The pack house felt different after the call.

Not quieter. Not emptier. Just different. Like the air had changed weight. Wolves who used to brush past me in the hallways now pressed themselves against the walls when I walked by. The Deltas who'd cornered me at the Banquet avoided the great hall entirely when I was there. Even Garrett, Cruz's ever-loyal Beta, kept his distance, watching me from across rooms with something that looked like fear.

Cruz, on the other hand, wouldn't leave me alone.

He found me in the Luna quarters two days after I made the call. I was folding laundry — my own laundry, because no one in this pack house did anything for me anymore — when the door slammed open. No knock. No warning.

"You're going to cancel it," Cruz said. His voice carried that Alpha edge, the one that used to make my knees buckle. "Call him back. Tell him you made a mistake."

I set down the shirt I was holding and looked at him. He was still handsome. Sharp jaw, broad shoulders, eyes the color of winter storms. Five years ago, I'd thought he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Now I just saw the crack in his collarbone where the rogue's claw had missed his throat by an inch. The scar I'd earned saving his life.

"No," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "That wasn't a request."

"I know."

He stepped closer. The Alpha aura rolled off him in waves, thick and oppressive, trying to force my wolf into submission. Cinder snarled but stayed low. She wasn't bowing. Not anymore.

"You have nowhere to go without this pack," Cruz said. His voice dropped, quieter now, almost reasonable. "No family. No allies. You think Marcellus is going to protect you? He's Lycan royalty. You're nothing to him."

I picked up another shirt. Started folding.

"If you go through with this," Cruz continued, "I'll demote you. Omega status. You'll scrub floors and serve meals until you beg me to take you back."

I set the folded shirt on the pile and met his eyes. "Okay."

He blinked. Like he'd expected me to break. To cry. To argue.

I just stood there, waiting for him to leave.

He did. Eventually. The door didn't slam this time. It closed soft and final, like a coffin lid.

Cinder whispered in my head. *Good.*

---

The nausea started three days later.

At first, I thought it was stress. I'd barely eaten since the Banquet. Hadn't slept more than a few hours a night. My body was running on spite and determination, and neither of those were particularly nourishing.

But when I bent over the kitchen sink one morning, dizzy and sweating, my wolf went completely still.

*No,* Cinder breathed.

I gripped the counter. Waited for the room to stop spinning.

*Check,* she said. *Now.*

I didn't want to. I didn't want to know. But my feet carried me through the pack house anyway, down the narrow hallway to the healer's clinic. The door was unlocked. It always was.

Evelyn Hayes looked up from her desk when I walked in. She was old, older than any wolf I'd ever met, with silver hair pulled back in a braid and hands that never shook. She'd been the Shadowridge healer for forty years. She'd delivered half the pack, including Cruz.

"Luna," she said, standing. Her voice was warm. She was one of the few wolves who still used my title like it meant something. "What brings you in?"

I sat down in the chair across from her desk. My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against my thighs.

"I need a test," I said.

She didn't ask what kind. She just nodded, reached into a drawer, and pulled out a small vial and a silver needle.

The test took three minutes. I watched the clock on the wall, counting every second, while Evelyn worked in silence. When she finally looked up, her face was soft.

"You're carrying, dear," she said quietly. "About four weeks along."

The world tilted.

Cinder surged forward in my mind, alert and awake for the first time in months. *Pup. Our pup.*

I pressed my hand against my stomach. Flat. Empty. Except it wasn't.

"An Alpha heir," Evelyn added. She was smiling now, cautious but genuine. "Strong aura already. You'll feel it soon."

I nodded. I couldn't speak. My throat had closed up, tight and burning.

For one fragile, stupid moment, I let myself imagine it. A pup. Mine. Something worth protecting. Something that might finally matter to Cruz, might finally make him see me as more than the broken Luna he was ashamed of.

Cinder growled. *Don't.*

But I couldn't help it. Hope was a weed. It grew even in scorched earth.

---

I found the swapped supplements two days later.

I'd gone to the healer's office to pick up prenatal vitamins. Evelyn handed me a bottle with careful instructions, telling me to take them every morning with food. I carried them back to my quarters and set them on the bathroom counter next to the other bottles Cruz had given me months ago.

Something didn't match.

I picked up the old bottle. Read the label. Then read it again.

Contraceptive blend. Healer-approved.

My hands went cold.

I opened the pack healer's records on my phone — I still had access, technically, as Luna — and searched for my name. The order was there. Submitted five weeks ago. Authorized by Alpha Cruz Griffin. Notes in the margin: *Patient may attempt fraudulent pregnancy claim. Preventative measure approved.*

I set the phone down. My pulse was steady. My breathing was even.

Cinder didn't snarl. She didn't rage.

She just went quiet. The kind of quiet that came before wolves ripped out throats.

