The first thing I did at Blackthorne Manor was take off the dress.

Ivory silk pooled on the bedroom floor. I stepped over it like it belonged to someone else.

My mother's silver veil came next. She'd sewn every stitch by hand the winter before she died. I folded it into neat squares and laid it in the bottom of my trunk.

Then I made the mistake of looking around.

Seven years of us stared back. Photos on every wall. Ronan and me at the river, laughing. Ronan and me at the solstice bonfire, his arm around my waist. On the mantel sat the first moonstone ring he ever gave me, too small now and kept in a glass dish like a relic.

And in the wardrobe, wrapped in garment cloth, hung the Luna gown I was supposed to wear after the bond was sealed.

I remembered the night I moved in. I'd been nineteen, still bruised from the girls at the pack school who called me a stray. Ronan had scooped me up and set me down in front of the fireplace.

"Nobody touches you again," he'd said. "Not while I'm alive."

Tonight, he couldn't even admit that anyone had.

My phone buzzed.

*Pack Council Registry: Withdrawal request received. Final processing will complete in six hours.*

Six hours.

I slid the silver bracelet off my wrist. The mark of a Luna candidate, worn every day for seven years. The skin underneath was paler than the rest of me.

I set it on his pillow and zipped my suitcase.

Downstairs, the front door opened.

"Careful, the step's slippery." Ronan's voice. Gentle.

I came down the staircase with my bag in hand. He stood in the foyer, rain on his shoulders. Beside him was Vanessa, holding an armful of white roses so big it hid half her body.

On her finger, the vow ring caught the light.

My ring.

"Oh, Brielle!" She smiled up at me, wide-eyed. "You don't mind if I stay here for a few days, do you?"

I looked at Ronan.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "She just got back to the pack. She doesn't have a safe place yet. It's temporary, Bri. Be understanding."

"Isn't this the home you promised would belong to us?"

His mouth flattened. "You're really going to fight over a bedroom?"

"I didn't mention a bedroom."

"Fine. Then it won't matter if she takes the master suite tonight. She needs real rest."

Vanessa hugged the roses closer. "I'm sorry. It's silly, but storms terrify me. I only sleep well when Ronan's nearby."

Thunder rolled over the roof, right on cue.

She glanced at him. He glanced back. Some private agreement passed between them, quick and easy, like they'd practiced it.

I set my suitcase down by the stairs and said nothing at all.

---

Dinner was worse.

Vanessa slid into the chair at Ronan's right hand. My chair. She waved a servant over.

"Fresh orange juice, please. Lots of pulp." She beamed at the table. "I squeezed the first batch myself this afternoon. It's my favorite."

The pitcher arrived, bright and sweating. The smell of citrus hit the back of my throat.

Vanessa poured a glass and handed it to Ronan.

He didn't drink it. Out of pure habit, he pushed it across the tablecloth toward me.

"Try it. Vanessa made it herself."

I kept my hands in my lap. "I'm allergic."

He sighed through his nose. "It's one glass of juice, Bri. Do you have to make everything a problem?"

"It's not a problem. It's a fact."

"Here, let me take it back—" Vanessa reached across me.

Her elbow tipped. The glass flipped.

Cold juice soaked my wrist and splashed across my forearm. The glass shattered on the plate.

Ronan was on his feet in one motion. He grabbed Vanessa's hands and turned them over.

"Did it cut you? Let me see."

"I'm fine," she whispered. "I'm so clumsy."

My skin was already burning. Red welts climbed from my wrist toward my elbow. My chest pulled tight, like a belt cinching around my ribs.

I tried to say his name. It came out as a wheeze.

"Bri?"

The dining room door banged open.

"What the hell is—" Harper stopped dead. Her eyes went to my arm, then the pitcher. "Oh my God. Is that *orange*?"

She was at my side in three strides, digging through my handbag. She knew exactly which pocket.

"Hold still." The injector bit into my thigh. She spun toward the servant frozen by the wall. "Get the Pack Healer. Run!"

The servant ran.

Ronan's face drained of color. He came around the table and reached for me, arms open.

I leaned away.

His hands stopped in the air.

