“End the Luna if the child survives.”

I forget how to breathe.

The words slip through the thick stone door ahead of me, delivered evenly, without anger or urgency—spoken the way one might approve a shipment or settle a minor dispute, not decree a woman’s execution.

For a heartbeat, I tell myself I misheard. That my mind twisted something harmless into something monstrous.

Then the voice comes again.

Measured. Unfeeling. So familiar it cleaves straight through my chest.

“She’s incapable of carrying an heir,” Alpha Corvin Vortain says. “She always has been. Four moons wasted confirming what we already knew.”

My hand moves to my abdomen before I’m aware of it.

Four moons.

Four lives that never stayed.

Four times I bled, broke, and sobbed in Corvin’s arms while he murmured about destiny, endurance, and the Moon’s mysterious designs.

Confirming it.

Even from this distance, the Council chamber reeks of burned herbs and ancient blood. The scent rolls into my throat, making bile rise. I flatten myself against the cold stone, my pulse thundering so hard I’m terrified it will betray me through the door.

An Elder clears his throat. “You speak as though the Luna’s losses were… intentional.”

“They were,” Corvin answers immediately. No pause. No doubt. “They had to happen.”

My vision swims.

Had to.

Another voice follows—careful, calculating. Elder Balthen. “And Maelis? You’re certain she is capable of producing the heir?”

Corvin releases a quiet breath, almost a chuckle.

“Maelis’s bloodline is untainted. Pure Alpha marrow. She answers the old laws. If anyone can give this pack what it needs, it’s her.”

Maelis.

My sister in name, not in blood.

The girl who lowers her eyes too perfectly and smiles too gently. The girl who calls me family while watching my mate like she’s already claimed him.

My throat tightens until it burns.

“Mireya has shown unwavering loyalty,” an Elder argues. “She has suffered for this pack.”

“She’s suffered enough,” Corvin replies coolly. “Loyalty doesn’t change her nature.”

Her nature.

An empty vessel.

A borrowed Luna.

A tool with an expiration date.

My legs tremble. I barely manage to stay standing.

“And the Luna herself?” Balthen asks. “If the Heir-Binding Rite is successful, what is to be done with her?”

Silence falls.

Even the torches seem to dim, flames shrinking as if they, too, are listening.

“She’s fulfilled her role,” Corvin says.

The words strike with terrifying precision. Absolute. Nonnegotiable.

Something inside me gives way.

Fulfilled.

Role.

I stagger backward, scraping my shoulder against stone as my breaths turn ragged and shallow. Memories crash into me all at once—Corvin claiming me beneath the Moon, his teeth at my throat as he vowed I was chosen. The Moon Trial I nearly died completing for him. The nights I wept against his chest after each loss, while he whispered comfort he never meant.

I retreat into a narrow alcove carved for dead Lunas and rest my forehead against the freezing wall.

I shouldn’t still be alive.

Not if my Alpha has already decided how I’ll die.

And then it hits me—harder than the terror.

The faint dizziness earlier.

The unfamiliar tug deep in my body.

The healer’s hesitation when she took my pulse.

I don’t need anyone to say it.

My hands shake as they press against my stomach.

No.

Not again.

If Corvin is preparing the Heir-Binding Rite, if Maelis has already been selected, then none of my pregnancies were mistakes.

They were offerings.

Four moons, he said.

Four tiny graves.

Footsteps echo through the corridor.

I scrub at my face, forcing myself upright just as a shadow stretches across the alcove.

“Mireya?”

Maelis stands before me, wrapped in pale ceremonial white. Her hair is braided flawlessly, her expression painted with concern so convincing it almost fools me.

“I’ve been searching everywhere for you,” she says softly.

I say nothing.

She drifts closer, her gaze sliding over me, keen and assessing beneath the gentleness.

“You look ill,” she murmurs. “Still mourning?”

“Get out of my way,” I whisper.

Her smile widens, pleased.

“Oh, sister,” she says lightly. “You’ve never been good at pretending.”

She inhales slowly.

Her eyes gleam.

“There it is,” she breathes. “That smell.”

My blood freezes.

She lifts her gaze to mine, sweetness sharpening into something vicious.

“You’re carrying a child,” she says. “Again.”

My hand jumps to my belly on instinct.

Maelis lets out a soft laugh. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.”

She reaches toward me.

I strike her hand away.

She doesn’t even blink.

“Do you truly believe Corvin would allow you to keep it?” she asks quietly.

“If he lays a hand on my child—” My voice splinters.

“He already has,” Maelis murmurs.

The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet.

She leans in close, close enough for me to catch the scent of moonflower oil clinging to her skin.

“The Council convenes tonight,” she whispers. “They’re deciding whether your body still serves a purpose.”

