Lucielle’s POV

“Confess to your crime, or watch your mongrel pup die!”

The threat struck like silver through my spine. I froze at the open hatch of the private skycraft, the night wind howling as moonlight spilled into the cabin. My heart slammed wildly against my ribs.

There she was—Althea.

My little pup.

Theros held her effortlessly in one arm, his grip cruelly steady. Her small chest fluttered in shallow, frantic breaths. The moonstone respirator that kept her heart stable—gone.

Her lips were turning dusky blue. Her tiny fingers twitched, clawing weakly at the air, as if trying to draw breath from the sky itself.

“No, no, Theros, please!” My voice broke. “She needs the oxygen. You know she can’t breathe without it!”

He stood only steps from the open hatch, composed and distant—like hanging a six-year-old above a predator-filled chasm meant nothing to him.

“Nine minutes,” he said calmly.

I collapsed to my knees. The runes etched into the skycraft floor burned cold beneath my palms as I looked up at him—at the Alpha who once held me like I was something sacred.

Now his face was something cold and unyielding, not even a trace of mercy.

He once promised me everything.

Now he promised to tear my heart out of it.

“Theros … I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I sobbed.

“You caught Nyxara!” he roared, his Alpha aura slamming into me like a physical blow.

Her name sliced deeper than claws.

Sure. It was always her.

Nyxara—the she-wolf who crept into his den and his heart. His mate in betrayal, his fixation — the venom crept into my den.

“I didn’t.” I whispered. “I swear, I didn’t touch her.”

A cold smile curved his lips, freezing my blood.

“Eight minutes. Hurry and tell me where Nyxara is.”

“She’s your blood too!” I snarled, desperation burning through my chest. “She carries your lineage!”

He laughed then—short, mocking—as though my words meant nothing.

“She is not mine,” he said, venom dripping from every word. “I have the blood-rite proof. What a slut, you spread your legs to any male wolves, you don’t even know which wolf gave you the seed.”

My gaze snapped back to Althea.

Her lips darkened. Her chest faltered with every shallow breath. Her legs moved weakly. Her small hand reached for the moonstone respirator swinging in his other hand.

I sank lower—down to my knees, my forehead hovering near the floor and my voice trembling like a wounded howl.

“I have no idea where Nyxara is.” I cried. “Please, please, save my pup.”

Theros, then, stepped forward, seized my arm and wrenched me upright with brutal strength.

“You are pitiful and a terrible liar.” He snarled.

The slap came in no time.

My eyes burst into blurry. My left ear rang, then went numb.

“I have enough proof to have the pack law execute you.” He growled.

I lifted my gaze to him, my skin searing, my soul on the brink of tearing apart.

“You were the last one she sent a message to.” He continued coldly, “the moonrest-inn’s overseer crystal show someone in your cloak dragging her away. Her moon-bracelet, found near your chamber. Her blood, on the scarf in your wardrobe.”

He closed in until his presence loomed over me, his face only inches away.

“You left her a voice message, hours before she went missing.”

I shook my head hard, tears streaming down.

“I didn’t. I swear. I didn’t even see her…”

“Seven minutes.”

“Mommy .…” Althea whimpered.

Her voice shattered me.

She wore the pale pink dress he gifted her, back when he still called her “my little moon”.

“She’s not mine,” he muttered again, fury blackening his eyes.

“She bears none of my blood. Nyxara showed me the true proof — the one you switched. She’s a mongrel, just like her whore of a mother.”

I let out a fractured sob and collapsed, barely holding myself together.

It couldn’t be real.

***

I thought of the day surprising him with the skycraft passes for our bond-anniversary—to Pineridge Grove.

I planned to the last detail for two months. The moonrest-inn we once shared on our matingmoon, a private pack cook, a garden moonrest-inn facing Pineridge Peak.

He, however, never came.

I waited in that dress the whole night. Just then I called the skyline and they told me the skycraft passes had already been used.

He took Nyxara instead.

Then my thoughts shifted to Althea—two weeks later—standing before the door in her tiny dress, waiting. She was so excited. He had promised her to come.

