Two days before the ceremony, I woke early to check on my Luna gown. The pack elders had been working on it for months—each stitch a blessing, each bead a prayer for the Silver Creek Pack's future. My fingers trembled slightly as I approached the sewing room. This would be my first time seeing it completed.

The door swung open silently under my touch. For a moment, my mind couldn't process what my eyes were seeing.

Shreds of white silk and lace hung from the dressmaker's dummy like flayed skin. The intricate beadwork that had taken Elder Mira's arthritic fingers weeks to complete lay scattered across the floor. Red paint—or something that looked horrifyingly like blood—splashed across the walls in violent arcs.

"No," I whispered, my voice breaking in the silence. "No, no, no."

I stepped forward, my bare feet crunching on broken glass from the shattered vials of ceremonial oils. The scent of lavender and sage—meant to bless my union with Nixon—now mixed with the acrid smell of paint and something else. Something malicious.

"Need help cleaning up?"

I whirled around to find Lana leaning against the doorframe, a pair of scissors dangling casually from her manicured fingers. Her lips curved into a smile that never reached her eyes.

"What have you done?" My voice shook with rage as I gestured to the ruined gown.

Lana examined her nails, the metal scissors catching the light. "Just trying to help. I noticed a loose thread yesterday when I was passing by." She looked up, her eyes glittering with mock innocence. "You know how important attention to detail is for a Luna, right?"

I stared at her, unable to believe her audacity. The gown wasn't just fabric and thread—it was the physical embodiment of my acceptance into the pack, blessed by every elder, touched by every member who had wished me well.

"You did this on purpose," I said, my wolf stirring beneath my skin.

"Prove it." Lana shrugged, tossing the scissors onto the worktable where they skidded to a stop beside a half-empty paint can. "Or better yet, tell Nixon. See if he believes you over me."

Something inside me snapped. I grabbed her arm, my fingers digging into her skin. "We're going to his office. Now."

Lana didn't resist as I dragged her through the pack house. Pack members stopped and stared, but none intervened. They could smell the paint on her, see the satisfaction in her eyes, but pack hierarchy prevented them from acting without an Alpha command.

"Alpha Nixon!" I called out as we approached his office. "I need to speak with you!"

I pushed Lana forward into his office. Nixon looked up from his desk, his expression darkening as he took in the scene—my disheveled appearance, Lana's smirk, the red stains on my feet.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"The ceremonial gown," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "She destroyed it. Look at her—she's still holding the scissors!"

Nixon's gaze flickered to Lana, then back to me. Something shifted in his eyes—something cold and dismissive.

"Lana was only trying to help," he said flatly.

I stared at him in disbelief. "Help? She shredded it, Nixon! She destroyed months of work by the elders!"

"Enough!" His hand slammed down on the desk, making me jump. The room suddenly filled with his Alpha aura—heavy, oppressive, suffocating.

My wolf whimpered inside me, instinctively responding to the dominance display. But I fought against it, refusing to back down.

"She's lying," Lana whispered, her voice taking on a wounded quality. "I was just trying to fix it. Sloan has always been... unstable."

Nixon's eyes flashed with anger—not at Lana, but at me. "Sloan," he growled, his Alpha Tone vibrating through the room. "Stop causing drama."

The command hit me like a physical blow. My knees buckled as my wolf was forced into submission by the Alpha's power.

"You will wear the spare dress," he continued, each word pressing down on me like a weight. "And you will apologize to Lana for these accusations."

I tried to speak, tried to protest, but the Alpha command held me in its grip. My wolf cowered, unable to resist the authority of an Alpha.

"I'm sorry," I choked out, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

Lana's smile widened as she watched me struggle against Nixon's command. "Apology accepted," she said sweetly.

Nixon nodded, satisfied with my submission. "Good. Now clean yourself up. We have guests arriving tomorrow, and I won't have you embarrassing this pack further."

As I turned to leave, fighting back tears of humiliation and rage, I caught a glimpse of something in Lana's eyes—something that chilled me to the bone.

This wasn't just about a dress or a ceremony. This was about breaking me completely.

The morning sun beat down on the training grounds as pack members gathered for their daily drills. I stood at the edge, my healer's bag slung over my shoulder, watching the warriors pair off for combat practice. My muscles ached from lack of sleep—I'd spent most of the night trying to salvage what I could of my ceremonial gown.

