Chapter 1
The bond cracked first. Then my heart.
I stood outside his office door—hand raised to knock—and heard her moan his name.
"Harder, Alaric. Make me forget she exists."
My Alpha. My husband. My fated mate.
Inside another woman.
I pressed my palm flat against the oak. Steadied my breath. The wolf inside me—dormant for five years since our mating—should have howled. Should have clawed through the door and ripped her throat out.
But my wolf never came.
That was why Alaric called me defective. Why the pack whispered "barren Luna" behind my back. Why his mother demanded an annulment every full moon.
I was the only Alpha's mate in Silverridge history with no shift, no wolf, no power.
Just a human girl he'd claimed at nineteen—told her she was his fated one, his forever.
"You smell like home," he'd whispered that night at the university bonfire, golden eyes blazing. "I've waited two hundred years to find you. Say yes. Come with me."
So I left Stanford. Left my biochemistry PhD. Left my family's legacy—a research grant that could have changed medicine forever.
All for him.
And for five years, I played the perfect Luna. Managed the pack house. Hosted the ceremonies. Smiled through the humiliation of being the only mate who couldn't shift.
He was patient, at first. "Even if your wolf never wakes, I chose you."
Lies. All lies.
Because right now, behind that door, the unmistakable rhythm of skin against skin told me everything his pretty words had hidden.
I didn't knock.
I turned away.
Walked down the hall on silent feet.
Sat at the kitchen island and poured coffee, hands steady as surgical steel.
Twenty minutes later, Alaric appeared. Hair damp. Fresh shirt. Smile easy.
"Morning, sweetheart." He kissed my temple. "Sleep well?"
His scent was wrong. Jasmine and musk—not mine.
"Fine," I said. "You were up early."
"Pack business." He didn't blink. "Damon needed me at the eastern border."
Damon. His Beta. His favorite excuse.
I sipped my coffee. "Must be exhausting. You look... flushed."
Something flickered behind his amber eyes. Then vanished.
He squeezed my shoulder. "I'll make it up to you. Dinner tonight? Just us."
"Sure."
He left for his office. Locked the door.
I waited three breaths. Then pulled out my phone.
One missed call: Professor Marion, WHO Infectious Disease Division.
I called back.
"Nora." His voice was urgent. "The field position in the Congo. It's confirmed. Your old research on hemorrhagic fevers—they want you leading the team. Top security clearance. Full identity seal. You'll be a ghost."
A ghost.
The word tasted like freedom.
"When?"
"Seventy-two hours. If you're in, your records get wiped from every database tonight. No one finds you. Not even an Alpha."
My finger traced the rim of my mug.
Five years of devotion. Five years of "you're enough."
And his wolf chose someone else's bed.
"I'm in."
"Nora—are you sure? What about Alaric?"
I stared at the locked office door.
"Alaric made his choice. Now I'm making mine."
Silence. Then: "Understood. Get your affairs in order. Seventy-two hours."
The line went dead.
Three days.
Then the Luna of Silverridge would vanish like smoke.
And Alaric could have his moaning little she-wolf all to himself.
I finished my coffee.
Rinsed the cup.
And began to plan.
---
I stood outside his office door—hand raised to knock—and heard her moan his name.
"Harder, Alaric. Make me forget she exists."
My Alpha. My husband. My fated mate.
Inside another woman.
I pressed my palm flat against the oak. Steadied my breath. The wolf inside me—dormant for five years since our mating—should have howled. Should have clawed through the door and ripped her throat out.
But my wolf never came.
That was why Alaric called me defective. Why the pack whispered "barren Luna" behind my back. Why his mother demanded an annulment every full moon.
I was the only Alpha's mate in Silverridge history with no shift, no wolf, no power.
Just a human girl he'd claimed at nineteen—told her she was his fated one, his forever.
"You smell like home," he'd whispered that night at the university bonfire, golden eyes blazing. "I've waited two hundred years to find you. Say yes. Come with me."
So I left Stanford. Left my biochemistry PhD. Left my family's legacy—a research grant that could have changed medicine forever.
All for him.
And for five years, I played the perfect Luna. Managed the pack house. Hosted the ceremonies. Smiled through the humiliation of being the only mate who couldn't shift.
He was patient, at first. "Even if your wolf never wakes, I chose you."
Lies. All lies.
Because right now, behind that door, the unmistakable rhythm of skin against skin told me everything his pretty words had hidden.
I didn't knock.
I turned away.
Walked down the hall on silent feet.
Sat at the kitchen island and poured coffee, hands steady as surgical steel.
Twenty minutes later, Alaric appeared. Hair damp. Fresh shirt. Smile easy.
"Morning, sweetheart." He kissed my temple. "Sleep well?"
His scent was wrong. Jasmine and musk—not mine.
"Fine," I said. "You were up early."
"Pack business." He didn't blink. "Damon needed me at the eastern border."
Damon. His Beta. His favorite excuse.
I sipped my coffee. "Must be exhausting. You look... flushed."
Something flickered behind his amber eyes. Then vanished.
He squeezed my shoulder. "I'll make it up to you. Dinner tonight? Just us."
"Sure."
He left for his office. Locked the door.
I waited three breaths. Then pulled out my phone.
One missed call: Professor Marion, WHO Infectious Disease Division.
I called back.
"Nora." His voice was urgent. "The field position in the Congo. It's confirmed. Your old research on hemorrhagic fevers—they want you leading the team. Top security clearance. Full identity seal. You'll be a ghost."
A ghost.
The word tasted like freedom.
"When?"
"Seventy-two hours. If you're in, your records get wiped from every database tonight. No one finds you. Not even an Alpha."
My finger traced the rim of my mug.
Five years of devotion. Five years of "you're enough."
And his wolf chose someone else's bed.
"I'm in."
"Nora—are you sure? What about Alaric?"
I stared at the locked office door.
"Alaric made his choice. Now I'm making mine."
Silence. Then: "Understood. Get your affairs in order. Seventy-two hours."
The line went dead.
Three days.
Then the Luna of Silverridge would vanish like smoke.
And Alaric could have his moaning little she-wolf all to himself.
I finished my coffee.
Rinsed the cup.
And began to plan.
---