“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.

My arm burned, but I barely felt it.

The sting from the scattered coals was sharp and immediate, yet it faded quickly—overshadowed by something deeper, heavier. I returned to my room alone, each step measured, each breath forced. Pride was a habit. Pain, an old companion.

I poured alcohol over the burn without flinching. The hiss against my skin was loud in the silence, biting hard enough to steal the air from my lungs. I gripped the edge of the dresser until my knuckles whitened, waiting for the pain to crest and pass.

It did.

Unlike everything else.

Once, Kaelrion would have panicked over a mark like this. A shallow cut, a bruise from training—he used to react as if the world were ending. I remembered him snapping orders at healers, pacing like a caged wolf, refusing to leave my side until I smiled just to calm him down.

Now he hadn’t even noticed.

I bound my arm and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing until the fire in the hearth burned low. Tears came then—not dramatic, not loud. They slid down quietly and soaked into the sleeve of my nightdress, stinging when they touched raw skin.

That night, I slept poorly.

And the days that followed proved something I hadn’t wanted to admit.

Vaelis didn’t need to fight me for my place.

She already had it.

She clung to Kaelrion constantly, as if afraid the pack might remember who stood beside him first. Wherever he went, she followed. Wherever he stopped, she leaned into him, smiling softly, eyes flicking toward me just long enough to make sure I noticed.

At meals, she pouted playfully and nudged his arm.

“Feed me,” she said once, tilting her head. “You know it tastes better when you do.”

I sat across from them, quietly pushing food around my plate while he lifted a piece of meat and brought it to her lips. She laughed, pleased, and leaned closer.

On the couch in the evenings, she curled into his side as if she belonged there, fingers fisted in his shirt.

“I hate loud noises,” she murmured during a movie. “Hold me tighter.”

He did.

Each time, she looked at me afterward, smile innocent.

“You don’t mind, right, Eirlys? You promised.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

I wasn’t sure when that sentence stopped being a lie.

My body, however, didn’t bother pretending.

The Moon weighed heavier each night. My limbs felt weak, my senses dulled. Shifting became painful, incomplete. I could feel my wolf curling inward, conserving what little strength she had left.

Vaelis was supposed to give her blood soon.

I stopped counting the days.

One afternoon, after a particularly bad spell of dizziness, I stood before the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back. My skin looked too pale. My eyes—once sharp, once proud—were dim.

That was when I made a decision.

I needed a photograph.

Not for identification. Not for records.

For my funeral.

The photographer blinked when I told him.

“For… what?”

“My funeral,” I repeated calmly. “I want it simple. Just one.”

His hands shook slightly as he adjusted the lens. I stood straight, shoulders back, and forced a small smile. The flash went off, briefly blinding.

That would be the one they put on the altar.

Alive. Whole. Still me.

When I returned to collect the print, laughter drifted in from the front of the shop.

I froze.

That voice—low, familiar, careless.

And hers—light, pleased.

They entered arm in arm, moving easily, as if this were a routine errand for a couple.

“Eirlys?” Vaelis said, feigning surprise. “What a coincidence.”

I slipped the photo into my pocket. “Just needed an ID picture.”

She leaned into Kaelrion, smiling. “Photo albums are important for couples. We took some earlier this week.”

Kaelrion glanced at me, almost apologetic. “She wanted memories.”

I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

She dragged me toward the counter anyway. “Help us choose,” she said sweetly. “You always had better taste.”

The screen lit up.

Image after image filled the monitor—sunset light, clasped hands, his arm around her waist, her head tipped back in laughter. They looked… happy.

My chest tightened painfully.

“Which one looks happiest?” she asked.

Before I could answer, chaos erupted.

A loud crash echoed as a shelf behind us gave way, metal groaning before collapsing. Kaelrion reacted instantly—lunging forward, wrapping Vaelis in his arms, turning his body to shield her.

I wasn’t so lucky.

A jagged edge struck my shoulder as I was knocked sideways. Pain exploded, hot and wet. I screamed as I hit the floor, blood soaking through my sleeve.

“Kaelrion!” Vaelis cried. “It hurts!”

He scooped her up without hesitation, panic etched across his face. “We need the healer. Now.”

Our eyes met for half a second.

Then he turned away and carried her out.

I dragged myself up and staggered to the healer alone.

The old man frowned as he stitched the wound. “Why didn’t anyone bring you sooner?”

“I didn’t have anyone,” I said.

Later that night, Kaelrion finally returned. He froze when he saw the bandage.

“What happened?” His voice cracked. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were busy,” I replied calmly.

He reached for my hand. “I didn’t mean to leave you. She was crying—I thought—”

“You did the right thing,” I interrupted. “She needed you.”

Relief washed over his face. “I’ll stay tonight.”

The moment almost fooled me.

Then his phone rang.

Her name.

“I’ll be right there,” he said instantly.

And just like that, he was gone again.

I curled into myself after he left, breathing unevenly.

This wasn’t love.

It was erosion.

That night, my phone buzzed.

Vaelis’s voice slipped through, amused and cruel.

“Did you know Kaelrion risked his life for me today? He did something dangerous just because I asked.”

I stared at the dark window. “Take care of him,” I said. “He’s yours.”

Silence.

I ended the call.

Then I dialed another number—one I’d memorized weeks ago.

“Hello,” a calm voice answered.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I’m calling about burial arrangements. Section B. I wanted to ask if—”

The front door slammed open.

“Eirlys!”

Kaelrion stood there, pale, bandaged, furious and frightened all at once.

“What were you doing on the phone?” he demanded.

I forced a smile. “Helping a neighbor.”

He sagged with relief, pain dragging at his posture. “Motor crash,” he muttered.

I guided him back to the hospital, signed papers, tucked the blanket around him like I used to.

As he slept, I whispered so softly he’d never hear it:

“This is the last time I worry about you.”

And for the first time since the Moon began taking pieces of me away, I felt calm.

Because ashes don’t cry.

They wait.