Kaela POV:

They carved my face to the bone, cut my tendons so I couldn't crawl, and dumped my body in the Rogue Barrens to die. I was the Alpha's own daughter. Wolfless, pregnant, and framed by my half-sister for carrying a Rogue's bastard. My fiancé broke our engagement and announced he was marrying her instead. My father signed my exile without a word. My stepmother forced wolfsbane down my throat to kill my baby. Then they left me in the dark.

The poison didn't kill my child. The Barrens didn't kill me.

Five years later, I returned as The Surgeon — the most powerful and untouchable doctor in the territories, hidden behind a silver mask. Now my half-sister is on her knees, sobbing, begging me to save our stepmother's life.

I smile behind the mask. They have no idea who they're really kneeling for.

...

"A Rogue is a Rogue, Genevieve. You can wear silk, but you can't wash it out."

My mother stood in the center of our living room, her face drained of color, her knuckles white at her sides. And Ethelene Hicks, the woman my father had installed in my mother's place, stood before the fireplace with a smile that made the air feel like glass about to shatter.

I had just walked in, hoping for a quiet moment with my mother before the evening meal. Instead, I found this. The same scene, different day.

Ethelene's eyes, cold as chips of ice, flickered to me. Her smile widened.

"And you," she said, loud enough for the servants to hear, "are the unfortunate proof. A wolfless daughter. The perfect stain to complete the picture of your mother's garbage bloodline."

The words landed like a fist. Wolfless. Garbage. Stain. I had heard them since I was old enough to understand language. Ethelene's cruelty was repetitive and relentless, designed to grind you down until you forgot you had ever been anything but a thing to be despised. But I hadn't forgotten. Not yet.

The fire in my stomach roared into an inferno.

I crossed the rug in three quick strides and put myself between them, shielding my mother with my body. "Stop it." My voice shook with rage. "She is my mother. And she is the Alpha's chosen mate."

A light, musical laugh echoed from the grand staircase.

"Oh, little sister." Isabell descended like a queen in her flowing silk gown. Her nails were painted pearl-white—the exact shade my mother used to wear, before Ethelene took that from her too. "Such a temper. So unbecoming."

My half-sister. Perfect, beautiful, venomous as a snake.

Ethelene puffed out her chest. "See? A daughter should show respect. You are a disgrace, Kaela."

"You're not my mother. You have no right to lecture me."

Isabell glided to Ethelene's side, placing a comforting hand on her arm. Her eyes, fixed on me, were sharp and analytical—a predator scanning for weakness. Her gaze swept over me, then narrowed, lingering on my midsection.

"Sister, I'm only worried about you," she said, her tone dripping with false concern. "You've been dressing so differently these past few months. All these loose clothes. And the way you move—so careful, like you're protecting something fragile." Her smile sharpened. "Is there something you want to tell us?"

Cold dread washed over me. She had been watching me for months. The loose tunics. The layers. The binding I wrapped around my ribs every morning before anyone woke, pulling it tight enough to flatten the growing curve. All of it, seen. All of it, catalogued.

Without thinking, my hand flew to my stomach. Something tightened low in my belly—a cramp of pure fear, or the life inside me curling inward as if it knew danger was near.

A fatal mistake.

Isabell's eyes lit up with triumph. She brought a hand to her mouth, her gasp theatrically loud. "Oh my goddess, sister... you couldn't be..."

Ethelene understood immediately. "Brenda!"

The burly servant straightened. "Check her. Now."

"No! Don't you dare touch me!"

But my body was weak. The morning sickness of the early months had passed, replaced by a bone-aching exhaustion that made my limbs feel like they were carrying stones. I was no match for Brenda, a warrior-class wolf.

She grabbed my wrist. Her other hand shot toward my stomach. I twisted, fabric tore, a button popped off.

The garment fell open. The binding was exposed—the long strip of linen I had wound around my ribs so many times it had left grooves in my skin. Brenda tore at it, and the fabric gave way.

My belly spilled free. Swollen and round and undeniable. Seven months of hidden life, exposed to the cold air and colder eyes.