My breathing loosened, slowly, enough for words. I made myself look at him.

"Seven years, Ronan." My voice scraped. "You remember how she takes her coffee. But you forgot what could kill me."

"That's not—" He swallowed. "I've been buried in pack business. You know how busy—"

"Ronan." Vanessa's voice wobbled behind him. She pressed a palm to her chest and swayed against the table. "My head is spinning. I think I need to sit…"

He turned.

He didn't decide to. I watched it happen. His body just went to her, arm sliding around her waist before his mind caught up.

I stared at his back. Broad. Familiar. Facing away from me.

Something inside me went quiet, like a candle snuffed between two fingers.

Harper squeezed my shoulder hard. "Don't you dare cry for him."

"I'm not going to," I said.

And I wasn't.

---

The Healer left near midnight. The welts had faded to pink.

Harper hauled my suitcase down the front steps while rain hammered the gravel. I carried the trunk with my mother's veil.

Ronan was waiting in the doorway, blocking it with one shoulder against the frame.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out."

"At midnight. In a storm." He rubbed his temple. "How long are you planning to keep this up, Bri?"

Harper slammed the car trunk. "Keep *what* up? Surviving your girlfriend?"

"Stay out of this, Harper."

"Make me."

I touched Harper's arm. She went silent, glaring.

I faced Ronan. Rain dripped from the eaves between us.

"If I disappeared tomorrow," I asked, "would you even notice?"

He didn't hesitate.

"Stop being dramatic."

I smiled. It felt strange on my face. Light.

"Okay," I said.

I walked past him, down the steps, and got into the passenger seat. Harper climbed in beside me and started the engine without a word.

Through the windshield, I saw Vanessa appear in the doorway behind him, wrapped in his coat. She leaned her head on his shoulder. He didn't move her.

My phone lit up in my lap.

*Pack Council Registry: Your mating registration has been withdrawn.*

I turned the screen face down.

Back on the porch, Ronan was already closing the door, certain I'd be home by morning. Certain I always would be.

He had no idea that, as far as the Council was concerned, Brielle the future Luna no longer existed.

And as the car pulled onto the road, my phone buzzed again.

An unknown number.

*Miss Hayes, this is Thomas. You never opened the file. Please. You need to see what he signed before he finds out you're gone.*

The motel sat right on the Silvercrest border. One night, I told myself. By sunrise, I'd be out of the northern territories for good.

At midnight, my phone lit up.

*Ronan: Luna blessing dinner tomorrow at seven. Wear the blue dress. Don't be late.*

I read it twice. Then I turned the phone over and didn't answer.

At three in the morning, someone knocked.

I knew that knock. Two hard raps, then one soft. Seven years of it.

I opened the door. Ronan stood under the hallway light, rain drying on his collar, smiling like nothing had happened. He held up a black velvet box.

"Peace offering," he said.

"It's three a.m."

"And you're awake." He stepped past me into the room without asking. "Which means you've been thinking about me."

He flipped the box open. A necklace sat on white satin, moon-diamonds strung along a silver chain. They threw tiny sparks across the cheap wallpaper.

"I know you love jewelry," he said. "Consider it an apology for the ceremony. Things got out of hand."

I stared at the necklace.

Three days ago, Vanessa had posted a photo from the airport. Same chain. Same diamond setting. Hers had been rose gold.

"Did you buy hers first?" I asked softly.

His smile froze. Then it cracked.

"Why do you always do this?" He snapped the box shut. "Why does everything have to be about Vanessa?"

I didn't answer. I took the box from his hand and slid it back across the little table toward him.

"The mating registration is cancelled," I said.

He blinked. Then he laughed, a short, warm laugh, like I'd told a joke at dinner.

"Okay. You've made your point." He came around the table and hooked an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. "You're my fated mate, Bri. You can't just walk away."

His hand rested on my hip like it owned the place.

I pried his fingers off, one at a time.

"Fated doesn't mean forever obedient," I said. "And it doesn't mean I have to swallow every humiliation you hand me."

He went still.

For the first time all night, he looked at me like he wasn't sure who I was.

"Then what do you want?" His voice dropped low. "Tell me. I'll fix it."

