“I wanted a divorce.”

The words left my mouth more easily than I expected, yet they felt чужder than any oath I had ever spoken beneath the Moon Goddess’s gaze, as though the very air of the room rejected them the moment they were uttered.

Silence followed at once, thick and suffocating, settling over Kaedric’s office like a heavy shroud woven from something far older than grief.

The firelight from the hearth cast shifting shadows across carved stone walls etched with the history of his bloodline, yet none of it moved him. He remained seated behind his great desk, unmoving at first, as though he were considering whether I had spoken in jest or in madness.

Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair.

A soft creak of aged leather followed, and then came his laughter.

It was low and unhurried, the kind of sound that carried no warmth, only certainty. It rolled through the chamber like something that had no need to explain itself.

“You thought you could leave me, Raven?” he said at last, tilting his head slightly as his dark eyes studied me with something close to amusement. “You are mine. Whether you have accepted it or not has never changed that truth.”

My fingers tightened at my sides until my nails pressed into my palms.

“I am not your possession,” I replied, though even as I said it, I could feel how thin the words sounded against the weight of his presence.

He exhaled softly, as though I were speaking from ignorance rather than defiance, and rose from his seat with deliberate ease. The moment he stepped around the desk, the space between us seemed to collapse, filled entirely by him until I could no longer distinguish where the room ended and his authority began.

Still, I did not step back when he stopped before me.

“You forget your place,” he said quietly, his voice lowering into something almost intimate, though no tenderness lived within it. “Everything you have worn, every roof that has sheltered you, every comfort you have known within this packhouse, existed only because I allowed it.”

My breath caught.

“You allowed it?” I repeated, disbelief breaking through my restraint.

His gaze did not waver.

“Yes,” he answered simply, and lifted a hand to my face, his fingers brushing beneath my chin with controlled familiarity, forcing my gaze to meet his. “And you remain because I permit it. If you were to walk away from this place, Raven, you would find that there is very little of the world that belongs to you outside these walls.”

A tension coiled within me, sharp and suffocating, but I turned my face away from his touch before it could root itself deeper.

“I will find my way out of this,” I whispered, though the words carried more desperation than certainty.

A faint smile touched his lips, not unkind, but wholly devoid of doubt.

“You may try.”

**

That evening, Maerina came to me without announcement, her presence preceding her like a shadow cast long before the moon had risen.

She stood within the threshold of my chamber as though she had always belonged there more than I did, her expression composed, her voice calm as she spoke.

“You are making a grave mistake, my dear,” she said, her tone almost gentle as she lifted a goblet of wine to her lips.

I did not respond.

She stepped further inside, setting the goblet down upon the vanity with deliberate care, the soft sound of glass against wood carrying unnaturally through the stillness.

“You chose to walk away once before,” she continued, watching me closely. “And in doing so, you gave us reason to strip away everything you thought you held.”

I met her gaze then.

“You could not take what was never truly yours to begin with,” I replied.

A slow smile formed upon her lips, elegant and cold.

“Oh, but we did,” she said softly, leaning in just enough that I could feel the faint warmth of her breath near my cheek. “We took everything that made you what you are, including the illusion that you were ever safe in this pack.”

A chill moved through me at her words.

“You remain here only because my son allows it,” she added at last, her voice barely above a whisper now, yet carrying more certainty than any spoken threat.

When she left, she did so as though she had already delivered something inevitable.

Two days later, the world I had built my life upon began to collapse.

It began with a summons from the healer’s hall beyond the packlands, where the scent of herbs and ancient remedies once symbolized healing rather than ruin.

The voice that greeted me through the messenger carried none of the reverence once afforded to my title.

“Dr. Evergreen,” it said formally, “the Council of Healers has placed your name under suspension pending investigation.”

My breath faltered.

“What are you saying?” I demanded.

There was a pause, measured and detached, before the response came.

“A complaint has been lodged regarding a surgical incident resulting in a fatality. Supporting records were submitted to the council for review.”

My grip tightened around the edge of the desk.

“That is impossible,” I said sharply. “I have never—”

“The documents were verified upon submission,” the voice interrupted calmly. “The complaint was received anonymously.”

The words struck like something familiar.

Even before the call ended, I already knew.

Mirabel.

The realization did not come as surprise, but as confirmation of something already set in motion long before I had noticed the blade being sharpened.

When I returned to my quarters, I searched through every drawer, every carved compartment, every place where my records had once been kept under lock and seal.

They were gone.

Not misplaced. Not hidden.

Removed.

A hollow breath escaped me as understanding settled in.

And Kaedric knew.

That night, he came to me as though nothing had changed.

He entered my chamber with the ease of someone returning to a place that would always belong to him, a goblet of dark wine in his hand, his expression unreadable as he observed me sitting motionless upon the edge of the bed.

“You look exhausted,” he said quietly, as though commenting on weather rather than ruin.

I did not answer him.

He crossed the room with unhurried steps, stopping only when he stood directly before me.