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence. Every eye—Ethelene's, Isabell's, the servants'—nailed to my stomach.

A soft, choked sound came from behind me. My mother made a little whimpering noise, like a dying animal.

"Seven months," Isabell breathed. For a fraction of a second, something almost like respect flickered in her eyes. Then it was gone, swallowed by cold, glittering triumph. "Does Preston know you're carrying another man's child?"

Preston. My fiancé. The future Alpha of the Silvermoon Pack.

"Scandal!" Ethelene shrieked. "This is the greatest scandal to ever befall the Stonefang Pack! A whore carrying a bastard in her belly!"

My face went bone-white. I tried to reach my father through the mind-link, but it was dead. Blocked. They had planned this.

Isabell stepped close, her perfume cloying. "You're just like your filthy Rogue mother," she whispered against my ear. "Born to roll in the mud."

Then she straightened, her face a mask of sorrow. "Mother, we have to tell Father. We can't let her ruin our family's name."

Two more servants grabbed my arms. I was trapped.

"Lock her in the basement," Ethelene commanded. "She will wait there for the Alpha's judgment."

"No! Kaela!" My mother lunged forward, but Holly blocked her path. Genevieve's sobs echoed as she called my name.

I was dragged backward. My eyes locked with Isabell's. No pretense now. Only pure, venomous triumph.

The cellar door swung open. Damp, musty air washed over me.

They shoved me forward. I stumbled, my bare feet hitting cold stone, and tumbled down, landing in a heap on the packed-earth floor.

A sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen. I curled into a ball, my hands cradling my belly. My baby.

Isabell stood at the top of the stairs, a dark silhouette against the light. "Enjoy yourself, dear sister. This is only the beginning."

The iron door slammed shut.

The lock grated.

And my world plunged into absolute darkness, and cold.

Kaela POV:

Time ceased to exist in the suffocating dark.

It was measured only by the waves of pain that clenched my stomach. Each cramp was a terrifying reminder of what I stood to lose. I lay curled on the damp earth, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, whispering pleas into the void.

Please be okay. Please, please be okay.

I didn't know how long I'd been there. Hours? A day?

Then, a sound. A metallic scrape.

A small square of light appeared high up on the iron door. The viewing slot.

I lifted my head, my neck stiff and sore. My eyes, unaccustomed to the light, watered. A face appeared in the opening, silhouetted against the brightness.

A handsome face. A face that had once been my entire world.

Preston.

A choked sob of relief escaped my throat. Hope, fragile and desperate, flared in my chest. He had come. He would save me.

I scrambled forward on my hands and knees, my voice a raw, broken croak. "Preston! Help me. They're lying. It's all lies!"

He just looked at me. His eyes, the warm blue eyes I had loved, were glacial. They held no warmth, no affection. Only a cold, clinical disgust.

He didn't open the door.

He spoke through the small opening, his voice flat and hard. "Whose bastard is it?"

The word—bastard—was a physical blow. It felt like he had reached through the door and slapped me. I stared at him, my mind struggling to connect this cold stranger with the man who had sworn to love me forever.

Tears streamed down my dirty cheeks. "No," I whispered, shaking my head. "It's not... Preston, I didn't betray you. I swear. I was drugged. I don't know what happened..."

A short, ugly laugh cut me off. "Drugged? Do you really expect me to believe an excuse that pathetic? What man would be stupid enough to touch a wolfless, anyway?"

His words weren't a knife. They were a shard of ice, sliding into the deepest, most vulnerable part of my soul. He paused, and I saw him searching for something—the memory of a weakness I had given him freely, back when I trusted him with everything I was.

"You told me once you were afraid you'd never shift," he said, his voice dropping to something almost conversational. "That you felt broken. Incomplete." He let the silence stretch, let the memory curdle between us. "You were right. You've always been broken, Kaela. I just made the mistake of thinking I could fix you."

That was worse than the insult. A hundred times worse. He had taken the most vulnerable confession I had ever made—whispered against his chest in the dark, when I thought I was safe—and turned it into a weapon.

