click.

The screen went black, silence thick and satisfying.

But this was only the beginning.

I flipped open my laptop, logged into a shadow account, and with a few keystrokes unleashed the venom I’d been keeping. A photo of Alex tangled with Ashley, her body pressed against his, lips where mine should have been, went live, the caption carved like a blade.

“Caught in the act: Alex and Ashley. The Luna’s death is the Alpha’s lie.”

It spread fast. Human networks lit up, pack whispers multiplied tenfold. Comments blazed across my screen.

“Thornclaw betrayed his fated mate?”

“Ashley’s finished.”

“The Council will strip him of his title.”

Each reaction was a match, fueling the fire I’d set. I logged out, shutting the lid with finality.

Then I dressed in my new skin, simple jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers. From my bag, I pulled out the new passport, the name Shane Vale printed cleanly under a face that barely resembled my own. The wolf in me stirred at the sight. Sofia was dead, buried beneath betrayal, drowned in the river, mourned by a liar.

But my wolf? She was very alive. And she was hungry.

Before leaving, I made one last pilgrimage to the riverbank. Police still crowded the scene, cameras flashing, yellow tape slicing the night in warning. I stayed in the shadows, cloaked by instinct and the low hum of my wolf’s energy.

And there they were.

Alpha Alex. Ashley.

She stood too close, her hand curled over his arm like she belonged there. “It’s better this way,” she murmured, her voice dripping triumph. “Now we can finally be together.”

My nails bit into my palms, crescent moons of rage etching my skin.

Ashley tilted her head, coy, venom sweet on her tongue. “I regret ever choosing Tobias Moonfang. You’ve always been the one, Alpha Alex. With Sofia Black gone, nothing stands in our way.”

Then she kissed him.

The sight was a dagger I refused to let pierce deeper. I turned, letting the fury burn through me instead of hollowing me out. They thought I was gone. They thought my death freed them. They were wrong.

By the time I reached the port, the night air was crisp, salted with the tang of tides. My rented yacht waited, sleek and discreet, a vessel for rebirth. I boarded swiftly, the weight of my bag on my shoulder and the fire of vengeance in my chest.

The cabin was pristine, all polished wood and glass, the kind of silence that promised safety. But I wasn’t alone.

A man stood by the window, back to me, his skin glowing bronze under the last streak of dusk. Naked, unapologetic, power rolling off him in waves.

My wolf bristled. Instinct screamed danger.

“What the hell?!” My voice cracked like a whip, sharp with shock.

He turned, and my heart jolted in recognition.

Piercing eyes. Strong jawline. An aura that wasn’t merely human, it shimmered with the raw heat of a wolf unchained.

Darius Ironclaw…

Ashley’s ex. Alpha Alex’s childhood rival. And the wolf who had once stood against them both.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, heat and suspicion lacing my tone.

He smirked, utterly unbothered by his state of undress, his confidence that of a predator who knew he was already inside my den.

“That’s a hell of a way to say hello, Sofia Black” he said, voice low and edged with promise.

“I-I think you’re mistaken. My name is Shane... Shane Vale.” I held the lie like a shield and planted my feet.

Darius’s smirk never left his face. “Cut the act, Sofia. I know exactly who you are.”

My throat closed for a second, but I kept my face neutral, letting the practiced calm settle over me like skin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lounged against the polished cabin wall, the late light sketching every angle of him in hard bronze. Up close, the man was more danger than idea, his scent a layered thing, tobacco and iron, and beneath that an animal trace that made my wolf stir. “You can drop the disguise. It’s useless. I own the agency that made you ‘vanish.’”

The room narrowed. My stomach dropped into a place my human had learned to tuck away. The inside of me wolf unclenched and sniffed. She recognized the touch of paper, the stamp of forgery, the certainties of men who thought they could make people disappear and call it mercy.

“So what?” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “Are you going to tell them I’m alive?”

Darius chuckled, low and easy. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” The impatience in my voice surprised me. The wolf wanted to tear his throat out on principle. The woman measured her words.

“It means I have a condition,” he said, measured, clinical.

I tilted my head. “What condition?”

He smiled like a man offering a bargain with a blade behind his teeth. “I need a fake wife.”

For one, impossible, my brain refused to accept the thing as real. Then the wolf inside me barked a laugh that sounded almost like hunger. “A fake wife.”

“You heard me,” he said. “There are business ties, public alliances, and a Moon Court meeting coming up. Appearances matter. You’re already very good at pretending, so why not put those talents to use?”

Pretending. The word tasted like the five barren years I’d spent beside Alpha Alex, reeking of obligations and vows I hadn’t chosen. I thought of his hands that had learned to hide truths, of the ledger I’d found and the way secrets had become shackles. I thought of the river and the body they’d dragged from it. I thought of the pack’s ears pricking at every scandal, of how one scandal could topple an Alpha.

