"Sloane, I need another year."

Callum's voice came through the communication crystal, low and tired. I stood in the fitting room of the bridal house with the gown half-laced up my spine.

"Another year," I repeated.

"There's an emergency at the eastern border. I have to stay in the territory tonight. Maybe all week."

"This is the fifth time, Callum."

"I know." He sighed, the way he always did when he wanted me to feel guilty for asking. "You know what this pack means to me. Just be patient a little longer, okay?"

The crystal went dark before I could answer.

I looked down at the paper in my hand. The healer's seal was still warm. *Pregnant. Six weeks.*

I had planned to tell him today. Right here, in the dress, with the seamstress pinning the hem.

The seamstress, an older she-wolf named Mrs. Dorran, poked her head through the curtain. "Everything all right, Miss Whitlock?"

"Fine," I said. "Give me a minute."

I wasn't fine. My hands needed something to do, so I opened the pack network on my crystal.

The first video on my feed made my stomach drop.

A fireplace. A kitchen I didn't know. Callum Blackthorn, Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack, sleeves rolled to his elbows, stirring a pot of stew.

A woman sat at the table with a pup in her lap.

Around her shoulders was a deep red scarf.

My scarf. I had knitted it for a whole month during last winter's storms. I had stitched *C & S* into the corner with gold thread until my fingers bled.

The woman laughed and turned her face toward the camera.

Vivienne Hale. My half-sister. The girl who had smiled at our father's funeral while I cried.

"Callum," she cooed in the video, "say hi to everyone."

He didn't look at the camera. He bent and pressed a kiss to the pup's forehead.

His wrist turned toward the light. The thick silver scar on it caught the glow from the fire.

He told me he'd gotten that scar blocking a knife meant for me. He told me that story every time I doubted him.

The video was posted ten minutes ago.

Exactly when he'd said *emergency*.

"Miss Whitlock?" Mrs. Dorran's voice again. "Shall I bring the veil?"

"No." My voice came out strange and calm. "Bring me scissors."

"Scissors?"

"Please."

She handed them through the curtain without another word.

I stepped out of the gown and laid it on the floor. Then I cut.

First the lace sleeves. Then the bodice. I kept going, one strip at a time, until the white silk lay on the carpet like torn feathers.

I didn't cry. That surprised me most.

I thought about the abandoned hunting cabin seven years ago. The blizzard. Callum bleeding on the floor, hunted by a rival pack, drowning in debt, with half the elders ready to strip his claim. I had sewn his side shut with my mother's needle by candlelight.

I thought about the two pack celebrations I'd skipped because his business deals came first. About the proposal I'd turned down from a boy I grew up with. About the first baby I lost.

Callum had held me all night that time. *Never again, Sloane. I swear you'll never hurt alone again.*

I set the scissors down and scrolled through my contacts to a number I hadn't touched in seven years.

It rang twice.

"Hello?"

The voice was deeper than I remembered. Rougher.

"Rhys." My throat tightened. "It's me."

Silence. Then, carefully, "Sloane."

Rhys Ashford. Ten years ago, we were promised to each other under the Moon Goddess. Then his family was driven out of the North, and he was forced to leave with them.

"I'm sorry to call like this," I said.

"Don't be sorry. Are you hurt?"

"No." I pressed my palm flat against my stomach. "Rhys, my wedding is missing a groom. Will you come steal the bride?"

The line went quiet for so long I thought it had dropped.

Then he said one word.

"Yes."

---

Callum came home after midnight.

I was sitting in the living room of our villa with the lights low. He walked in without a word and wrapped his arms around me from behind, the way he had a thousand times.

The scent hit me first. A pup's milky sweetness. And under it, white roses.

Vivienne's perfume. She had worn it since she was fifteen.

"Long day?" I asked.

"Brutal." He rested his chin on my shoulder. "Border disputes, two elders fighting over grain contracts. I didn't even get to eat."

I almost laughed. He'd made stew.

"Poor thing," I said.

"I brought you something, though." He pulled a velvet box from his coat and opened it in front of me. A diamond necklace, heavy and cold.

I knew this necklace. Vivienne had posted it last month, with a caption. *Too flashy for me. Giving it away.*

"It's beautiful," I said flatly.

"I knew you'd like it." He started fastening it around my neck.

I caught his hand. "Callum. Where's my red scarf?"

His fingers stopped moving.

"Your what?"

"The red scarf. The one I made you. With our initials."

His eyes slid away from mine, toward the window. "Oh. That. I think I left it at the office."

"At the office," I repeated.

"Yeah. I'll grab it tomorrow." He kissed my temple, quick and careless. "Why? You worried I lost it?"

"Just curious."

He straightened and loosened his collar. "I'm exhausted, Sloane. I've got reports to finish."

"One more question."

He sighed. "What?"

