The silver lining on the dungeon walls had been my torment for three years. Today, it would be my salvation.

I pressed my palm against the loose shard I'd spent weeks working free from the wall, ignoring the searing pain as the silver burned into my flesh. The guard's footsteps echoed down the corridor—closer now. My heart hammered against my ribs as I concealed the shard in my sleeve.

"Just a few more minutes," I whispered to myself, watching the door. The pack house above was in chaos—preparations for a ceremony of some kind. Everyone was distracted. Everyone except the guard who'd been assigned to watch me.

"Check," he muttered, peering through the small window in the door. His eyes barely registered my presence before he continued down the hallway.

Now.

I lunged forward, pressing the silver shard against the lock mechanism. The metal sizzled and smoked, the acrid smell making my eyes water. Pain shot through my fingers as the silver burned deeper into my palm, but I couldn't stop. Not now.

With a final push, the lock gave way. I stumbled out of the cell, my legs trembling beneath me. Three years of confinement had left me weaker than I'd ever been, but determination drove me forward.

"The Alpha's orders were specific," I heard a voice say from around the corner. "No one enters or leaves without his permission."

I pressed myself against the wall, holding my breath. The guard had returned faster than I'd anticipated.

"Except for the ceremony preparations," another voice replied. "The decorators need access to the entire lower level."

My mind raced. Ceremony? What ceremony required decorations throughout the pack house?

I crept through the shadows, my bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. Every step sent pain shooting through my weakened body, but I forced myself to keep moving. I needed to see what was happening upstairs.

The main hall had been transformed. White flowers and silver ribbons adorned every surface. Pack members rushed about, arranging tables and adjusting lights. At the far end of the room, an altar had been erected, decorated with more white flowers and candles.

A mating ceremony.

My stomach twisted into knots as realization dawned. There was only one reason the Alpha would hold such an event—Beckham was officially taking a mate.

"Is everything ready?" A familiar voice cut through the noise. Delilah. My former best friend stood in the center of the room, directing the decorators with an air of authority I'd never seen in her before.

"Almost, Luna," one of the pack members replied.

Luna. The word echoed in my mind like a death knell.

I watched from the shadows as Delilah touched the pendant hanging from her neck—my pendant, the one meant for the true Luna of the Onyx Claw Pack. The pendant that had been mine before Beckham rejected me.

Before I could stop myself, I stepped into the light.

The room fell silent.

"Rebecca?" Someone whispered my name, and then the whispers spread like wildfire.

"She's supposed to be in the dungeon."

"How did she get out?"

"Look at her—she's half dead."

Delilah's eyes widened in feigned horror. "Protect the Alpha!" she screamed, clutching the pendant at her throat. "She's come to destroy our mating ceremony!"

The music stopped. The dancers froze. And then Beckham appeared at the entrance to the main hall, his eyes locking with mine across the room.

For a moment, no one moved. The air crackled with tension as his Alpha aura flared instinctively, trying to suppress the interruption. But I had survived three years in a silver-lined cell. His aura couldn't touch me now.

"Beckham," I said, my voice stronger than I felt. "Finish what you started three years ago."

The crowd parted as I walked toward him, my rags and dirt a stark contrast to the pristine decorations around us.

"Complete the rejection," I demanded, standing tall despite the trembling in my limbs. "Free us both from this bond."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Delilah clutched Beckham's arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his skin.

"She's delusional," Beckham said finally, his voice carrying across the silent hall. "She's not well. She needs help."

"I need freedom," I countered. "You started the rejection ritual three years ago. Finish it."

Beckham's jaw tightened. "I refuse."

The words hit me like a physical blow. He refused to let me go.

"You can't keep me prisoner forever," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"You're not a prisoner," Beckham replied smoothly. "You're unwell. You need rest and care."

He gestured to two guards. "Escort Rebecca to the east guest room. Make sure she's comfortable."

"Beckham—" I began, but he cut me off.

"That's an order," he said, his Alpha tone washing over me.

The guards moved to either side of me, not touching me but making their presence known.

"Your ceremony can continue," I said bitterly. "I'll be going now."

As they led me away, I caught Delilah's triumphant smile. She leaned closer to Beckham, whispering something in his ear that made him nod in agreement.

I had escaped one prison only to find myself in another—this one gilded and decorated with white flowers and silver ribbons.