I took the real prenatal vitamins and walked to the Omega quarters. No one stopped me. No one ever watched the Omegas. I found an empty room, unlocked a drawer with a hairpin, and hid the bottle inside.

Then I went back to my quarters, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling until dawn.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

I just lay there, one hand pressed against my stomach, protecting the only thing Cruz had ever given me that mattered.

And I understood, with perfect, crystalline clarity, exactly what kind of wolf my mate was.

The pack gossip network moved faster than any mind-link.

I knew that. I'd watched it work for five years, spreading rumors about my hearing loss, my bloodline, my worth. So when I caught three she-wolves whispering outside the dining hall two days after my clinic visit, I wasn't surprised. Just careful.

Amber's name floated through their conversation. Then mine. Then the word "pup."

I kept walking. Cinder stirred in my head, uneasy. *They know.*

*Let them,* I thought back. *It changes nothing.*

But it did. I could feel it in the way wolves looked at me now. Not with the usual contempt. With calculation. An Alpha heir meant power. It meant my Luna claim couldn't be dismissed anymore, couldn't be buried under Cruz's shame and Amber's ambition.

It made me dangerous.

I started taking different routes through the pack house. Avoided the main corridors during shift changes when bodies packed the hallways. Stayed out of rooms with only one exit. Old habits from my days as a border scout, back when I'd been valued for something other than the mark on my neck.

But I got careless.

The east wing stairwell was supposed to be empty at this hour. Most wolves were on the training grounds or in the kitchens prepping for the evening meal. I'd used this route a dozen times in the past week, slipping from the healer's wing down to the Omega quarters to check on my hidden vitamins.

I pushed open the stairwell door and started down.

The scent hit me halfway to the first landing. Jasmine. Cloying and artificial and too sweet.

I stopped. Tilted my head right, listening.

Footsteps above me. Light. Deliberate.

I turned.

Amber stood on the landing, one hand resting on the railing. She wasn't smiling. Wasn't scowling. Her face was blank, almost serene, like she'd just finished a pleasant conversation and was heading somewhere nice.

"Luna," she said. Her voice was soft. Friendly, even.

I didn't answer. My pulse kicked up. Cinder growled low in my chest. *Run.*

But I didn't run. I just stood there, one step below the landing, watching Amber descend toward me with that same empty expression.

She stopped two steps above. Close enough to touch.

"Congratulations," she said. "I heard the news."

I shifted my weight, angling toward the railing so I had space to move. "Thanks."

"It's a shame, really." She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she'd just solved. "All that effort. And for what?"

I opened my mouth to answer.

She moved.

Both hands shot forward, palms flat against my shoulders, and shoved.

I didn't have time to brace. Didn't have time to grab the railing or shift my weight or do anything except twist, instinct screaming to protect my stomach as the world inverted and concrete steps slammed into my spine.

Once. Twice. Three times.

My head cracked against the edge of a step. My ribs took the next impact. Then my hip. My wrist snapped back at an angle that sent fire shooting up my arm.

I hit the bottom landing and stopped moving.

The pain came in waves. Sharp and blinding and everywhere at once. I tried to breathe. Couldn't. My lungs wouldn't expand. My mouth tasted like copper.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Amber descended the stairs, her heels clicking softly against the concrete. She reached the bottom landing and stepped over me, one foot on either side of my ribs. I tried to look up. Couldn't lift my head.

She paused. I felt her shadow fall across my face.

Then she kept walking. The stairwell door opened. Closed.

Silence.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, watching the fluorescent lights blur and swim. My right hand was pressed against my stomach. Warm. Wet.

Cinder howled.

It wasn't a sound. It was a feeling, a soul-deep scream that tore through my chest and left nothing behind. She howled and howled and then, mid-cry, she just stopped.

Gone.

Not sleeping. Not hiding.

Gone.

I closed my eyes. The pain was fading now, replaced by a cold, spreading numbness that started in my stomach and crawled outward. My fingers were slick. The floor beneath me was slick.

I thought about the pup. Four weeks along. Strong aura, Evelyn had said.

Not anymore.

Footsteps again. Running this time. A voice, distant and frantic.

"Luna! Oh goddess, Luna, stay with me—"

Evelyn's face swam into view, her silver braid falling over one shoulder as she knelt beside me. Her hands moved quickly, checking my pulse, pressing something soft against my stomach. Her lips were moving but I couldn't hear the words. My right ear was ringing. My left ear was useless.

She lifted me. I didn't feel it. Just watched the ceiling slide past, the fluorescent lights strobing overhead, until we reached the clinic and the lights turned white and sterile.

Evelyn laid me on a table. Her hands were gentle. Her face was wet.