My stomach churns violently.

Then she straightens, smoothing her dress as though she hasn’t just sealed my fate.

“Come,” she says brightly. “You shouldn’t be late. Corvin dislikes being humiliated by his Luna.”

She turns away, confident I’ll follow.

Because obedient Lunas always do.

My fingers brush the faded bite mark at my neck—the mark that once meant safety, belonging.

Now it feels like a chain.

I press my palm over my womb and whisper, “I will protect you.”

Then I step out of the alcove and trail after Maelis toward the Council chamber.

Because fleeing now would only make me prey.

Behind the carved doors, Corvin’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and authoritative.

“Bring her in.”

The doors begin to part.

And in that moment, I understand—

The woman I was before this second no longer exists.

The Council chamber seals shut behind me with a heavy, muted thud. It doesn’t echo, doesn’t ring out dramatically, yet the sound carries a finality that settles deep in my bones. This is not a door meant to be reopened once it closes.

The air inside is dense, layered with the familiar scents of ground stone, lingering ash, and that faint metallic tang that never fully leaves this place, no matter how often it’s cleansed. I keep moving. Pausing would only invite scrutiny, and hesitation here has always been treated as weakness. From the moment a Luna is chosen, she’s taught never to falter in this chamber—not even when the verdict has already been decided.

It takes me a few steps too many to realize Corvin is not at my side.

The awareness creeps in slowly, then crashes into me all at once. He stands at the center of the chamber, spine straight, hands folded behind him, engaged in calm discussion with the Elders. He looks exactly as an Alpha should here—authoritative, composed, untouchable. Not once does his gaze flick toward me as I approach.

I hadn’t expected the quiet ache that blooms in my chest when I understand what that separation signifies.

“Luna Mireya,” Elder Balthen calls out, his voice carrying effortlessly through the chamber. “You have been summoned to address concerns regarding the strength of your bond and your continued fitness to remain Luna.”

Fitness.

The word weighs more than the rest. I set my jaw and remain silent.

Without being told, I step onto the Moon sigil carved into the floor. The stone beneath my boots vibrates faintly, responding to my presence the way it always has. That reaction wasn’t granted out of courtesy or tradition. I earned it—through blood, endurance, and trials that nearly killed me. The stone remembers, even if the people standing on it no longer do.

Only then does Corvin turn.

Concern is carefully arranged on his face, measured and convincing. Anyone watching would accept it as genuine without question.

“You’re pale,” he says evenly. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” I answer.

The steadiness in my voice surprises me, and I cling to it.

One of the Elders shifts before speaking. “Over the last four moons, the Luna has failed to bring an Alpha heir to term. Each loss coincided with sanctioned blood rites performed under Alpha command for the protection of the pack.”

My chest tightens as I draw in a breath that feels insufficient.

“Did you give consent for these rites?” Balthen asks.

I part my lips to respond, but Corvin speaks first.

“She did,” he says smoothly. “Every time.”

I turn sharply toward him. “That’s not—”

His hand closes around my wrist.

The hold isn’t brutal, but it isn’t gentle either. It’s practiced, possessive, and painfully familiar. My stomach twists.

“You trusted me,” Corvin says quietly, his eyes locking onto mine. “Didn’t you?”

The bond reacts instantly, pressing down on me with its familiar weight, urging obedience, urging protection. For a fleeting moment, the instinct to shield him rises in my throat like it always has.

Then something pushes back.

I wrench my wrist free.

“I trusted you,” I say slowly, forcing my breath to steady. “Because you told me those rites were for the pack’s protection.”

The chamber falls into an uneasy stillness.

Corvin’s gaze darkens—just a fraction.

“You never told me what they would cost,” I continue.

A murmur ripples through the Elders. Balthen’s brow furrows.

“Clarify your statement, Luna.”

My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure they can hear it.

“How did Maelis benefit from my blood?” I ask.

The question slices cleanly through the room. Behind me, I hear Maelis draw in a sharp breath.

“That’s enough,” Corvin snaps.

“No,” I reply, turning fully toward her. “Every time I lost a child, Maelis grew stronger. Her wolf matured. Even her scent changed.”

The memories lock into place with cruel precision—the way her frailty vanished, the way her posture straightened, the way Corvin’s attention shifted, no longer protective, but appraising.

“That’s coincidence,” Corvin says harshly.

“Is it?” My voice trembles, but I don’t stop. “You told me my body was flawed, that the Moon had turned away from me. But my wolf never felt broken.”

I swallow.

“It felt drained.”

I face Maelis directly. “Tell them. Tell them what you did with my blood.”

Her eyes fill instantly, tears gathering just enough to look sincere.

“I never wanted any of this,” she whispers. “Corvin said there was no other way to secure the pack’s future.”