The guards escorted me to a guest room on the east wing of the pack house. Unlike my silver-lined cell, this room was spacious and decorated with plush furniture and warm colors. The window overlooked the forest beyond the pack grounds—a cruel reminder of the freedom I lacked.

"You're to stay here until further notice," the guard said before closing the door. I tested the handle immediately after he left. It wasn't locked.

I wasn't a prisoner. I was a guest.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

Hours passed as I paced the room, my mind racing with plans and possibilities. Without the silver to weaken me, I could feel my strength slowly returning. My wolf stirred within me, restless after years of suppression.

When night fell, I slipped out of the room. The pack house was quiet, most members either asleep or still celebrating the interrupted ceremony. I needed to understand what had happened in my absence—what Delilah had done with my life.

The library door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the darkened hallway. I pushed it open silently, slipping inside. The room smelled of old books and leather, a comforting scent that reminded me of happier times.

A massive table dominated the center of the room, covered with maps and documents. I moved closer, my heart stopping when I recognized the detailed war strategies marked across the territory borders. The handwriting wasn't Delilah's flowing script—it was mine. Or rather, a careful copy of my own notes.

"These look familiar, don't they?"

I whirled around to find Delilah leaning against the doorframe, a smug smile on her face.

"You stole my work," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I merely... borrowed your research." She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "Those journals were quite detailed. Strategic thinking was never my strength, but I have an excellent memory."

"You burned them." It wasn't a question.

"Once I memorized everything useful." She traced her finger along the edge of the map. "No one will believe you anyway. You're just the mad ex-mate, locked away for your own good."

I clenched my fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms. "Beckham will see through you eventually."

"Will he?" Delilah laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "He believes what I tell him to believe. Besides, who would choose a defective mate over a proven strategist?"

---

That night, I lay awake in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling. The door opened without a knock, and Beckham's scent filled the room before he did.

"You shouldn't be here," I said, not bothering to sit up.

"I needed to see you." He moved closer, his presence overwhelming in the small space. "You look better than I expected."

"Three years in a silver cage will do that to a person."

He winced as if I'd struck him. "Rebecca, I did what was best for the pack."

"And what was best for me?" I finally looked at him, searching for any trace of the man I'd once loved.

"You need time to adjust." He reached for me, his fingers brushing my arm.

I flinched violently, pulling away from his touch. "Don't."

"The bond—"

"The bond you didn't have the courage to complete?" I cut him off, sitting up to put distance between us.

His scent was wrong—tinged with Delilah's floral perfume. The realization hit me like a physical blow, and I turned away, fighting a wave of nausea.

"You smell like her," I said flatly.

Something flashed in his eyes—possessiveness, not remorse. "She's my chosen mate."

"Then why are you here?" I asked, meeting his gaze steadily.

"Because you're still mine." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The rejection wasn't completed. You feel it too—the pull between us."

I laughed bitterly. "What you feel is possession, not love."

---

Two days later, Beckham announced I would be allowed to join the pack run—a concession to appearances, nothing more.

"Stay with the group," he warned as we gathered at the edge of the forest. "No one wants another incident."

I nodded stiffly, aware of the guards positioned strategically around me. This wasn't freedom—it was a performance.

As we ran, I felt my wolf surge with joy at the sensation of earth beneath our feet. For the first time in years, I was moving, breathing fresh air, feeling the forest around me.

I noticed Delilah watching me from across the clearing, her eyes narrowed in calculation. She made a subtle gesture to three enforcers, who gradually shifted position.

"Keep up," one of them growled as they steered me away from the main group.

"Where are we going?" I asked, suddenly alert.

"The Alpha said you needed exercise." Another enforcer pushed me forward. "This way is more... challenging."

I realized too late what was happening. The trees grew denser as we moved farther from the pack. The scent of rogues—unwashed, aggressive wolves without pack allegiance—hung heavy in the air.

"Delilah sends her regards," the third enforcer whispered as they suddenly veered away, leaving me alone at the edge of the border.

I stood frozen as howls erupted in the distance—rogues, drawn by the scent of a lone wolf.

The rogues' howls grew louder as I backed against a tree, my heart hammering against my ribs. Three of them circled me, their eyes gleaming with hunger and malice in the moonlight. I could smell Delilah's scent on them—she'd paid them well.