He, however, never came.

I stayed with her that night wiping her tears away and holding mine.

Theros didn’t even call or send a message.

He spent day by day with her again.

He once loved me — no, no, he once only worshipped me.

When I was struck by a rogue wolf pack, he guarded by my healing den for two weeks straight.

The Alpha known for his cold and cruelty had once pleaded for my forgiveness — proposed, apologized in public, promised me the world.

For a year, he pursued me with a devotion as relentless as the hunt.

I resisted. I didn’t want the blood-soaked politics of Alpha rule. But he swore he would change, swore he would abandon the war councils.

He saved me once too — when rogues tried to drag me into the shadows beyond the city walls. Theros arrived in full wolf form and nearly tore them apart with his bare fangs.

I had no one growing up — no family, no roots. Then Theros ….

He became my whole world.

He gave me luxury, protection and love. Our mating ceremony was a fairytale — and when I carried his pup, he treated me as if I were made of fragile crystal.

When the pack’s healers diagnosed Althea with a weak heart, bound to rely on moonstone respirator, he wrapped us both in his arms and calmed our howls of fear.

“I will never allow harm to come to Althea,” he promised.

For a time, he honored those words.

Until Nyxara appeared.

She didn’t just tempt him into her den. She tore me apart, claw by claw.

She falsified the bloodline proof and convinced him Althea carried no trace of his blood.

She manipulated messages to frame me as a traitor feeding his rival pack, even falsified the records and accused me of causing the death of Theros’ younger brother.

And somehow … somehow he trusted her lies.

He didn’t sever our bond.

He didn’t, but chose to destroy me slowly.

The last bond-anniversary still lingered in my mind.

He gifted me a pearl-moon necklace. I believed it was an apology, I believed he had seen the truth in the end.

But as he put it around my neck, he pulled it until it broke my skin.

“You’ll repay every disgrace in blood, Lucielle.” He breathed against my ear. “You — and the bastard pup of yours.”

He cast me out into the cold that night, in blood and tears.

I curled against the cold floor when I heard Theros' and Nyxara's mating from the patio. He made sure I heard it all—every breath, every sound—each one a reminder that I was nothing.

The instinct of mine sensed it at the same time — Althea was suffocating inside. It was already too late.

She was rushed to the healer den, barely alive and forced to rely on moonstone respirator from then on.

He was too busy punishing me to realize our own pup was dying.

***

The crystal communicator rang through the cockpit like a warning howl.

One of his warriors took it and handed it, then Theros brought it to his ear.

His face went still. His grip on Althea tightened. His jaw hardened until his fangs pressed edge to edge.

Then his entire body shook.

“She’s been located, my Alpha.” The Delta reported through the link. “Locked in the trunk of Lucielle’s old moon-carriage. She nearly suffocated.”

Slowly, his eyes lifted—cold, deadly—and fixed on mine.

Pure, merciless rage filled his gaze.

“You locked her away in that trunk,” he said quietly, each word sharp as a blade, “You tried to end her life, so now I’ll simply return what you gave.”

“Theros, no, no! Please! I didn’t—”

He slammed the ramp shut.

“Disgusting liar!” He snarled, turning to his warriors. “Land the skycraft.”

The skycraft landed to the ground with a screech of wheels and a fear caught in my throat.

Theros never spared us a glance as he stepped past Althea’s shaking form.

He brought his shoe to crush the moonstone respirator, treating it as nothing—though it was the very thing keeping her alive.

He stepped onto the open tarmac, straight to the waiting carriage.

“I’m going to bring Nyxara back,” he said coldly, “Have an apology prepared for her when I get back.”

I reached Althea, holding her tight as I ran for my carriage.

My fingers trembled as I started the engine and drove straight for the healer den.

“Hold on, my little moon.” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the bluish tinge stealing over her lips.

I fumbled for my crystal communicator and called someone, with my hands shaking so badly, I nearly let it slip from my grip.

“Lucielle, tell me.” Came the concerned voice from the other end. “What’s wrong?”

“Grandpa … I need your help,” I replied, my voice barely holding together.