My stomach rolls.

“Maelis—” Corvin begins.

Balthen slams his staff against the floor. The crack of sound snaps through the chamber. “Alpha Corvin, answer clearly. Did you conduct blood transference rites, using the Luna’s pregnancies as conduits?”

The silence stretches, taut and unbearable.

Corvin hesitates—only for a breath, but it’s enough.

“Yes,” he says. “With Council sanction.”

The room seems to tilt sideways.

Sanction.

I drag in a breath that scorches my lungs.

“You used my children,” I whisper. “You murdered them.”

“They were never viable heirs,” Corvin responds coolly. “They were resources. Don’t dress them up as something they weren’t.”

Something inside me fractures completely.

My wolf surges forward, fury flooding my veins as the runes beneath my feet blaze silver. The chamber shudders; several Elders stagger back in alarm.

Corvin stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, my voice breaking. “They were alive.”

Maelis takes a cautious step toward me. “Mireya, please—”

“Don’t touch me.”

The growl in my voice stops her instantly. For the first time, the sweetness on her face cracks.

“You should be thankful,” she whispers venomously. “Your losses gave me a future.”

Before I can react, Balthen strikes the floor again. “Enough.”

The runes dim. The tremor fades.

“Luna Mireya,” he says heavily, “the Council must now determine whether your continued presence endangers pack stability.”

Corvin remains silent.

He doesn’t defend me. He doesn’t even look at me.

And I finally understand—this was never about my ability to bear children.

It was about replacing me.

“You’re stripping me of my title,” I say quietly.

Corvin meets my gaze at last. “For the pack’s sake.”

“And Maelis?” I ask. “What becomes of her?”

His jaw tightens. “She will complete the Heir-Binding Rite.”

“You can’t,” I breathe. “She’s not even—”

“She’s already carrying a child,” Maelis says evenly.

The chamber erupts.

The word carrying echoes in my head as cold spreads through my veins. Maelis smiles then—not softly, not with regret, but with open triumph.

Corvin moves to her side, his hand settling possessively at her back.

“The announcement will be made at the full-moon gathering,” he says. “Mireya will step aside quietly. If she refuses—”

He doesn’t finish.

He doesn’t need to.

Pain rips through my lower abdomen without warning, sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs. I gasp and drop to my knees, clutching myself as the runes ignite again, brighter than before. Torches flare white-hot.

“What is this?” Balthen swears.

Power floods me—not draining, not tearing, but answering.

My wolf howls.

Maelis stumbles back, her composure finally shattering. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

I lift my head, tears spilling freely now, and let out a fractured laugh.

“You’re wrong,” I whisper.

Then I raise my voice so every soul in the chamber hears me.

“My child still lives.”

Corvin stares at me as though I’ve risen from the grave.

And for the first time since the day he marked me, fear flickers unmistakably in my mate’s eyes.

The full moon climbs into the sky the color of fresh blood.

That is the first thing that lodges in my mind as I’m dragged toward the stone dais at the center of the pack grounds—the moon’s hue wrong, swollen, spilling red light across the clearing like an omen no one dares to voice aloud.

The pack is already assembled.

Hundreds of wolves fill the space. Warriors in rigid lines. Elders seated in judgment. Families clustered together. Faces I once guarded, trained, healed. Faces that used to lower their eyes when I passed.

Tonight, they don’t bow.

Tonight, they watch.

A restless murmur ripples through the crowd as Corvin steps forward. His power rolls outward in heavy, crushing waves, no longer restrained. He wears the Alpha mantle openly now, dominance bared and unapologetic, pressing down on every wolf present.

On me most of all.

I stand by myself.

No Luna’s place at his side.

No steadying hand at my back.

Behind Corvin, the Council occupies their semicircle of carved stone seats. Below them stands Maelis, draped in silver, one palm resting conspicuously over her abdomen.

My stomach tightens.

Corvin lifts his hand.

The clearing drops into silence instantly.

“Tonight,” he declares, his voice carrying effortlessly as the Moon altar amplifies every syllable, “we gather to honor the Moon’s decree and safeguard the future of this pack.”

The words are ritual-polished, honed by generations of repetition. I know the cadence well enough to hear the falsehood threaded through it.

“For too long, this pack has awaited an heir,” Corvin continues. “The Moon has tested us—and through those trials, it has revealed a truth we can no longer deny.”

His gaze turns toward me.

It is distant. Calculated. Empty.

“Luna Mireya has failed to bring life to term across four consecutive moons.”

A hush sweeps through the crowd before whispers begin to spread. My hands curl slowly at my sides.

“She has served faithfully,” Corvin adds, his tone magnanimous, “but loyalty cannot outweigh destiny.”