“You wanted freedom,” he continued, swirling the liquid in his glass with idle patience. “And now you have it, in a manner of speaking. No council, no title, no path forward beyond what I decide for you.”

My throat tightened, but I remained silent.

He crouched slightly, setting the goblet aside before reaching toward me, his fingers brushing my knee in a gesture that felt less like affection and more like ownership confirmed.

“So I will offer you what remains,” he said softly. “Stay, and I will restore what you have lost. Your standing. Your work. Even the life you believe was taken from you.”

His grip tightened just enough to remind me of its presence.

“But leave,” he added, “and you will find there is nothing left for you to reclaim.”

I met his gaze at last.

“You would not allow me to leave either way,” I said quietly.

A faint smile returned to his lips.

“No,” he admitted. “But I am not without patience. I would rather you understand it yourself.”

I pushed his hand away and rose abruptly, the movement sharp enough that the glass on the table trembled.

“Get out,” I said.

He stood with me, unbothered by my reaction.

“As you wish,” he replied, though there was no surrender in his tone. “Think carefully, Raven.”

Then he left.

I did not sleep.

Not that night, nor in the long hours that followed, as silence pressed itself into every corner of the chamber until even my thoughts felt trapped.

It was only when the first light of dawn had yet to break that I heard it.

A faint sound near the edge of the room, subtle enough that it might have been dismissed as wind against stone.

But it came again.

Soft. Deliberate.

From the direction of my wardrobe.

My breath slowed as I approached, each step heavier than the last. My hand trembled as it reached for the handle, hesitation lingering only a moment before I pulled it open.

What I saw inside stole the air from my lungs.

Blood.

Fur.

And lifeless eyes staring back at me from a small, broken body.

My companion.

My familiar.

An arrow had pierced through its form, pinning it in place as though it were nothing more than an offering.

Beneath its collar lay a folded strip of parchment, darkened by crimson stains.

I reached for it with shaking fingers and read the words written upon it.

“The next to die will walk on two legs.”

The earth was cold beneath my fingers, so cold it felt as though it had been waiting for me all along.

I did not know how long I had been kneeling beneath the old oak tree in the eastern garden of the pack estate, only that the night had deepened into a silence so complete it felt almost sacred, as though even the Moon Goddess herself had turned her gaze away in mourning. My hands were stained with soil and traces of blood that would not wash away no matter how many times I pressed them into the ground, and beneath the tree lay my only companion in that house of wolves who had never once mistaken cruelty for mercy.

My dog had been wrapped in a length of silk cloth before being laid to rest beneath the roots, as if even in death I could not allow the world inside that packhouse to touch something so pure.

When I finally pressed my forehead against the damp earth, the grief that rose within me was no longer something I could contain. It was not only for the creature who had been taken from me, but for everything that had been stripped away piece by piece since the day I had been bound to this place as Kaedric’s mate. My freedom had been taken first, then my name within the world beyond these walls, and after that, even my dignity had been worn down slowly by silence and expectation until there was nothing left of the woman I had once been.

And now, even the last thing that had been mine had been taken as well.

Yet even as I remained there beneath the tree, something inside me no longer wept. It hardened instead, like stone shaped beneath pressure, until grief began to give way to something far more dangerous.

Because there would be no more taking.

When I rose at last, I wiped my hands against the fabric of my ruined nightgown and turned back toward the packhouse, my body heavy with exhaustion and something sharper beneath it that I had not yet named. The corridors were dimly lit by enchanted sconces, their light flickering against carved stone, and I had not expected to encounter anyone at such an hour, for even the wolves of this house tended to retreat into their chambers when the moon reached its highest point.

But as I stepped into the hallway, a sound reached me that did not belong to the stillness of night.

A scream.

It tore through the corridor like a rupture in silence, high and broken, echoing off ancestral stone as though the walls themselves had chosen to carry it forward.

I stopped.

And then I saw her.

Liora.

She lay crumpled upon the marble floor as though her body had been discarded there in haste, her silk nightdress torn at the seams, her skin marked with bruises that bloomed dark against pale flesh. Her hair was disheveled, her lips split at the corner, and yet it was her eyes that struck me most—wide, trembling, filled with a terror so carefully arranged that even the most ancient wolf would have believed it without question.

When she saw me, she recoiled as though I were the source of her suffering.

“Please… please do not hurt me anymore,” she sobbed, her voice breaking as she lifted a trembling hand toward me. “I did not mean it… I did not mean to take him from you…”

My steps slowed, not in confusion, but in recognition of what was already unfolding.

Because nothing about this scene belonged to chance.

The heavy doors of the hall above burst open, and moments later, footsteps thundered down the staircase, each one deliberate, each one carrying authority.

Maerina appeared first, her presence composed and terrifying in its control, followed closely by Mirabel, whose expression already carried the satisfaction of someone witnessing a story she had carefully written in advance.