Six moons ago, I rescued a male-wolf on the brink of collapse along the moonlit high road.

He later tracked me down using the birth mark on my cheek and discovered the truth — I was his bloodline, his granddaughter.

He demanded I come back to the pack and claim my legacy, but I said no.

Theros, at that time, wasn't this cruel. He was still with Nyxara, though he swore she meant nothing—just a passing indulgence he would soon discard. Other Alphas kept mistresses. It was nothing unusual.

"You're my one and only mate.” He used to say again and again.

And I trusted his words like an idiot. Instead of returning to my grandfather’s territory, I asked him to strengthen my mate’s alliance.

But after today—after what Theros dared to do—I saw the truth, he wasn’t the Alpha I had the bond.

“Tell me,” my grandfather said calmly.

“I want our identities wiped.” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Mine and my daughter’s. No records. No traces. I’ll return and inherit the territories only on that condition.”

Silence followed. Then…

“Seven nights. It will be done within seven nights.”

I ended the call and lowered my gaze to my little pup beside me in the carriage. Her lips were pale. Her body fragile.

I brushed a kiss over her forehead and murmured into her hair. “Seven more nights, my little moon. Seven nights—and the darkness ends.”

“Mommy .…” Althea whimpered faintly.

“Althea.” I whispered, brushing her hair back. “Hold on, my little moon. Just a little longer.”

She gave me a fragile smile. Her eyes were dull. Her skin colorless.

“I’m okay … I … I love you.” She murmured.

Her body was freezing. The moment I reached the healer den, I screamed like I had lost my mind. "Clear the way!"

The healer helper ran to me with a stretcher, then took her from my grasp and wheeled her away.

I tried to follow them into the emergency chamber, but they blocked my way.

“Please wait outside, Luna,” one of them told me.

Those forty-five minutes stretched into the longest of my life. I paced the corridor, sat, stood, cried, prayed— again and again.

At last, the healer emerged with one of the helpers.

“She’s stable now,” he told me.

“How is she? Can I see her?” I asked, forcing down the panic.

"He was depressed and out of oxygen today." The healer explained in patience. "She needs rest and so do you. Please come back tomorrow — she’ll be better then.”

Better?

I wasn’t sure anything ever would be.

Still, I nodded. “Alright. I’ll come back tonight.”

The healer urged me to rest, to come back tomorrow. Yet the moment I left the healer den, I didn’t go back to the den, I didn't even notice fear was still driving me.

All I could think of was Althea wanting her stuffed rabbit, her wooden melody box, her knitted pink quilt—warm with the scent of our den.

I needed to bring those things for her. I needed to matter. I needed to feel like her mother again.

I rode back to the Alpha den, my body aching from the fall, my thoughts shattered.

I slipped through the doors, expecting silence.

But when I went upstairs and stepped into Althea’s chamber…

My breath caught.

Her chamber was empty. No wall panel. No bed. No shelves. Her toys, her books, the starry lamps, the rug—gone.

The crackling of flame drew my gaze to the window. Outside, at the edge of the garden … smoke curled into the air.

I staggered down the corridor, down the stairs and through the rattan doors to the back garden.

Seeing her belongings burning. Her dolls, knitted blankets, drawings, books—Althea’s entire world turned to ash.

“No … no … what’s going on?” I asked in panic.

A soft voice drifted up behind me.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind.…”

I turned—and there she stood.

Nyxara, standing in Althea’s chamber, a measuring cord in her hand, paint samples scattered across the floor. “She’s been in the healer’s den for so long,” Nyxara replied calm, her head tilted. “I thought it was the perfect time to start setting up the nursery.”

I could only stare, stunned.

“Nursery?”

Her smile widened as she rested a hand over her stomach.

“Theros and I are going to bring a pup into the pack.”

Her words struck deep and brutal.

The pain coiled in my gut, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing it.

"Here, has countless chambers," I said, my voice shaking, "Why Althea's?"

She gave a nauseating, innocent shrug.

“Because everyone in the pack knows the wretched little thing won’t live much longer anyway.”

Her words struck like a thunder bolt.

I lay a hard slap on her face.