She worked in silence. I watched her mouth form words I couldn't hear. Watched her pull out instruments and vials and gauze. Watched her hands slow, then stop, then press against her own mouth as she turned away.

I already knew.

The pup was gone.

The room tilted. Evelyn turned back, her face composed now, professional. She cleaned my wounds. Bandaged my wrist. Pressed something cool against the back of my head. Then she pulled a thin silver seal from a locked drawer, wrote something on a document I couldn't see, and pressed the seal into the paper.

Lycan medical seal.

She tucked the document into an envelope, locked it in the drawer, and finally looked at me.

Her lips moved. I read them clearly this time.

*I'm sorry.*

I closed my eyes.

Somewhere deep inside, where Cinder used to be, there was nothing but silence.

I woke to the sound of boots on tile.

Not Evelyn's soft-soled shoes. Not the quiet shuffle of Omega attendants. Heavy. Purposeful. The kind of footsteps that announced authority before the wolf even entered the room.

I didn't open my eyes. My body felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. The bandages around my ribs pulled tight when I breathed. My wrist throbbed in its splint. The IV in my arm tugged at the crook of my elbow.

The footsteps stopped beside the bed.

"Get out," Cruz said.

A pause. Then Evelyn's voice, low and careful. "Alpha, she needs rest—"

"I said get out."

The door opened. Closed. Silence.

I opened my eyes.

Cruz stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his face carved from stone. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the ultrasound images Evelyn had left on the bedside table. Three glossy prints, each one showing a tiny blur of white against the black.

Four weeks along, the notes said. Strong aura.

Had said.

Cruz picked up the top image. Held it up to the light like he was inspecting currency. His jaw worked. His eyes narrowed.

"When were you going to tell me?" His voice was flat. No anger yet. Just cold, clinical curiosity.

I didn't answer. My throat was too dry. My tongue felt thick.

He set the image down. Picked up the second one. Studied it the same way.

"Four weeks," he said. "That's convenient timing. Right after you called Marcellus. Right after you made yourself untouchable." He looked at me now. His eyes were winter storms. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?"

I stared at him. My pulse was steady. My breathing even. Cinder wasn't there to snarl or rage or tell me to run. There was just silence where she used to be.

"You faked this," Cruz said. Not a question. A statement. He tapped the ultrasound with one finger. "You got Evelyn to forge these. Probably paid her off. Or threatened her. Whatever it took to make me look like the villain when Marcellus shows up."

I tried to speak. My lips moved but no sound came out.

Cruz picked up the third image. Turned it over. Checked the back like he expected to find evidence of tampering.

"You're smart," he continued. "I'll give you that. Calling the Lycan King. Claiming I abused you. Now this." He held up the ultrasound. "A convenient miscarriage to seal the deal. Make sure everyone thinks I'm a monster."

He was still talking. I watched his mouth move. Watched the way his hands gripped the glossy paper, knuckles white.

Then he tore it in half.

The sound was soft. Almost gentle. Like fabric ripping.

He tore it again. And again. The pieces fluttered down onto the bed, onto my lap, onto the white hospital blanket that was still stained with my blood.

He picked up the second image. Tore it apart the same way. Methodical. Thorough.

The third image joined the others. Shredded into confetti. The pieces scattered across the blanket, across my hands, across the IV line taped to my arm.

Cruz brushed his palms together, clearing away invisible dust.

"You're a broken-eared she-wolf," he said. His voice was steady now. Calm. Like he was explaining something simple to a child. "You clung to a title you never deserved. You saved my life once, and you've been holding it over my head ever since. Like I owe you something. Like that one moment of usefulness makes up for five years of inadequacy."

I looked down at the shredded images. At the tiny fragments of white and black scattered across my lap.

"You manufactured this drama," Cruz continued, "because you have nothing else. No family. No rank. No wolf worth mentioning. Just a savior complex and a desperate need for attention."

He stepped back from the bed. Adjusted his jacket.

"When Marcellus gets here," he said, "I'll explain everything. He's Lycan royalty. He'll see through this pathetic performance. And when he does, you'll have nothing. No pack. No title. No mate."

He turned toward the door. Reached for the handle.

It didn't move.

He pulled again. Harder this time. The handle stayed locked.

A shadow fell across the frosted glass window in the door. Tall. Broad. Completely still.

The temperature in the room dropped.

Cruz's hand fell away from the handle. He took a step back. His Alpha aura flickered, trying to assert dominance, then collapsed under the weight of something infinitely heavier pressing against the other side of the door.

I felt it even through the IV drugs and the blood loss and the hollow space where Cinder used to be. A presence. Ancient and absolute. The kind of power that didn't need to announce itself because every wolf within a mile could feel it in their bones.

Lycan.

The door opened.

Marcellus Woods stepped into the room, and the air itself seemed to bow.