The healer didn’t make me sit down first.

That was how I knew the news was going to be bad—when even the gentlest hands forgot kindness for a moment, when the room smelled too sharply of crushed sage and iron, and when the silver basin beside the cot had already been set out as if my body might fail right there.

Master Vaelorian stood across from me with a scroll in one hand and a strip of moonstone in the other. The moonstone had been dipped into my blood. It should’ve glowed warm—steady, living.

Instead, it flickered like a dying ember.

“Eirlys,” he said softly, “your moon-blood isn’t holding.”

I stared at the flicker, waiting for my mind to catch up. “That’s… that just means we adjust the dosage. We try another draught.”

His gaze dropped—not to the scroll, not to my wrist, but to my eyes, the way healers look at wolves they can’t save.

“We’ve adjusted everything we can.” He exhaled. “Your blood isn’t feeding your wolf anymore. Your healing is slowing. Your strength will keep bleeding out with every full moon.”

My throat tightened. “So what do we do?”

“There is only one cure left,” he said. “A blood-binding ritual. A transfer. You need a matching strain—same resonance, same moonline.”

My fingers went cold. “A match.”

He nodded once.

I waited, breath shallow, because I already knew what came next. There weren’t many wolves with blood like mine. The Vale line was old—too old, too thin, too rare.

“You have…” I swallowed. “How long?”

He didn’t hesitate. That was worse than pity.

“One lunar cycle,” he said. “Maybe less, if the next moon hits you hard.”

The room tipped. Not enough for me to fall—just enough for me to feel how close the edge really was.

A month.

A month to watch my body betray me. A month to become a burden. A month to be mourned while I still breathed.

I forced my hands to stop shaking by curling them into fists. “Then tell me the match.”

He paused, like he didn’t want to say the name out loud. “The only confirmed match is… Vaelis.”

My chest went tight.

Of course it was her.

Vaelis—the woman everyone in the pack whispered about as my “twin,” because she wore my face like a familiar lie and carried a scent so close to my own that even elders had squinted at us under moonlight and murmured about shared blood. She’d arrived years ago with a smile too polished and a story too convenient. She’d stayed because no one wanted to challenge the idea that fate sometimes made duplicates.

And because my mate—my Alpha—had never told her to leave.

“She’s the only one?” I asked, though the answer was already a blade in my ribs.

Master Vaelorian’s expression hardened. “The only one who will test compatible. The only one who can give you enough to survive the binding.”

My lungs wouldn’t fill properly.

I left the healer’s lodge in a daze, the cold night air biting at my cheeks, the sky stretched wide and cruel above the pines. The pack lands were quiet—too quiet for a territory that belonged to Blackthorn wolves. Somewhere in the dark, sentries paced. Somewhere, distant howls braided into the wind.

Somewhere, Kaelrion Blackthorn existed as if my world hadn’t just cracked.

I pulled my cloak tighter and forced myself to walk, because collapsing in the snow would not change anything. Wolves didn’t die dramatically. They died slowly, with pride gnawed down to bone.

My phone was heavy in my palm. Modern glass, old problems.

I pressed call.

Kaelrion.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then the line cut.

I stared at the screen until it dimmed, then called again, because denial is a kind of faith.

Straight to silence.

My heartbeat turned ugly—too fast, too loud—like it was trying to run ahead of the truth.

I made it halfway down the lodge steps before my screen lit up with a notification. Not from him.

From her.

Vaelis’s profile slid onto my display like a taunt.

A new post on MoonGram.

My thumb hovered, then tapped before I could stop myself.

There she was—bathed in warm lamplight, hair curled perfectly over one shoulder, mouth curved into something soft enough to fool strangers. Her hand was tangled with a man’s fingers.

I knew those fingers.

I knew that scar across the knuckle. I’d traced it in bed when he’d come home bloodied from a border skirmish, when he’d grunted that it was nothing and then let me kiss it anyway.

Kaelrion’s hand.

My vision tunneled, sharp at the center and blurred at the edges.

The caption was worse.

The Alpha I’ve loved in silence is finally mine. Even if it’s only for a month, I’ll treasure every night.

My thumb slipped.

I liked it.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until a tear hit the screen and smeared her perfect face.

Less than a minute later, my phone began to vibrate like it was panicking with me.

Kaelrion.