"The wedding. Are we really pushing it back another year?"

His jaw tightened. "We talked about this."

"You talked. I listened."

"Sloane, come on." He rubbed his eyes like I was a headache. "A ceremony under the Moon Goddess is just a formality. Wolves who truly love each other don't need a date on a calendar."

Just a formality.

Seven years. Five postponed weddings. One lost baby.

A formality.

"You're right," I said softly.

He blinked. He'd expected a fight. Maybe tears. He didn't know what to do with a smile.

"Good," he said after a moment. "I knew you'd understand. You always do."

He walked into his study and shut the door.

I sat still until I heard the scratch of his pen through the wall.

Then I stood up and unclasped the diamond necklace. I dropped it on the couch cushion like a piece of trash.

I slid the engagement ring off my finger. It left a pale band of skin where it had sat for seven years.

In the bedroom, I pulled open the bottom dresser drawer. I pushed the ring all the way to the back, behind old letters and a dried flower crown from our first Moon Festival.

I closed the drawer.

My crystal buzzed on the nightstand. A message from an unknown number.

*I'm already on the road. Tell me the date, Sloane. I'll be there before the vows.*

Down the hall, the study door creaked open.

"Sloane?" Callum called. "Did you take your ring off?"

The note was waiting on the kitchen counter when I woke up.

*Morning, sweetheart. Don't forget your ring, you'll lose it. I'll be home by seven. I'm cooking tonight. Your favorite. —C*

A little heart was drawn in the corner, the same one he'd drawn for seven years.

Last night, I'd told him the ring was in the bathroom because I'd been washing my hands. He believed me. He hadn't even come to check.

My wolf used to wake up wagging at notes like this. This morning she just lay there, quiet and heavy inside my chest.

I crumpled the paper and opened the pack network.

Vivienne had posted an hour ago.

Fireworks over Silver Moon Bay. Gold and silver bursts across the water. The camera swung toward a man in a dark coat.

Callum.

He bent over the pup in Vivienne's arms and fastened something around its tiny neck. A thin chain. A crescent of moon-silver, engraved with the Silver Moon crest.

I stopped breathing.

Seven years ago, when I was pregnant for the first time, Callum and I had attended the pack's annual blessing for expectant parents. We'd walked through knee-deep snow to reach the gathering hall. Beneath the skylight, an old priestess had blessed that exact pendant and pressed it into my palm.

"For your pup," she'd said. "May it never know cold."

That night, in our drafty cabin, we'd shared one blanket because we couldn't afford two. Callum had rubbed my frozen fingers between his.

"When I'm a real Alpha," he'd whispered, "I'll light up the whole bay. Every firework will be for you, Sloane. Only you."

The video kept playing.

Callum lifted the pup and held it against his chest. His face went soft in a way I barely recognized anymore.

Vivienne leaned her head on his shoulder.

"My mate," she murmured.

He didn't correct her.

I put the crystal down and swallowed hard against the sickness rising in my throat. Then I grabbed my keys.

---

The bay was packed for the morning festival. I spotted the car before I spotted him.

A black sedan, parked crooked at the curb. The plate read *0317*.

My birthday.

Vivienne was walking toward it with the pup bundled against her, her face glowing. Callum stepped out of the driver's side and reached for her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like they were the family the Moon Goddess had blessed.

I pushed through the crowd.

"Take it off."

Vivienne turned. Her eyes went wide, then wet, fast as a switch.

"Sloane? What are you doing here?"

"The charm on his neck." I pointed. "Take it off."

Callum's hand landed on Vivienne's arm. "Sloane. What the hell?"

"Ask her where she got it."

"I gave it to her," he said. "So what?"

Vivienne's lip trembled. "It's just a silver trinket, Sloane. You have Callum. You have the villa, the money, everything. Why would you fight a baby over a piece of jewelry?"

A few heads in the crowd swiveled toward us.

Callum moved. He stepped in front of Vivienne and the pup, his shoulders squared, his body a wall between them and me.

Protecting them. From me.

"You're making a scene," he said quietly. "In public. Do you know how this looks for the pack?"

"Do you know what that charm is?" My voice cracked. "That was for our baby, Callum. The one we lost. It's the last blessing that child ever got."

Something flickered across his face. Then it closed off.

"That was seven years ago."

"I know exactly how long ago it was."

"Then stop dragging it around." He rubbed his forehead. "The past is the past, Sloane. You don't get to dump your grief on an innocent pup."

I stared at him.

Vivienne sniffled and reached for the clasp. "No, it's fine. If it hurts her this much, I'll give it back."

"Leave it." Callum caught her wrist. "Don't."

He turned back to me, and his mouth twisted.

"You know what your problem is? You're petty. You're jealous of a child. I didn't think you could be this small."

Small.