At his signal, Maelis steps forward.

Gasps erupt immediately.

Corvin covers her hand with his own, the intimacy of the gesture unmistakable.

“She,” he says, “has been blessed.”

Maelis lowers her head, humility carefully crafted. “I carry Alpha Corvin’s child,” she says softly. “The Moon answered me.”

Shock ripples through the gathering. For a brief moment, fear is forgotten in the wake of disbelief. My vision tunnels, sound dulling at the edges as Corvin raises his voice once more.

“By ancient law, the bearer of the Alpha’s heir takes precedence,” he proclaims. “Effective this night, Maelis will assume the title of Luna.”

The words strike like a blow.

Luna.

Taken from me in a single breath.

My ears ring as the bond between Corvin and me thrashes in protest—stretching, tearing, frantic with confusion. Corvin remains unmoved.

I step forward before I fully register the motion.

“That isn’t true,” I say.

My voice cuts cleanly through the noise, sharp enough to freeze the clearing.

“Mireya—” Corvin starts.

“I am not barren,” I say, louder now. “And Maelis is not the Moon’s chosen.”

Unease ripples outward, tension coiling tight.

Corvin’s jaw hardens. “Enough.”

“No,” I snap. “You don’t get to erase me in silence.”

My hand presses to my abdomen.

“I’m with child.”

The reaction is immediate and violent.

Maelis stiffens. Corvin whirls toward me, disbelief fracturing his composure. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” I reply. My voice shakes—but it doesn’t break. “The Moon answered me too. Even after everything you did to prevent it.”

Elders rise abruptly from their seats.

“That’s impossible,” Maelis says sharply. “She would have known—”

“I did,” I cut in. “You just never expected it to live.”

The Moon altar hums beneath our feet, a deep resonance that vibrates through bone and stone. Torches blaze brighter as silver light ripples across the clearing.

Wolves stagger. Some collapse to their knees.

The altar is responding to me.

Corvin retreats a step without realizing it. Fear cracks through his mask for the first time.

“She’s influencing the altar!” Maelis cries. “She’s unstable—dangerous!”

“Enough,” Elder Balthen commands, slamming his staff against the stone.

His gaze fixes on me, something like dread flickering there. “The Moon is responding,” he says slowly. “To the child.”

Excitement drains from the air, replaced by unease.

Corvin recovers swiftly, seizing control. “Exactly. This proves my concern. Her pregnancy is volatile. The power is uncontrolled.”

He turns to the pack. “Do you want another aberration? Another threat to our lands? Another Moon calamity?”

The murmurs darken. Awe curdles into suspicion.

I stare at him, stunned.

“You’re afraid,” I whisper. “Not of me. Of what my child is.”

Corvin doesn’t deny it.

“Mireya,” he says coldly, “you are no longer fit to stand as Luna.”

Balthen exhales heavily. “By Council decree, Luna Mireya is stripped of her title.”

The words hollow me out.

“And the child?” someone asks.

Corvin answers without pause. “The child bears Vortain blood. It belongs to this pack.”

My heart slams violently.

“No,” I say. “You don’t get him.”

Corvin’s expression hardens. “You have no choice.”

I laugh—a thin, fractured sound. “Yes,” I murmur. “I do.”

Before anyone can stop me, I rake my claw across my palm and slam my blood against the Moon altar.

Light detonates across the clearing.

Agony rips through me as the bond snaps—not cleanly, but brutally. I scream as the connection to Corvin tears away like flesh from bone.

Corvin roars.

The altar pulses once, then again—then falls silent.

I sway but remain standing.

Balthen stares at me in horror. “You’ve severed the mate bond.”

“I claimed my child,” I rasp. “By Moon Law.”

Corvin advances, fury blazing. “You’ll pay for this with your life.”

“Perhaps,” I say quietly. “But not tonight.”

The Elders whisper urgently before Balthen raises his staff again.

“Mireya,” he declares, voice heavy, “you are hereby exiled from pack lands until the child is born. Should you return before that time—”

“I’ll be executed,” I finish.

Corvin’s smile is thin and sharp.

Guards seize me, dragging me toward the forest’s edge. Maelis watches, her hand still resting on her stomach, triumph glittering in her eyes.

“You won’t survive out there,” she calls sweetly. “Not by yourself.”

I meet her gaze. “You’re mistaken.”

Because beyond the ancient boundary stones, another scent reaches me—dark, cold, predatory, and far too familiar from Corvin’s warnings.

Night Ridge.

The guards shove me across the border. I stumble, collapse onto чуж ground as darkness creeps into my vision.

As the world fades, one truth burns through the pain.

Corvin didn’t exile me.

He delivered me.

And somewhere beyond the shadows, another Alpha is already watching.