Kaelrion.

Kaelrion.

I answered on the third call because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking and because some part of me still believed he’d say, This isn’t real.

“Eirlys—don’t hang up,” he said immediately, voice rough and urgent. “Please. Just listen.”

I didn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, I was afraid I’d howl.

“I know what you saw,” he continued. “It’s not what you think.”

My throat burned. “Then tell me what it is.”

A beat of silence. A breath. The sound of him choosing words the way men choose weapons.

“Vaelis agreed to give you her blood,” he said. “For the binding. She’ll do it. But only if I… if I give her one lunar month. Publicly.”

My spine went rigid. “Publicly.”

“She demanded it,” he said, too fast, as if speed could make it cleaner. “A month where I stand beside her. Where I act as her mate in the pack’s eyes. It’s a deal, Eirlys. A sacrifice. I’m doing it for you.”

I swallowed pain like it was water. “You’re going to pretend to be hers.”

“Yes,” he said. Then, softer: “You’re my Luna. You’re my life. I can’t lose you.”

My laugh came out wrong—thin and broken. “Then why does it feel like you didn’t hate saying yes?”

He didn’t answer.

I could hear him breathing on the other end, and that quiet—his hesitation—was louder than any confession.

Because I remembered.

I remembered Kaelrion in the early days, when he’d still been learning how to be gentle, when the pack feared him and I didn’t. He’d been cruel to everyone else—sharp commands, colder punishments—but with me, he’d softened like a blade warmed in a forge.

When my wolf had first faltered, he’d carried me across half the territory without letting me touch the ground. When my bones had ached so badly I couldn’t sleep, he’d left his war council at midnight and returned with herbs and warm broth, glaring at anyone who dared look surprised. When I’d mentioned a silver comb once, only once, he’d brought me a handcrafted piece the next week, as if hunting down artisans was as natural as hunting prey.

And when Master Vaelorian had spoken the first warning months ago—moon-blood instability—Kaelrion had held my face between his hands like he was afraid I’d disappear.

“If you stop fighting, I stop,” he’d said. “Don’t leave me.”

He’d gone everywhere after that. Hidden healers. Rogue witches. Forbidden markets that traded in artifacts the packs outlawed. He’d offered gold, favors, threats. He’d even offered his own blood, though we both knew it wouldn’t match.

I’d caught him once in his study, staring at a blank page with a quill shaking in his grip, writing a will he couldn’t finish.

He hadn’t looked ashamed. He’d looked terrified.

So why did my chest feel like it was splitting now?

And why was Vaelis always there—in the cracks, in the delays, in the small betrayals that were easy to excuse until they stacked too high?

She had promised the blood-binding before. More than once. Then she’d found a reason to postpone.

First, she claimed her wolf was “too weak” from stress. Kaelrion stayed with her through the night, leaving me alone in our den with my fever and my pride.

Second, she said she was having “night terrors.” He escorted her to the healers as if she were the one dying.

Third, she announced she was “sick,” and on the same day I’d collapsed after a failed tonic, the sentries told me the Alpha had ridden out to her cabin.

Now she wanted something new.

A lunar month.

A public claim.

A photo with his hand in hers, her caption rubbing salt into my ribs.

“Kaelrion,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. It came out thin anyway. “Offer her gold. Offer her lands. Offer her anything. I don’t care how much. Just—don’t stand beside her like that. Don’t give her the title.”

Silence.

I heard his breathing again, slow and careful, like he was bracing for my anger.

Then he said quietly, “We already owe her a lot. I don’t want to pressure her. She’s helping you. We should be grateful.”

Something snapped behind my ribs.

“Owe her?” I whispered. “And what do you owe me, Kaelrion? Five years? A bond sworn under the Moon? Or are those debts too easy to forget?”

He didn’t answer.

Then—faintly—another voice drifted through the line, soft and sweet in the exact way poison can be sweet.

“Kaelrion,” Vaelis said, dragging his name as if she owned it. “I cut my palm. It stings. Come here.”

His tone changed instantly, sharp with concern I hadn’t heard aimed at me in weeks.

“I’ll call you later,” he said quickly. “She needs me.”

And the call ended.

Just like that.

I stood there on the lodge steps, the cold gnawing through my boots, staring at my dead screen as if I could revive it by will alone. It felt like something inside me had finally caved in—like I’d been hollowed out and there was nothing left to protect.