For three months after the miscarriage, I couldn't stand the sound of a pup crying. I'd leave stores. Cross streets. Once I hid in a bathroom stall at a pack feast for an hour, shaking, while he held the door shut so no one would see.

He'd forgotten all of it.

"Callum," I said. "Look at me."

He didn't get the chance.

Tires screamed behind us.

A black SUV jumped the curb, swerving wild, engine roaring straight toward the walkway.

People shrieked. Someone grabbed a child and ran.

Callum didn't hesitate. Not for one second.

His hand slammed into my shoulder and shoved me sideways, hard. Then he spun and threw his arms around Vivienne and the pup, curling his whole body over them.

I flew backward.

My lower back cracked against the stone railing. Pain ripped through me, white and blinding, then sank low into my belly and twisted.

The SUV smashed into a lamppost ten feet away. Glass rained across the stones.

I crumpled to the ground with my arms locked around my stomach.

Blood. I could smell blood. Mine.

My wolf let out a thin, broken howl inside my head.

"Callum," I gasped.

He was on his knees, running his hands over the pup's blanket.

"Viv, are you hurt? Is he okay? Let me see him."

"I think—I think he's fine," Vivienne sobbed. "He's just scared."

"Callum." Louder this time. "Please."

He finally glanced back. His brows pulled together.

"What were you thinking, rushing up on us like that? You scared the baby half to death."

I laughed.

It came out wet and strange, and it hurt my ribs, but I couldn't stop it.

He had scared the baby. With his crash. With his push. And I was the one to blame.

My eyes dropped to his wrist, still curled protectively around Vivienne's back. The silver scar shone in the sun.

*I'll always shield you, Sloane. With this hand, with my life. Always.*

Same hand. Different woman.

"Callum," I said. "Forget the wedding."

He blinked at me.

"We don't need to have it," I said. "It's fine."

His shoulders loosened. Actual relief washed across his face, like I'd handed him a gift.

"Yeah?" He nodded. "Good. That's—good, Sloane. I'll make it up to you. When things calm down, okay?"

"Okay."

He turned back to Vivienne before I'd even finished the word.

I gripped the railing and dragged myself up. My legs shook. Something warm slid down the inside of my thigh.

Nobody stopped me as I walked to my car.

---

The healer at the Moon Goddess Hospital frowned at the scan for a long time.

"The impact caused bleeding," she said. "The pregnancy is in serious danger. We need to start treatment right now."

"Do it."

"I'll need consent forms. Is your mate on his way?"

I looked at my crystal. No calls. No messages.

"Where is your mate, Miss Whitlock?"

I opened my mouth to answer.

Nothing came out. Only tears, sliding silently down my face and dropping onto the report in my lap.

Seven years ago, I'd lost a baby while Callum held me.

Now I might lose another while he held someone else.

I pressed my hand to my stomach and made a quiet promise.

I wasn't handing this life to a man who didn't care if I lived.

My crystal lit up.

Not Callum.

*Sloane. I'm two hours out. Where are you?*

Rhys.

The healer leaned over my shoulder. "Is that him?"

I wiped my face and typed one word.

*Hospital.*

"I'm sorry, Miss Whitlock."

The healer didn't need to say the rest. I had felt it go sometime around dawn, a quiet emptying that my wolf noticed before I did.

"How long?" I asked.

"Since about four this morning. We tried."

"I know you did."

She waited for me to cry. I stared at the IV line in my arm instead and counted the drops.

My crystal sat on the tray. Still no calls from Callum. I didn't call him either. What would I say? *You pushed me, and our baby died while you checked on hers?*

He hadn't even turned around.

I picked up the crystal and called someone else.

"Tamsin. I need a favor."

My best friend answered on the first ring, her voice thick with sleep. "Name it."

"Go to the villa. Pack my things. Clothes, my mother's sewing box, the books in the study. Leave everything he bought me."

A pause. "Sloane, are you okay?"

"No," I said. "But I will be."

---

Three days later, I sat across from my wedding planner, Odette Marsh, with a cup of tea going cold between my hands.

"So the date stays," she said slowly.

"The date stays."

"And the groom?"

"Not your concern."

Odette tapped her pen against her clipboard. "Miss Whitlock, Alpha Blackthorn's office called last week to say the event was postponed. Again."

"Did he call you himself?"

"His assistant did."

"Then he never asked what's booked, did he?" I smiled, and it felt stiff on my face. "Seven years, Odette. I picked the flowers, the music, the cake, the vows. He never once asked which venue."

She set the pen down. "What do you want to keep?"

"The moonflowers. White roses. The open-air ceremony on the terrace under the moon." I swallowed. "It isn't a wedding anymore. It's a rebirth rite. Mine."

Odette studied me for a long moment. Then she nodded. "I'll make it beautiful."

