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.

The door to my recovery room burst open, startling me from my half-sleep. Prince Dane strode in, his presence filling the small space. Behind him, Kaelen watched vigilantly, his amber eyes scanning the room before he closed the door.

"You're coming with me," Dane said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."

I struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through my bandaged wounds. "Why?"

"Because you're not safe here." He moved closer, his blue eyes intense. "The 'rogues' who attacked you weren't random. They were mercenaries."

Before I could respond, the door swung open again. Beckham stood there, his face darkening as he took in the scene.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, his Alpha aura flaring.

Dane didn't flinch. Instead, he straightened to his full height, meeting Beckham's gaze directly. "I'm taking her to my quarters for questioning regarding the rogue attack."

"That's not necessary," Beckham growled. "She's my responsibility."

"Is she?" Dane's voice was dangerously soft. "The woman who was left to die by rogues on your territory? The woman whose wounds suggest silver poisoning?"

Beckham's jaw tightened. "I'm handling it."

"You've had three years to handle it," Dane countered. "As a Lycan Prince, I'm invoking my right to investigate security breaches that threaten multiple territories."

Kaelen stepped forward. "The Prince's authority supersedes yours in matters of inter-pack security, Alpha Williams."

I watched the power struggle unfold before me, my heart hammering against my ribs. Beckham couldn't refuse a direct order from Lycan royalty without risking war.

"This is ridiculous," Beckham finally said, but his tone had changed. He knew he'd lost.

"Have her belongings moved to my suite immediately," Dane ordered. "She leaves with me now."

---

The Prince's temporary quarters were in the west wing of the pack house—a spacious suite with large windows overlooking the forest. As soon as the door closed behind us, I collapsed onto the couch, the adrenaline draining from my body.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice breaking.

Dane knelt before me, his expression softening. "You don't have to thank me. You should rest."

But instead of relief, I felt something inside me crack. Three years of pain, betrayal, and loneliness crashed over me in waves. Before I could stop it, a sob tore from my throat.

"I thought I was going to die out there," I confessed, my shoulders shaking. "And no one would even care."

Dane didn't touch me—he seemed to understand I couldn't bear that yet—but he remained close, a steady presence as I broke apart.

"I care," he said simply.

Those two words, spoken with such quiet conviction, were the first kindness I'd received in years.

---

Over the next week, I began to regain my strength under Kaelen's watchful eye. Each morning, we trained in a private courtyard behind Dane's quarters. Each afternoon, I told Dane more about my past—about the training journals I'd kept since childhood.

"They were my life's work," I explained, pacing the length of his study. "Strategies, observations, tactical analyses—everything I'd learned about pack warfare and defense."

"And Delilah stole them all?" Dane asked, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

"Yes." I stopped pacing, suddenly exhausted. "She used my own knowledge to become his trusted advisor."

Dane nodded slowly. "The mercenary group that attacked you—they're not typical rogues. They're organized, well-funded, and known for taking bribes from corrupt Alphas."

My breath caught. "You think Beckham hired them?"

"I think," Dane said carefully, "that your former mate is compromising pack security to maintain power. And he's willing to sacrifice anyone who threatens that power—including you."

The realization hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't just personal betrayal anymore. Beckham had endangered the entire pack.

---

"Again," Kaelen commanded, circling me in the training ring. "Your reflexes are still too slow."

I gritted my teeth, pushing myself up from the ground. Two weeks of training had strengthened my body, but the silver damage remained—a constant ache in my bones.

"I can't," I gasped, my muscles trembling.

"You can," Kaelen insisted. "Your wolf is stronger than you know."

Something in his words—the certainty, perhaps—ignited a spark of frustration in me. I'd been told I was weak for so long. First by Beckham, then by Delilah, then by my own reflection in the mirror.

"I'm tired of being weak," I snarled, lunging forward.

Kaelen blocked my attack effortlessly, but I didn't stop. I kept coming, again and again, my movements fueled by years of rage and helplessness.

"Let go," he urged as I stumbled. "Stop fighting against yourself."

Something inside me snapped—not in defeat, but in liberation. Heat flooded my veins, and a roar tore from my throat.

The transformation took me by surprise. My bones cracked and reformed, my skin stretched and changed. Instead of the small, brown wolf I'd always shifted into before, a massive silver creature emerged.

I threw back my head and howled—a sound so powerful it shook the foundations of the guest house. The windows rattled, and distant voices shouted in alarm.

Kaelen stepped back, awe written across his face. "A silver Lycan," he breathed. "The rarest of all wolf strains."

My howl echoed across the territory, carrying a message to every wolf who heard it: the "defective" she-wolf was anything but weak.