I turned slowly and walked back inside.

Master Vaelorian was still there, sorting herbs with calm hands, as if he hadn’t just handed me a death sentence.

I forced air into my lungs. “If I don’t get the binding,” I asked, voice barely louder than the crackle of the hearth, “how long do I have?”

He didn’t sugarcoat it.

“A month,” he said. “Maybe less.”

I nodded once, because falling apart in front of the healer would not make me stronger.

“I understand,” I said quietly.

Then, before my courage could flee, I added, “I won’t do it.”

His hands stilled. “Eirlys—”

“I won’t beg,” I corrected, the words scraping my throat raw. “I won’t survive by crawling for someone else’s mercy while my mate plays husband to a woman who wants me dead.”

Master Vaelorian’s gaze softened with something like sorrow, but he didn’t argue. He’d seen too many wolves die from sickness.

And too many die from love.

That evening, I returned to Blackthorn Hall.

The sky was bruised purple and gold, the kind of sunset that made the pack lands look almost gentle. For a moment, I let myself believe the world was offering me one last kindness. One last quiet breath before the storm.

The manor rose ahead—stone and iron and old money, the Alpha’s home carved into the bones of the forest. Torches burned along the entryway. Sentries watched me pass, their expressions carefully blank.

No one greeted me as Luna.

No one said, Welcome home.

I reached the doors and pushed them open.

Warmth spilled out, carrying the scent of wine… and something sharper beneath it.

Perfume. Sweet and bright and entirely wrong in my home.

Then I heard laughter—soft, feminine, pleased.

My stomach dropped, as if my body recognized betrayal before my mind could give it a name.

I stepped inside.

And whatever was left of me—whatever I’d been holding together through sheer will—began to break.

I stood in the doorway longer than I should have.

Blackthorn Hall looked the same—stone walls warmed by firelight, antlers mounted above the hearth, banners stitched with the pack sigil hanging in quiet authority. This place had once felt like the safest den in the world. Tonight, it felt staged. Rearranged.

Occupied.

Vaelis was curled against Kaelrion on the main couch as if she had always belonged there. Not sitting—curled. Her legs tucked beneath her, her head tilted just right so her hair brushed his shoulder. Too familiar. Too practiced.

She was feeding him fruit.

Not in a rushed way. Not shyly. Slowly, deliberately, like she had all the time in the world and wanted me to see exactly how she was using it.

“Eirlys!” Kaelrion shot to his feet the moment he saw me, nearly knocking over the low table. The movement was too quick, too rehearsed. Guilt and relief crossed his face at the same time. “You’re back. I—come here.”

He stepped toward me, hands out as if he could still pull me into his arms and make everything right by force alone.

I didn’t move.

Instead, my eyes went to the small velvet box he held out to me.

“I got you something,” he said, voice soft, coaxing. “If you take this… it means you agree. You’ll let me stay with her for the month. Just until the binding. Just say yes.”

I stared at the box.

A gift. An offering. A peace treaty wrapped in velvet.

“I don’t need it,” I said quietly. “I’ll agree even without that.”

The words surprised him.

“You will?” His eyes widened, hope flaring too fast. “You really mean that?”

“Yes.”

Each letter scraped my throat raw.

Vaelis was on her feet instantly, crossing the space between us with a brightness that made my skin crawl. She took my arm as if we were sisters again, as if she hadn’t just posted my mate’s hand on the internet like a trophy.

“Good,” she said sweetly. “Then we can all be comfortable, right? No jealousy. No misunderstandings.” She tilted her head at me, smile perfect. “Kaelrion’s only helping me fulfill a dream. Just one month.”

I slipped my arm free.

“I won’t be jealous.”

Kaelrion visibly relaxed, tension draining from his shoulders as if I’d passed some invisible test. He moved quickly, eager to fill the silence, rushing toward the kitchen.

“I made you something,” he said over his shoulder. “Soup. It’s good for your blood. You should eat.”

I watched him ladle it into a bowl with the same care he used to reserve for me alone. He brought it over himself, setting it gently into my hands like an offering to the Moon.

It smelled warm. Familiar.

I told myself not to hesitate.

I took one sip.

The burn hit instantly.