"The little Luna wants to play hero," one of them sneered, his scarred face twisting into a grin. "But she can't even shift properly."

I clenched my fists, feeling the weakness in my limbs from years of silver exposure. My wolf stirred within me, desperate to break free, but the damage was too deep. I couldn't shift—not completely.

"Please," I whispered, hating the tremor in my voice. "I'm not part of this pack anymore."

"Not part of the pack?" Another rogue laughed. "Then you're just a tasty snack for us."

They closed in, teeth bared. I kicked out at the first one, connecting with his knee. He howled in rage, lunging forward. I dodged sideways, but my legs betrayed me, buckling beneath my weight.

The third rogue seized my arm, his claws digging into my flesh. Blood trickled down my wrist as I cried out in pain.

"Stop!" I gasped, struggling against his grip.

"Stop?" He laughed, raising a clawed hand for a killing blow. "Nothing stops until you're dead."

Suddenly, a massive black wolf burst through the trees, eyes blazing with fury. Beckham. He tore into the rogue holding me, ripping through fur and flesh with savage precision.

The other rogues scattered, but not before Beckham caught another by the throat, crushing it with a single bite.

"Rebecca!" He shifted back to human form, cradling me against his chest. Blood—mine and the rogues'—covered his hands.

Behind him, Delilah appeared, her face a mask of concern. "Oh, thank the Moon Goddess! I tried to warn you, Rebecca. I told you not to wander off!"

I stared at her in disbelief. "You set me up."

"No, no," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "I was trying to help. The rogues must have followed your scent."

Beckham's arms tightened around me. "Shh, it's okay now. You're safe."

"The patrols," I gasped. "How did they get past the patrols?"

Delilah's expression flickered—just for a moment—before she buried her face in Beckham's shoulder. "We need to strengthen the borders," she murmured. "These rogues are getting bolder."

Beckham nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. "You're right, as always."

---

Three days later, I lay in the infirmary, my wounds bandaged but still throbbing. The pack healer had done what she could, but silver damage wasn't easily repaired.

"Rest," she'd said, her eyes avoiding mine. "You need time."

Time. As if I hadn't spent enough of it in that silver-lined cell.

The infirmary door burst open, and Gamma Elias strode in. "Everyone out," he ordered the nurse attending me. "Royal visitors. Now."

The nurse scurried away as Elias approached my bed. "You should be honored," he said, his voice flat. "The Lycan Royal Family is here to inspect our borders."

"Why?" I asked, struggling to sit up.

"Rogue activity." He adjusted my blankets with surprising gentleness. "They're concerned about security breaches."

Before I could respond, a commotion erupted in the hallway. Voices raised in alarm, then hushed in deference.

"They're coming this way," Elias muttered.

The infirmary door swung open again. A tall man with broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes entered, followed by a leaner wolf with alert amber eyes.

"Prince Dane," Elias bowed deeply. "This is our... guest."

The prince's gaze swept the room before locking on me. Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or recognition.

"Leave us," he commanded, his voice quiet but carrying undeniable authority.

Elias hesitated, glancing at me with unexpected concern before backing out of the room.

The prince approached my bed slowly, his movements fluid and predatory. I tried to sit straighter, to show strength despite my condition.

"You're not what I expected," he said finally.

"What did you expect?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

He leaned closer, inhaling deeply. His eyes widened slightly. "Not this," he murmured. "Not a weak wolf."

The other wolf—his Beta—stepped forward. "Prince Dane, the Alpha is waiting."

"In a moment." Dane waved him back without taking his eyes off me. "Your aura," he said softly. "It's... contained."

"My wolf is defective," I said bitterly. "Or so I've been told."

Dane shook his head slowly. "No." He reached out, his fingers stopping just short of touching my face. "It's not defective. It's caged."

For the first time in years, I felt something other than pain or anger—a strange, soothing warmth that spread from his gaze to the rest of my body.

"How do you know?" I whispered.

Instead of answering, he bowed his head slightly—not in submission, but in acknowledgment.

"Rest well," he said, straightening. "We'll talk again."

As he turned to leave, his Beta—Kaelen—shot me a curious glance before following his prince.

At the door, Dane paused, looking back at me over his shoulder. "Your wolf isn't weak," he said quietly. "It's waiting."

Waiting for what? I wanted to ask, but he was already gone, leaving me with a strange sense of possibility I hadn't felt in years.