Her head jerked to the side. She gasped, then lifted her gaze to me, a light flashing in her eyes.

She smirked.

“You’ll pay for that,” she murmured.

Then, in one smooth move, she hurled herself backward and slammed her head against the stone wall.

Blood ran down her forehead. I froze.

“What are you—?”

She screamed, high, piercing ripped through the den. “Stop! Lucielle, please!” she wailed. “I swear I never ordered them to burn Althea’s things—don't hurt me!”

What?

“Please! Stop!”

The chamber doors burst open. And Theros stormed in. His eyes locked on Nyxara—bleeding, shaking, sobbing.

“What did you do to her?!” he roared.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

A slap knocked me to the floor.

My cheek burned. My lips bleed.

“Theros, I didn’t. She did this to herself. I swear…”

“Shut up!” He thundered. “I warned you—if you ever laid a hand on her again—”

He seized my wrist and hauled me toward our chambers.

I tried to explain, but he refused to hear me.

He threw open my wardrobe, ripping out every gown, every pair of shoes, every gift—every fragment of the life we once shared.

He tore our bonded-moon portraits from the walls, shredded my letters, piled it all together and set it ablaze.

“Burn it all.” He spat. “Every gift I ever give you, every memory we ever shared. “Since you harmed Nyxara over your bastard pup, you don’t deserve a single thing from me.”

I stood silence and watched as our past vanish into flame.

He instructed the guards.

“Lock her into the lower cells. Let the cold and dark night break her into obedience.”

“No, no, Theros, please! I have to see Althea! She needs me!”

But the guards were already on me, dragging me away.

He knew.

He knew I feared the narrow and dark place.

I screamed, struggled and scratched until my nails burned, until the iron door crashed closed. The cells were suffocating — narrow, airless, no windows, no torchlight and then a strong scent hit my nose.

Jasmine.

Hundreds of it—hanging, scattered, forced into every surface.

My throat choked. My eyes stung. I was suffocating.

He had done this on purpose—filled the cell with jasmine, the only flower that could kill me.

“No … please .…”

I hit the door with my fist, scratched it with my claw. My chest felt tight. “Please—let me out! My pup, she needs me!"

My throat was choking. My lung was tightening. I collapsed to the floor.

“Althea… Althea…”

The world blurred, fading in and out of focus.

“Please … I have to … see her …”

And then…

Darkness swallowed everything.

My last thought was that they would kill me before I ever escaped.

When I woke up, I saw around me was white — the ceiling, the glow-light, the sheets.

Even the dull ache in my chest was white, hollow and lifeless.

I blinked, my eyes swollen, my throat burned as if something corrosive had torn through it. My head throbbed, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

“You’re awake,” a gentle voice said.

I turned my head toward the figure in white, the healer. His eyes were gentle, but his face lined with fatigue.

“You suffered a severe reaction to something in the air,” he said, skimming his crystal slate. “Jasmine pollen, I believe. You’re fortunate someone found you in time.”

I didn’t feel fortunate. I felt hollow.

“How do you feel?” he asked gently.

“Like I’m still dying.” I croaked.

He nodded. “You’ve endured severe trauma, but there’s more to tell.”

My brow furrowed. “More?”

He looked at me for a long moment, unsure where to start.

“You’re three weeks moon-blessed, Luna Ashencrest.”

The chamber shook.

Three weeks moon-blessed?

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

How was it possible?

The memory slammed into me.

That night. The stench of moonwine on his breath. How he staggered into my chamber, slurring Nyxara’s name. How he pinned me beneath him, too intoxicated to see who I was. I screamed, begged, tried to push him off.

He, however, insisted ….

“I won’t keep it,” I said firmly.

The words were soft—but edged like a blade.

The healer hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

His eyes softened in pity. “You’re still healing from the jasmine reaction. You’ll need a few more days—no more than three—then we can proceed.”

I nodded.

I had made up my mind. Theros was an evil. I would not bring another pup into his cruelty.

“How is Althea?” I asked, clearing my throat.

He paused, uncertainty in his eyes. That brief pause nearly stopped my heart.