Not heat—wrongness. My throat tightened violently, lungs seizing as if they’d suddenly forgotten how to draw air. My vision swam.

“No—” I gasped, clutching my chest. “Kaelrion—this—”

My body reacted faster than thought. Wolf and flesh screaming in unison. My knees buckled as pain ripped through me, sharp and sudden and terrifyingly familiar.

“Shrimp,” I choked. “You put shrimp in this. Kaelrion—I’m allergic.”

The room exploded into motion.

“What?” He went pale, the bowl slipping from his hands and shattering on the floor. “No—no, that can’t be right. I thought—”

Vaelis stepped in smoothly, voice calm and helpful. “You’re mistaken,” she said, frowning lightly. “I’m allergic to peanuts. You remembered that, didn’t you? I told you last week.”

The world tilted.

He remembered hers.

Not mine.

My chest constricted violently, each breath coming shallower than the last. My hands trembled as I tried to stay upright, pain tearing through me like claws.

“Alpha!” someone shouted. “Get the healer!”

The last thing I saw before darkness crept in was Kaelrion’s face—panic-stricken now, shouting my name as if volume could undo what he’d already forgotten.

—

I woke to the steady rhythm of a healer’s chant and the bitter taste of antidote on my tongue.

My body felt heavy. Bruised from the inside. Like I’d been dragged back from the edge by force rather than choice.

Kaelrion sat beside the bed.

His eyes were red. Bloodshot. He was gripping my hand too tightly, knuckles white, as if afraid I’d dissolve if he let go.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I’m so sorry. It was a mistake. I mixed it up. I swear I won’t let this happen again.” His voice cracked. “I canceled everything. For the next few days, it’s just you. I promise.”

I turned my face away.

“You don’t need to apologize,” I said softly. “You already belong to her.”

He shook his head, panic flaring. “That’s not true. This isn’t real. It’s a deal, Eirlys. One month. I’m pretending so she’ll save you. Don’t twist this into something it’s not.”

I closed my eyes.

“Just remember what she likes,” I murmured. “Her allergies. Her habits. Take care of her.” A pause. “And stay out of my life.”

His breath hitched. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

The silence stretched.

Finally, he stood. “Rest,” he said hoarsely.

The door closed behind him with a sound heavier than a slammed gate.

I lay there long after he left, staring at the ceiling until the firelight blurred. My chest ached—not just from the reaction, but from something deeper. Something final.

A month.

That was all I had left.

Later that night, when the hall was quiet and my strength had returned just enough to move, I dragged myself out of bed and crossed to the far corner of the room. I knelt and pulled a dusty chest from beneath the wardrobe.

Inside was my life.

Old trinkets. Notes written in Kaelrion’s hand when he was still learning how to soften his words. A broken silver clasp from my first Luna mantle. Polaroids from before blood, borders, and betrayal.

In every image, he was looking at me.

I closed the lid and carried the box outside.

The night air bit into my skin as I lit the brazier. One by one, I fed the memories to the fire, watching paper curl and burn, silver blacken, laughter turn to ash.

“What are you doing?!”

The shout came too late.

Vaelis rushed toward me and shoved hard. The brazier tipped, hot coals scattering across the stone. Pain lanced up my arm as one struck skin.

“If you didn’t want me here, just say it!” she cried. “Why are you burning my things?!”

My teeth clenched. “These aren’t yours.”

Footsteps thundered.

Kaelrion appeared, grabbing her instantly, pulling her into his chest as if she were the one in danger.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded.

She clung to him, trembling. “She hates me so much she started burning my things. I was scared.”

His gaze finally landed on me.

There was no concern in it.

Only disappointment.

“How could you, Eirlys?” he said. “After everything she’s done for you?”

My fingers trembled as I reached into the ashes and lifted a half-burned photograph.

“Look,” I said, voice breaking. “These are mine. Our memories.”

For a heartbeat, he froze.

Then Vaelis whimpered. “My hand… I think I burned it.”

He released me without hesitation.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said urgently, already guiding her back inside.

I stood alone by the dying fire, ash clinging to my skin, watching the Alpha walk away with the woman who wore my place like a borrowed crown.

Something inside me finally went quiet.

And I knew—

this wasn’t about survival anymore.

It was about how much of myself I was willing to lose before I let the Moon take the rest.