The last flicker of hope inside me died. The cold from the floor seemed to seep into my bones, into my very heart.

"So you don't believe me," I said. It wasn't a question.

His gaze shifted away, as if looking at me was too much to bear. "We're over, Kaela. My mate, the future Luna of my pack, cannot be a disgraced woman carrying another man's child."

His words echoed Isabell's. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

"It was Isabell, wasn't it?" I demanded, my voice gaining a raw edge of fury. "What did she tell you?"

A flicker of something—guilt? discomfort?—crossed his face before it was buried under a fresh layer of cold indifference. "Isabell simply helped me see the reality of the situation. She is the one who is most suitable to stand by my side."

The formal declaration of his betrayal. He hadn't chosen to believe a lie; he had chosen a more convenient truth. He had chosen power over me.

All the strength drained out of my body. I slid down the cold iron door, my back scraping against the rough metal, until I was sitting in a heap on the floor. I couldn't even find the energy to cry.

He wasn't finished.

"By the way," he added, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "My father, Lord Montgomery, has already spoken with Alpha Jeffry. My engagement ceremony to Isabell will be held on the night of the next full moon."

The final, fatal blow.

He wasn't just leaving me. He was replacing me. With her.

A guttural sound, something between a sob and a roar, tore from my throat. I pushed myself up, my eyes burning, bloodshot. "You and her," I snarled, "you will both pay for this!"

His expression twisted into a sneer of contempt. "Pay? A wolfless cripple, threatening me? What are you going to do, Kaela? Bore me to death with your whining?"

He paused, his voice softening into a tone of condescending pity that was worse than his anger. "A piece of advice, for old times' sake. Cooperate with the Alpha's decision. Maybe you'll get to keep your pathetic life."

He didn't wait for a reply. He turned, his footsteps echoing down the stone corridor, taking the last shred of my world with him.

Clang.

The viewing slot slammed shut.

Darkness returned, absolute and final.

The emotional agony was so intense it became physical. A violent, tearing pain exploded in my abdomen, far worse than the cramps before. It felt like my insides were being ripped apart.

A sudden, gushing warmth spread between my legs.

I looked down, though I could see nothing in the pitch black. The thick, metallic scent of blood filled the small space. It was heavy. Too heavy.

Hemorrhage.

My baby.

A primal terror, sharper and more potent than any heartbreak, seized me.

"No!" I screamed, the sound swallowed by the stone walls.

I threw myself at the door, pounding on the unyielding iron with my fists. My voice was shredded, my throat raw, but I didn't care.

"Help! Somebody, help me! My baby! Please, save my baby! A doctor!"

My desperate cries were the only sound in the cold, silent dark.

Kaela POV:

My screams for help faded into ragged sobs, then into silence. The only answer was the relentless thud of my own failing heart. Strength bled out of me along with the warmth pooling on the dirt floor. My consciousness began to fray at the edges, the darkness behind my eyes starting to feel like a welcome blanket.

Just as I was about to let go, a sound.

The groan of rusty hinges.

The iron door creaked open, spilling a rectangle of dim light onto the floor.

Ethelene stood there, flanked by two grim-faced servants. Behind them, a familiar, stooped figure clutched a leather bag.

Dr. Evans. The pack doctor.

A surge of adrenaline, a last desperate flicker of hope, shot through me.

"Doctor..." I stretched a trembling, blood-smeared hand towards him. "My baby... please, save my baby..."

Dr. Evans's eyes widened in horror at the sight of the blood. He took a step forward, his medical instincts kicking in.

But Ethelene's arm shot out, barring his way. She looked down at me, her face a mask of false sympathy. "Oh, my. What a mess. So much blood."

Her eyes, however, were glittering with triumph.

She turned to Dr. Evans, her voice dropping to a frigid whisper. "The Alpha has given his command. This... thing... is not to be born."

Dr. Evans froze. He looked from Ethelene's hard face to my bleeding form on the floor. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He was a good man, but a weak one. And Ethelene was the Alpha's mate.

