"I personally borrowed five hundred thousand gold-marks from the neutral territories. I endured over a thousand days and nights of grinding labor, and we finally established our dominion last year."

"After all that suffering together, how dare you claim you built this territory alone?"

The evidence was overwhelming.

I had the blood-sealed debt scrolls from when I'd borrowed the gold-marks.

I had memory-crystals showing us celebrating moon-cycles in that cramped, run-down den during the early days.

Every trace of our struggle to build this pack's holdings from nothing—how could any of it be erased?

Ronan drew a deep breath, his Alpha scent souring with frustration. "I can give you something. But not much. A hundred thousand gold-marks."

A territory worth tens of millions in resources and influence, and he was offering me a hundred thousand.

My vision blurred. Not from tears.

From the aftershock of bonding with a wolf I'd never truly known.

It took me a long moment to steady myself enough to speak normally. "There has to be a reason. Give me a reason for the hundred thousand."

Ronan inhaled and spoke as if stating something perfectly reasonable: "She's carrying a pup. She's bearing my heir during her Heat. And you—you can't produce pups."

That reason nearly knocked me off my feet.

So that was it.

"But being unable to bear pups—is that really a reason?"

"There are so many healer remedies now. Carrying a pup isn't impossible for barren Omegas. So why are you saying I can't?"

I laughed, mocking him.

And as I laughed, it suddenly clicked.

"You never loved me. Raven is the one you've always wanted, isn't she? Once you had power and territory, you went running back to your first choice to have pups with her."

"But have you forgotten how she used to treat you? Do you have some kind of submission-sickness?"

In my memory, Raven Ashthorne had tormented Ronan more times than I could count.

Before we'd built ourselves up from nothing, that Omega from the rival territory had made his life hell.

She'd forced him to eat scraps meant for the lowest-ranked wolves. Made him kneel and bare his throat before her.

On our mating ceremony day, she'd shown up at the sacred grounds and set the bonding altar ablaze.

Our ritual had only made it halfway through.

After all that suffering, Ronan—and his entire pack—were now protecting this female. I couldn't wrap my head around it.

When I exposed the truth, Ronan scrambled to cover it up.

"That's all in the past. Why bring it up now?"

The pack Elders didn't seem to mind either.

Of course not. After all, she was carrying a pup now.

I lifted my chin, forcing the tears back.

"Ronan, you've loved her for years. Now that you're a powerful Alpha and she's carrying your heir, you brought her back."

"You got your pack Elders to accept her. All of you, letting bygones be bygones. How pathetic can you be?"

A clawed hand cracked across my face.

I stumbled, barely catching myself.

The burning sting on my cheek deepened my despair—but it also hardened something inside me.

"Bonded assets. I'm still entitled to an equal split of our shared territory."

"Ronan, don't push this too far. I've agreed to the Bond Dissolution. But if you think I'm walking away with nothing—"

I swept my gaze around the great hall of the central den.

My voice came out iron-hard: "If you force me to leave empty-handed, I'll die right here in this longhouse."

I'd never been one to make scenes or throw tantrums.

If they hadn't pushed me this far, I would have kept my dignity intact.

But leaving with nothing? That was the one thing I couldn't accept. My parents were in poor health, dependent on expensive healer tinctures and suppressants.

Ronan's eyes went bloodshot at my words, his wolf rising close to the surface.

"It's not leaving with nothing. I'm giving you a hundred thousand gold-marks."

"That's all you're getting. If we're talking about building this territory from nothing, I'm the one who did the real work."

I stared at him, stunned.

He was comparing labor with me?

We were in the den-restoration trade.

When we first started our small crew, we'd gone to clients' dens ourselves—measuring chambers, reinforcing walls with our own claws, hauling heavy stone and timber.

Sure, he was stronger in his shifted form. He'd done more of the physical work.

But I'd handled everything else. Running to the market stalls at dawn, cooking every meal over the fire pit, keeping us fed and functioning through harsh winters.

And now, today, it had become his hard work that mattered—implying I'd contributed nothing.

My voice tore out of me: "Ronan, you're disgusting."

Ronan waved his hand, already done with me. "Mother, Father—throw her out of the den. Bar the gates behind her."

The Elder pair closed in on me, their hostility thick as smoke in the air. I could smell the aggression rolling off them in waves—sharp, metallic, unmistakable.

The Pack Patriarch yanked open the heavy oak doors of the longhouse. Bitter winter wind howled through the entryway, carrying ice and the scent of frozen pines.

The Matriarch didn't hesitate. "Out you go. You have no place in this den."

"Matriarch Rowena, that fur-lined cloak you're wearing—I traded three moon-cycles of restoration work for it. Premium winter pelts from the northern territories."

Her gaze dropped for just a heartbeat before she shot back, "That was purchased with my son's hunting grounds and resources."