---

The gown shop on Lantern Street smelled like steam and starch. The manager, a sharp-eyed woman named Margot Pell, brought out a silver-white dress with a simple neckline and sleeves like mist.

It fit like it had waited for me.

"Oh, that's lovely on you," Margot said, circling me with pins. "Much simpler than the other one, of course."

I caught her gaze in the mirror. "The other one?"

"The custom piece. Alpha Blackthorn ordered it three months ago. Moon-silver diamonds sewn through the whole train." She lowered her voice like she was sharing a sweet secret. "The price could buy a house on the bay. We all assumed it was a surprise for you."

"What size?"

Margot blinked. She flipped through her ledger, and her smile faded.

"That's odd. It's... quite a bit smaller through the waist. Shorter, too."

Vivienne was half a head shorter than me. She had been since we were girls.

"Miss Whitlock, I'm sure it's an error—"

"Cancel it," I said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Every order with his name on it. Cancel all of them."

Her mouth opened, then closed. "Of course."

I looked at myself in the silver dress and didn't let my chin shake.

---

The terrace filled by sunset. Half the North's high-born wolves came, and every one of them knew the groom wasn't coming.

I heard them before I reached the doors.

"Fifth delay. And she's still going through with it?"

"Poor thing doesn't know when to quit."

"Or she thinks he'll show if she shames him enough."

Someone laughed behind a champagne glass.

I walked in anyway. Moonflowers climbed every column, pale and glowing. The smell of white roses filled the hall. Something still ached under my ribs, a small, sour knot.

But I wasn't watching the door for Callum. Not anymore.

The Moon Bell's attendant raised his mallet.

Then the doors banged open.

"Sloane!"

Vivienne swept in with the pup on her hip and a smile bright as a blade. Every head turned.

"Congratulations, big sister," she sang. "I couldn't miss your special day."

"You weren't invited."

"Don't be like that." She leaned in close, cheek almost touching mine, and her voice dropped to silk. "I just wanted you to know something. Callum told me once that when you lost your first baby, he was relieved. He said he finally didn't have to be chained to you. Or a pup."

The hall went soundless in my head.

My hand moved before my mind did.

Red wine splashed across her face. Then my palm cracked against her cheek so hard my fingers stung.

Vivienne went down like she'd been waiting for it. She curled around the pup on the marble floor and screamed.

"She attacked my baby! Somebody help! She tried to hurt him!"

The pup began to wail.

"Vivienne!"

Callum's voice. He shoved through the crowd, coat flying open, eyes locked on her. He dropped beside her for one second. Then he rose and turned to me.

He didn't ask a single question.

His hand swung.

The slap snapped my head sideways. My body was still weak from the hospital, and my knees gave. I stumbled backward into the champagne tower.

Glass exploded around me.

Shards bit into my arm. Warm blood ran down my wrist and soaked into the silver silk, blooming red across the skirt.

Callum looked down at me like I was something stuck to his shoe.

"You'd do anything to force this wedding, wouldn't you? Even hurt a child?" His voice carried to every corner. "It's over, Sloane. There is no wedding. Guards, get her out."

Two guards stepped forward.

I lifted my eyes to the crowd. Elder Fenwick's wife, whose son I'd nursed through fever. The Corwin twins, whose debts I'd quietly paid. One by one, they looked away.

"Pathetic," someone whispered.

I waited for the shame to burn. It didn't come. Something cold settled into its place, smooth and clean.

I almost smiled.

The first guard reached for my bleeding arm.

The doors slammed open again.

A wave of power rolled through the hall. Heavy. Foreign. Every wolf in the room felt it in their spine. Glasses rattled on the tables. The guard froze with his hand an inch from my skin.

A man in a black suit walked in. Tall. Broad. His silver-gray eyes swept the room once and landed on Callum. They stayed there, flat and cold, until Callum's shoulders tensed.

Then he looked at me.

Rhys Ashford crossed the floor in long strides. Glass crunched under his shoes. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, covering the blood.

He didn't ask what happened. He just slid his arms under me and lifted me off the floor like I weighed nothing.

"I'm late," he murmured against my hair. "But nobody will ever hurt you again. Not while I'm breathing."

My fingers closed around his shirt. They were shaking.

Rhys turned to face the hall. His voice wasn't loud. It didn't have to be.

"Seven years ago, the Ashford family was driven from the North. My promise to Sloane Whitlock, sealed under the Moon Goddess, was broken by force." His eyes burned silver. "Tonight, I'm here to keep it."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Callum took a step forward. "Sloane. Get down. Now."

Rhys didn't stop walking.

I looked back over Rhys's shoulder at the man I'd given seven years to. His hand hung at his side, the silver scar catching the moonlight.

For the first time, his face looked lost.

"Sloane," he said again, quieter.

Then the Moon Bell rang.

Nobody had struck it.