"Attention!" Beta Marcus called out, his voice carrying across the field. "Today we focus on defensive maneuvers against rogues."

I turned to leave—as healer, I wasn't required to participate in combat training—when a familiar voice stopped me cold.

"Where's our future Luna hiding?" Lana's voice cut through the morning air like a blade.

She strode onto the training field, wearing tight-fitting workout clothes that showed off every curve. The warriors stopped their exercises, turning to watch the confrontation.

"I'm not hiding," I replied evenly, though my heart hammered against my ribs. "I'm observing."

Lana circled me like a predator, her eyes gleaming with malice. "A Luna should be strong enough to protect her pack, shouldn't she?"

"I protect the pack in my own way," I said, clutching my healer's bag tighter. "As a healer."

"A healer who can't even heal herself of weakness." Lana's laugh was sharp and cruel. "I challenge you, Sloan Miller. Right here, right now."

The training ground fell silent. Challenges between pack members were rare—challenges to the future Luna even rarer.

"I decline," I said firmly. "The pack laws clearly state that healers are protected from physical challenges during their service."

"Oh?" Lana's eyebrow arched. "And what law is that?"

"Section seven of the Ancient Covenant," I recited, my voice growing stronger. "Healers who serve the pack with dedication shall not be forced into combat that might endanger their ability to provide medical care."

Several warriors nodded—they knew I was right.

Lana's face twisted with rage. "You think you're so smart with your books and laws."

"I think I know my place," I said calmly. "And yours."

Her hand shot out faster than I expected, aiming for my face. I ducked and spun away—a move Malachi had taught me years ago when we trained together in secret.

The pack warriors gasped. No one had expected me to move so quickly.

"Where did you learn that?" Delta Kian asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

I didn't answer. I couldn't tell them about Malachi, about the hours we'd spent training when everyone thought we were gathering herbs.

---

The healing sanctuary was my refuge—the only place in the pack lands where I felt truly safe. Located in a small clearing near the eastern border, it housed my collection of herbs, books, and most importantly, my tablet.

I locked the door behind me and sank onto the wooden bench, pulling out the tablet with trembling fingers. Five years of research, countless experiments, all stored in its memory banks.

"Wolfsbane antidote, phase three," I murmured, scrolling through the files. "Rogue rehabilitation protocols. Ancient healing remedies from the Northern packs."

My finger hovered over the encryption button. Something felt wrong—a premonition perhaps, or just exhaustion from the constant tension.

"Better safe than sorry," I whispered, entering the complex password that would lock the files behind multiple layers of security.

The tablet pinged softly as it encrypted the data. This research was more than just work to me—it was my legacy, the one thing I'd created that Nixon couldn't diminish or dismiss.

---

"Keep up, Sloan!" Nixon's voice echoed through the forest as we ran in wolf form during the pack run.

I struggled to maintain pace with the warriors, my smaller wolf form not built for speed like theirs. Lana raced ahead, her copper-colored fur gleaming in the dappled sunlight, occasionally casting smug glances back at me.

"Perhaps our healer needs a break," she called out, slowing to let me catch up. "Or maybe she needs to prove her stamina... in other ways."

The innuendo was clear, and several male wolves let out low growls of appreciation.

"That's enough," Nixon said, but his tone lacked conviction.

We shifted back to human form at the edge of the clearing, and I pulled on the light dress I'd tied to my ankle before the run.

"Sloan," Nixon's voice suddenly hardened. "Lana has been sharing some interesting insights about rogue poisons. She needs access to your research."

My blood ran cold. "What?"

"Your tablet," he demanded, extending his hand. "Now."

"No." I clutched the tablet to my chest. "This research is sensitive. It could save lives if used properly, but it could also be dangerous in the wrong hands."

Nixon's eyes flashed with anger. "Are you refusing an Alpha command?"

"Lana doesn't understand the complexity of these formulas," I pleaded. "One mistake could—"

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist so tightly I cried out. With a sharp twist, he wrenched the tablet from my grasp.

"Nixon, please!" I begged as he turned and handed my life's work to Lana.

She smiled, her fingers caressing the screen like a predator savoring its prey. "Let's see what our little healer has been hiding."

I watched in horror as she pressed the power button, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent.