Raven's voice drifted from behind her, soft and deliberate, her scent curling through the air like honeyed poison. "Don't worry. I'll provide for you too. Finer things. More valuable."

The old she-wolf's face split into a triumphant smile, her teeth glinting in the firelight.

"You heard her. Now get out. I have a daughter by bond—a true one—and she's about to give me a grandpup."

When I didn't move, she shoved me. Hard.

Wolves who've worked the land have strong hands. And hers held nothing back.

I couldn't brace against the force. My feet skidded toward the doorway, one stumbling step after another across the stone floor.

Five years of mating bond. And this was how it ended—on Midwinter Turning Night.

My eyes found Ronan over his mother's shoulder. His scent had gone cold, distant, like a stranger's.

"Ronan. Tell me. When did you fall for her?"

Raven answered instead, her voice dripping with gentle venom. "I'll admit, I gave him a hard time back then. But do you know why?"

I held my breath, my wolf pressing against my ribs, desperate to break free.

"Because he sent me ninety-nine scent-marked courtship tokens. Kept sending them, one after another, each one drenched in his longing. I just wasn't ready to accept a claim yet."

The past I thought I knew crumbled to ash.

My body began to shake. For ten, maybe fifteen heartbeats, my mind went completely blank. My wolf howled somewhere deep inside me, wounded and raw.

So that was it. He'd been sending courtship tokens to Raven.

While I comforted him through his supposed rejection. While I let him mark me, bond with me, build a life with me.

What a fool I'd been.

While I stood there reeling, the old she-wolf shoved me again—harder this time.

I stumbled backward onto the front steps of the longhouse and slid several feet across the icy ground, snow soaking through my clothes.

Snow drifted down in silence, broken only by the sound of the heavy iron bolt sliding into place.

I picked myself up, brushing snow from my clothes, my dignity in tatters. The cold bit into my skin, but my wolf's warmth kept me from freezing.

At least I still had my traveling cart and the horses.

I climbed inside and wrapped myself in the spare furs, but the wind still found its way through the cracks. The wheels would never move through this ice—the horses couldn't find purchase on the frozen ground.

No traveling tonight. I'd have to make do here.

The provisions I'd brought—all preserved meats and honeyed drinks for the gathering—sat untouched in the storage compartment. At least I wouldn't go hungry.

My heart burned with injustice. But I'd be damned if I didn't take care of myself.

Once I'd eaten my fill, I pulled out my communication crystal.

Almost without thinking, I sent a pulse to an old friend I hadn't spoken to in many moons.

"You trained at the healer-coven with Raven Ashthorne, right? Do you remember her?"

The reply came fast, the crystal warming with urgency: "Raven Ashthorne is still ALIVE? She didn't die?"

I blinked at the glowing surface. "She's alive. Perfectly fine, as far as I can tell."

The crystal pulsed and flickered for three full minutes before her response appeared.

"Why are you asking about her?"

Her tone had shifted—serious now. I matched it.

"She's at my den. Planning to spend Midwinter Turning Night with my pack."

What followed was an avalanche. Over a dozen voice-imbued messages, each one filled to bursting with words.

My stomach dropped. Hazel Frostvale was known for being scattered, never using ten words when two would do. Something was very wrong.

Her voice poured through the crystal, urgent and unrelenting.

"Get her out of there. She carries a blood-rot curse. A severe one."

"With what she has, a simple wound-fever could kill her. She's been carrying it for three years—I was there when she got diagnosed at our healer-coven."

"How could you let her into your den? Have you lost your senses?"

"..."

More messages followed—sealed healer documents, curse-trace records, detailed examinations.

But no matter how much she sent, three words burned brightest.

Blood-rot curse.

A severe one.

I pressed my fingers to the crystal: "Can she still carry pups?"

The answer came immediately: "Then you're all doomed. It passes from Omega to pup during gestation or nursing. No cure. Ever."

I stared at the files filling my vision, the healer-script glowing faintly in the darkness of the cart.

For a long moment, I couldn't speak. Couldn't decide if this was tragedy or justice.

One thing was clear: based on everything I'd witnessed that night, Ronan and his pack had no idea what curse they'd welcomed into their den.

A gust of frozen wind cut across my face like claws, and I shuddered—my mind snapping into sharp focus.

I threw open the carriage door and ran back to the Nightclaw estate, pounding on the heavy oak doors like a wolf gone feral.

The door cracked open just a sliver. "What do you want?"

Rowena's face filled the gap, her silver-streaked fur bristling at her temples.

I looked past her, my eyes locking onto Ronan as he comforted Raven, stroking her dark hair while her scent curled possessively around him.

My voice rang out, sharp and clear: "Ronan."

He glanced over, irritation flickering in his amber gaze—a look so cold it chilled me deeper than the winter storm ever could.

But the past was smoke. From this moment on, I would carry no more longing for a bond already broken.

I swallowed every emotion and said the words I never thought I'd say: "Let's dissolve the bond."