“No. Absolutely not.” I said it like a prayer. I had died to the world they knew; I would not step willingly into another gilded cage.

Darius shrugged as if I’d merely denied his invitation to tea. “Then I guess I’ll have to tell the world you’re alive.”

My wolf’s lips curled. Blackmail, even from a man who ought to be an ally by trade, was still blackmail. “Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?”

He watched me with that predator’s patience. “Let’s say I have reasons. Old debts. Old wars. A marriage of convenience buys time, shields assets, and shifts attention.” He flicked his thumb toward the porthole, where the moon cast a cold path across the water. “For now, let’s focus on getting you where you need to go. I’ll pilot the yacht.”

“You’re kidding,” I said. The human part of me wanted to spit, to storm onto the deck and hurl myself at whatever waited down the channel. The wolf felt something else: a plan forming, teeth bared in a grin I couldn’t show on my face.

“Nope. This yacht is mine, and I’m the only one who knows how to run her.” Darius’s grin was smug and infuriating. “Fine,” I ground out at last. “But stay out of my way.”

He turned toward the door, voice drifting back like smoke. “Whatever you say, soon-to-be Mrs. Ironclaw.”

“As if.” I slammed the cabin door and leaned against it until the wood steadied me. My heart hammered a drum of anger and something colder, resolve. I ripped off the wig, peeled the staged scar from wax, and scrubbed at the makeup with clumsy fingers. The mirror returned something raw: not Emily, not quite Sofia. A wolf’s stare burned in those eyes.

On the television, the anchor’s face wore equal parts grief and calculation. Alpha Alex stood before a bank of microphones in a slate suit, the perfect grieving husband for cameras and pack elders. “I refuse to believe my wife would take her own life,” he intoned, voice steady as a blade.

“She was pregnant. We were building a family. Someone’s trying to ruin us. I will not rest until justice is served.”

The wolf in my chest laughed, a sound like breaking glass. The man could spin a lie with the ease some people breathed. But the pack listened, the Moon Court listened. If Alpha Alex made himself the martyr, he would rally allies, close ranks, and use the loss to strengthen his claim. If I wanted him undone, I could give him what he needed to fall, and then shove him over the cliff.

I opened my laptop. The files I’d stolen from Ashley’s private account, the hospital invoices for my mother’s surgery, the signed transfers with coded references to Thornclaw Enterprises, everything I had collected with trembling fingers over the last months were there. Evidence was a weapon that could be wielded without blood. Or, in the right hands, with blood.

I composed a message to Alpha Alex with the steady hand of someone who had learned to write threats like blessings. I know what you did. Blood will settle this. You will pay. I attached the files and hit send.

His reply came almost instantly: Who is this? What do you want?

My fingers hovered. The wolf wanted to howl, to fling betrayal into the sky. Then I typed with surgical calm.

Money. Enough to ruin you. Transfer first. Then I’ll tell the rest.

The yacht shuddered as the engines woke, a beast beneath my feet. I closed the laptop and watched the moon carve a cold line across the water. Darius hummed at the helm, steady, practiced, then glanced back once, expression folding into something I couldn’t read. There are always layers behind a man’s grin. His reasons wouldn’t be purely mercenary; wolves like him collect favors and blood debts as trophies. My wolf smelled old debts, rival packs, the faint whisper of the Moon Court. He’d put himself between me and the world for a reason more complex than cash.

Let him keep his reasons. I had mine.

Salt spray bit at my wrists as I gripped the rail. The horizon was a black promise. Sofia Black, the Luna they’d buried in the river, had surrendered. From now on, Shane Vale will take. The wolf inside me leaned forward, patient and hungry.

We eased away from the harbor, the pier shrank, the place of my death growing small. In the moon’s cold light, I tasted what came next: calculation, revenge, the slow reclaiming of everything they’d tried to erase.

Darius’s voice dropped, private. “Keep your head down. Let the market tremble. Let him spend himself proving innocence.”

“And when he transfers the money?”

“When he does,” he said, his eyes on the stars, “you decide which parts of him to burn first.”

My wolf bared her teeth. For the first time since the river, something like peace settled over me. The hunt had begun. Only this time, I set the rules.

--

My phone buzzed like a trapped animal all morning, insistent, stupid, human. Alpha Alex’s messages rolled in one after another, the same clawing need stitched into every line.

Who are you?

Why are you doing this to me?

Tell me who you are, or I will hunt you down!

Where did you get that? Did you work with Sofia?

Is she really dead? Sofia, is this you! Damn it!