I watched in horror as Lana's fingers danced across my tablet screen, her nails clicking against the glass like tiny knives. My life's work—five years of research, countless experiments, and hope—all stored in that small device now in the hands of my tormentor.

"This is what you've been protecting?" Lana's voice dripped with disdain as she scrolled through my encrypted files. "Wolfsbane antidotes? Rogue rehabilitation protocols? How... boring."

"Nixon, please," I begged, my voice cracking. "That research could save lives."

He barely glanced at me, his attention fixed on Lana's every movement. "It's just data, Sloan. You're being dramatic."

"Just data?" I whispered, disbelief washing over me. "That's everything I've worked for—everything I've—"

"Oh, look at this," Lana interrupted, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Encryption keys. How clever of you, little Omega."

My heart stopped as she highlighted the encryption program—my final safeguard.

"Delete it," she said casually, looking up at Nixon. "It's just cluttering the memory."

"Nixon wouldn't let you," I said, more to convince myself than anyone else.

But he did.

"Go ahead," he said with a shrug. "If it's causing such drama, maybe it's better gone."

Lana's smile widened as she pressed the delete button. The tablet pinged softly as years of research disappeared forever.

"No!" I lunged forward, but Nixon caught my arm, holding me back.

Lana wasn't finished. She lifted the tablet high above her head, her eyes locked on mine. "Your precious work needs a proper burial."

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it against a nearby granite boulder. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the forest as my tablet—my legacy—splintered into a thousand pieces.

"Lana!" I screamed, struggling against Nixon's grip. "You have no idea what you've done!"

But Nixon was laughing—actually laughing—as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

"Lighten up, Sloan," he said, his arm still around my waist. "It's just a tablet. You can always start over."

The casual dismissal of five years of work hit me like a physical blow. Something inside me cracked—not just my heart, but something deeper, more primal.

My wolf, usually so quiet and subdued, suddenly howled in agony within my mind. The sound was so loud I could barely hear anything else—a keening wail of loss that tore through my consciousness.

"Sloan?" Nixon's voice sounded distant, underwater.

I couldn't answer. My wolf's grief was overwhelming, merging with my own until I couldn't tell where hers ended and mine began. We were one in our mourning—for the research, for Malachi, for everything we'd lost.

The forest tilted sideways as my knees buckled. I felt myself falling, the ground rushing up to meet me. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges.

"Sloan!" Nixon's voice sharpened with annoyance rather than concern. "What's wrong with you?"

I tried to speak, tried to tell him that something was breaking inside me, but my body betrayed me. Convulsions wracked my frame as my wolf thrashed against the confines of my skin.

"She's having some kind of fit," I heard someone say. "Probably stress."

"Great," Nixon muttered. "Just what I need before the ceremony."

Strong arms lifted me—not Nixon's, but Beta Marcus's. Through my haze of pain, I saw Nixon already turning away, his arm around Lana's shoulders.

"Take her to the infirmary," he ordered over his shoulder. "I'll finish the run with Lana."

---

The infirmary was quiet at midnight. I lay alone on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling. The pack doctor had given me something to calm my nerves—a sedative that made the room spin gently around me.

I'd been abandoned here hours ago. No one had come to check on me except the night nurse who'd left me with a glass of water and a sympathetic smile.

"Your wolf is grieving," she'd whispered before leaving. "Let her mourn."

But how could I mourn properly when everything I'd built was gone?

A sharp pain lanced through my mind—different from the emotional agony I'd been feeling all day. This was invasive, deliberate.

*White Wolf.*

I sat up straight, my heart pounding. Someone was in my head—a mind-link I didn't recognize.

*Who are you?* I thought back, fear coursing through me.

*Gabriel Rivers.* The voice was rough but not unkind. *I've come with a message from beyond the border.*

A Rogue. I should have been terrified, but something in his mental presence felt... familiar.

*What message?* I asked, my guard still up.

*The Legacy of Malachi waits at the Twisted Pine on the Wildlands border.* His voice softened with reverence. *He left it for you before he died. It is time to come home, White Wolf.*

My breath caught in my throat. Malachi's name, spoken aloud after so many years of silence.

*How do you know about Malachi?* I demanded.

But Gabriel was already fading from my mind, his presence retreating like mist before the dawn.

*Come to the border at midnight tomorrow,* were his final words. *What he left for you will change everything.*