I met his gray eyes.

"I want you to let me go."

His phone rang.

The screen glowed between us. *Vanessa.*

He glanced at it. At me. At it again.

"Don't," I said.

He answered anyway.

"Hey. Hey, slow down." He turned toward the wall, shoulders curving around the phone. "Another nightmare? No, you're safe. I'm right here. Breathe with me, okay? In… out…"

Her sobs leaked through the speaker, thin and high.

I listened to him hum to her. Gentle. Patient.

Seven years ago, rogue wolves had torn through the eastern border. I'd taken claws across the ribs dragging a pup out of a burning barn. I woke up four days later, and Ronan was asleep in a chair beside my bed, still in bloody clothes.

"Whatever happens," he'd whispered when I opened my eyes, "I choose you first. Every time. I swear it."

Now he couldn't even finish a goodbye without her.

I walked to the window. Moonlight silvered the pine forest, the trees standing in long, quiet rows.

"Ronan."

He lowered the phone an inch. "Give me one second—"

"Ronan Blackthorne," I said, "I reject you as my fated mate."

The air snapped tight.

Something invisible yanked inside my chest, a cord pulled from both ends. Pain tore through my ribs. I grabbed the windowsill to stay upright.

Behind me, the phone hit the floor.

Ronan dropped to his knees. When he lifted his head, his eyes had flooded gold. His wolf, staring at me through him.

"Brielle." He crawled forward and fisted the hem of my skirt. His voice shook. I had never heard it shake. "Take it back."

My vision swam. I gripped the sill harder.

"I reject you."

A howl ripped out of his throat, half man, half wolf. The window rattled in its frame. Down the hall, glass buzzed in every pane.

He still reached for me.

"I'll change." His knuckles went white on the fabric. "Bri, I swear, I'll change. Anything. Just stop."

I looked down at him, my Alpha, kneeling on motel carpet.

"You had seven years," I said.

I pulled my skirt free and walked toward the door.

Halfway there, my knees went soft. The floor tilted. The rejection was eating me from the inside, and my legs simply quit.

I braced for the floor.

It never came.

Strong arms caught me under the back and knees. A scent hit me, cedar and cold rain. I looked up into silver-gray eyes glowing in the dim doorway.

The weight of an Alpha's power rolled through the room, heavy as a storm front.

Ronan stumbled back half a step. I saw his body do it before his pride could stop it.

The stranger glanced down at me, taking in my pale face. Then he lifted his eyes to Ronan.

"She said no," he said. "Which part didn't you understand?"

Ronan's lip curled. "Kieran Ashford."

I knew the name. Every wolf in the north did. Alpha of Silvercrest. Ronan's rival at every border meeting for ten years.

"Get your hands off my mate," Ronan snarled.

Kieran didn't answer right away. He shifted me against his chest, shrugged out of his coat, and draped it over my shoulders. It was still warm.

"Your mate?" His tone stayed calm. Almost bored. "Then why is she begging to be free of you?"

Ronan's gold eyes blazed. He took a step forward.

I curled my fingers into Kieran's sleeve.

"Please," I whispered. "Take me away."

He didn't move.

He bent his head close to mine, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

"Are you sure?"

Nobody had asked me that in seven years.

"Yes," I said. "I'm sure."

He nodded once and carried me out the door.

"Brielle!"

Ronan's footsteps pounded behind us down the hallway. He hit the threshold, and I felt it.

A snap. Clean and final, like a bone breaking.

The cord in my chest went slack.

I twisted to look over Kieran's shoulder. Ronan stood frozen in the doorway, one hand clawed against his heart. His face was gray. His mouth hung open, but no sound came.

He knew. I watched him understand it.

I didn't belong to him anymore.

Kieran's car waited at the curb, black and idling. He lowered me into the back seat and leaned in to tuck the coat tighter around me.

Then he stopped.

His hand hovered near my collarbone, right over my mother's moonstone. It had started to glow, faint and silver.

Low in his chest, his wolf rumbled.

And deep inside me, something that had slept my whole life lifted its head and answered.

Kieran's eyes went wide.

"That's not possible," he breathed. "Brielle… what *are* you?"