Liora’s sobs grew louder the moment they arrived, as though summoned rather than interrupted.

“She attacked me,” Liora cried out immediately, her voice shaking as she pointed at me. “I tried to explain… I told her I never meant to fall in love with Alpha Kaedric, but she lost control. She struck me… she tried to kill me…”

Maerina did not hesitate.

She crossed the distance between us in a single stride and struck me across the face with such force that the world tilted for a brief moment, sound dissolving into ringing silence.

“You ungrateful wretch,” she hissed, her voice cold with inherited authority. “You dare lay hands on a woman carrying the Alpha’s future?”

Before I could recover, Mirabel stepped forward and seized my hair, pulling my head back with cruel precision.

“You never learned your place,” she said with quiet contempt, as though speaking to something beneath her notice. “Even now, after everything, you still pretend to belong here.”

They did not simply accuse me.

They dismantled me in front of them, as though I were nothing more than an object to be broken for their entertainment.

And then Kaedric arrived.

The moment he entered the corridor, the air itself seemed to shift. Even the guards lowered their gaze instinctively, for his presence carried the weight of an Alpha who did not need to speak in order to command obedience.

His eyes found Liora first, softening instantly at the sight of her tears.

Only then did he look at me.

The change in him was immediate.

Rage.

Sharp. Absolute. Uncontrolled.

“She attacked me,” Liora sobbed again, crawling toward him as though seeking refuge in the only authority she had trained him to believe in. “I told her I would leave… I told her I did not want trouble… but she would not listen…”

And then she said it.

The words that shattered everything that remained of the room’s balance.

“I am carrying your heirs,” Liora whispered, her voice trembling as she lifted her tear-stained face toward him. “Twins… Kaedric, I was going to tell you tonight, but she found out… and she attacked me because of it.”

The world seemed to collapse inward.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came before Kaedric moved.

He crossed the space between us in an instant, and before I could react, his hand closed around my throat and drove me back against the stone wall with enough force to steal the breath from my lungs.

His grip was unyielding, possessive in the way only a mate’s rage could be when twisted beyond recognition.

“You will not go near her again,” he said, his voice low and lethal against my ear. “She carries my blood now. My heirs. She will be treated as she deserves, and you will remember what you are in this house.”

My vision blurred at the edges, but even through the suffocating pressure of his hand, I managed a broken, humorless breath.

“So this is what it becomes,” I whispered hoarsely. “You believe her over me without hesitation.”

His grip tightened.

“I should end you for this,” he said.

Behind him, Liora’s voice rose again in fragile pleading, claiming forgiveness she did not need to earn.

And then Kaedric released me.

I fell to the floor, drawing in breath that felt too sharp, too unfamiliar in my chest.

“Take her,” he ordered his men without looking at me. “Lock her away until I decide what becomes of her.”

Hands seized me before I could rise.

As I was dragged down the corridor, I heard Liora’s voice once more, soft and triumphant beneath her tears.

“I always win,” she whispered.

But she did not understand.

Because I had already begun to plan my escape long before this moment had arrived.

The lock of my chamber door clicked shut with finality once I was thrown inside, the sound echoing like judgment.

Yet silence did not remain for long.

From beneath the hem of my robe, I drew a slender blade no longer than a finger, concealed in fabric and forgotten by those who believed me incapable of defiance. With practiced precision, I worked the mechanism of the lock until it yielded, and when the door finally opened, I stepped into the corridor without hesitation.

The packhouse was quieter now, but not empty.

And then I heard his voice.

Kaedric’s.

I pressed myself into the shadow of a stone archway, still as the ancient carvings that lined the walls, listening as he spoke in low tones to a messenger beyond my sight.

“She is breaking,” he said calmly, as though discussing livestock rather than a mate. “In time, she will no longer resist. And when she no longer serves a purpose, she will be removed quietly, as her father was.”

The words struck deeper than any physical wound.

My father.

I had believed his death to be fate. Misfortune. A tragedy without answer.

But now I heard what I had never been meant to hear.

It had not been fate.

It had been him.

Something within me fractured, not loudly, but completely.

Before I could fully process it, voices erupted further down the hall. Footsteps. Alarm. The hunt had already begun.

I ran.

Through corridors of ancestral stone. Down halls lit by flickering enchantments. My breath came fast, my heart louder than thought itself, until I reached the central staircase and descended without slowing.

Then came the shock of liquid from above.

Cold. Heavy. Scented with oil and something far more deliberate.

It drenched my body in an instant.

Gasoline.

My steps faltered as the slick surface beneath my feet betrayed every movement, and above me laughter rang out from the balcony.

Mirabel.

She leaned over the railing with a bow already in hand, watching me as though I were nothing more than prey released for sport.

“Let us see how long you last now,” she called softly, nocking an arrow with unhurried ease.

The flame ignited the moment the arrow tip touched the torch she carried.

And she smiled.

“Run,” she said.

So I did.

Because survival had finally become something I no longer intended to lose.