“Didn’t the Alpha tell you?” he asked, brow furrowed.

My blood chilled.

I forced myself upright, ignoring the ache pounding in my head.

“Tell me what?”

He drifted his gaze away, searching for words, but none coming out.

"She's ... suffered from a brain hemorrhage, caused by oxygen loss."

I gasped.

“Last night, we attempted the moon-surgery—but we required parental consent.”

His voice faltered.

“We couldn’t contact you. And your mate …” his voice faltered.

He forced the words out.

“He said he didn’t care if the whelp lived or died, she’d been nothing but a nuisance to the pack since the day she was born.”

The air refused to reach my lungs. The chamber constricted, crushing in on me. His voice drifted on, distant and distorted.

“I’m sorry … your pup didn’t survive.”

A sharp ringing filled my head.

Althea. My fragile, innocent little pup.

I lunged from the bed, grabbing his robes.

“Where is she? Where is my pup?”

My scream tore the chamber apart.

“Nyxara came at dawn,” he said quickly. “She claimed the body.”

I heard nothing after that.

The tears streamed down my face as I screamed inches from his face.

"Where is she!"

He tried to calm me. “Please, Luna Ashencrest, Lucielle, Nyxara, came earlier this morning. She … she took the body.”

I didn't hear his words after that.

I stormed out of the healer den like a beast with blood in my eyes.

The gate of the Ashencrest den stood open, as if they were welcoming the devil back into its den.

I tore through the front doors, my throat shredded from screaming, my chest collapsing with every breath.

She was laying on the Alpha’s throne couch like a Luna. Legs crossed. Moonwine swirling in her glass. A cruel smile playing on her mouth.

“Where is my Althea!” I screamed.

Nyxara didn’t flinch. She pressed her thumb against a glowing crystal.

The crystal mirror lit up. And a scene appeared.

Althea—tiny and frail—struggled for breath. Her lips were blue, her chest heaving as if each breath might be her last.

The pack healers swarmed her, trying to save and pull her back.

Until … they stopped.

The life-rune above her dimmed—then went dark.

I screamed, covered my mouth and crumpled to the ground.

“You monster,” I sobbed. “You heartless monster…”

Nyxara only smirked and turned the sound higher.

On the crystal screen, I watched as she dragged Althea’s lifeless body across the stone floor, tossed her into a reinforced iron cremation bin and burned her without a pack rite.

“This is your pup’s last moment under the moon,” she said with a mocking smile. “Touching, isn’t it?”

My heart shattered into pieces as I watched the monstrous on the crystal screen. I had only guilt, how badly I had failed my daughter.

“How could you … how could you burn her without asking me?” I sobbed.

“Oh, does it tear your heart apart?” Nyxara mocked with a laugh. “Does it make you want to howl and strike me?”

She leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Then wait until you hear what happened when the healer called last night.”

I narrowed my eyes, dread pooling in my gut—I already knew she was about to twist the knife.

“What did you do?” I asked hoarsely.

Like a lunatic, she snickered in satisfaction. "I was the one picked the call when the healer called. I am moon-blessed with Theros' pup, Lucielle, you don't think I would let your pup alive, do you?"

"You ended Althea's live — over nothing? How could you?" I roared, fury pouring out of me.

She only shrugged. “I can do anything to get rid of the unimportant thing.” I surged to my feet, ready to tear into her, when she calmly raised a small glass jar from behind her back. "It's her ashes. “If you want what remains of your brat … hit your head on the floor ten times.”

I stared at her, willing it to be a lie. But the madness in her eyes told me it wasn’t.

I fell to my knees.

“One … two … three.” She counted with a chuckle like a lunatic.

The fourth time, blood was slipping down my forehead. My sight was blurring and my hearing was buzzing.

"Seven, eight."

I was staggering, almost fainting.

"Ten!" She applauded and smiled in mockery.

“What a pathetic mother,” she murmured, moving closer with the jar clenched in her grip.

I reached out, hands trembling, heart racing. But then, she let it slip.

The jar smashed against the floor and Althea’s ashes scattered like dust beneath our feet.