Then, something happened that made the last ember of hope in my chest turn to ash.

The pack bond. The invisible thread that had connected me to my father since the moment I was born—it flickered. For one desperate, stupid heartbeat, I thought he had finally heard me. That he was coming.

Then his voice, cold and final, pressed into my mind for the last time.

I have no daughter.

And the link went dead.

Not blocked. Not silenced. Dead. Snapped like a rotted rope. He hadn't just abandoned me to this. He had personally, deliberately severed the bond. In the eyes of the pack, in the eyes of the Moon Goddess herself, I no longer existed.

A sound left me that I didn't recognize as my own. It wasn't a scream or a sob. It was something more final. The sound of a girl who had just been unmade by her own father's will.

Her gaze was pure venom. "You know what must be done, Doctor. The pack's honor is paramount."

Suddenly, there was a frantic scrabbling from the hallway. My mother, Genevieve, burst past the servants, her face wild with terror.

"No! Ethelene, you can't!" she shrieked, her eyes fixed on me. "That is Jeffry's grandchild!"

Ethelene let out a short, sharp laugh. "A bastard has no claim. It does not deserve to be the Alpha's grandchild. Genevieve, you will control yourself. Or I will not object to you joining her in death."

The two servants immediately seized my mother. They dragged her away, her desperate cries for her daughter and her grandchild echoing down the hall until they were cut off by a slamming door.

The last light in my world went out.

My father. Even my father had sanctioned the murder of his own grandchild.

Ethelene knelt beside me, her expensive perfume filling my nostrils, a sickeningly sweet scent of death. She savored the utter despair on my face for a long moment. Then, she opened a small, ornate wooden box.

Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, lay a single, dark, twisted root.

Dr. Evans gasped, his voice a strangled whisper. "Wolfsbane! My lady, that will kill her!"

Wolfsbane. The legendary poison. A potent abortifacient in small doses, a lethal toxin in larger ones. It was a death sentence.

Ethelene shot him a look of pure contempt. "I am simply... cleaning up a mess. It is the Alpha's will. You saw nothing, Doctor. Do you understand?"

Sweat beaded on Dr. Evans's forehead. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of pity and fear. Finally, he gave a short, jerky nod and lowered his head in shame.

Ethelene smiled, a predator's smile. She pinched my jaw, her long nails digging into my skin.

I summoned the last of my strength and twisted my head away. The bitter root fell from her fingers, landing in the dirt.

Smack.

Her hand cracked across my face, the force of it snapping my head back. "Insolent bitch!" she hissed. "You dare defy me?"

She barked an order. The servants pinned my arms and legs to the ground. Another forced my jaw open, the pressure on my cheeks agonizing.

Ethelene picked up the Wolfsbane, brushing the dirt from it with a delicate finger. Her smile was back, more terrifying than ever.

"Don't worry, dear," she cooed, her voice a poisonous lullaby. "Once the little problem in your belly is gone, I have another special gift for you."

She pushed the gritty, bitter-smelling root into my mouth.

I gagged, my body bucking against the hands holding me down.

"Swallow," she commanded.

Her fingers clamped over my nose, cutting off my air.

Instinct took over. I swallowed.

The root's juice was fire, searing a path down my throat and into my stomach.

The effect was instantaneous.

A pain, unlike anything I had ever known, exploded in my womb. It was not the cramping from before. This was a thousand knives, twisting, tearing, shredding me from the inside out.

A scream, high, piercing, and inhuman, was ripped from my lungs. My back arched violently, lifting me off the floor, before I slammed back down into the bloody mud.

Through a haze of agony, I saw Ethelene rise gracefully to her feet. She smoothed the front of her dress, as if brushing away a speck of dust.

She turned to the trembling doctor. "Now," she said, her voice calm and even. "You may 'treat' her. Just make sure she doesn't die."

Her face, the last thing I saw before the pain consumed me, was a mask of pure, ecstatic satisfaction. She was not a woman. She was a monster, dancing on the grave of my child.