Chapter 2
White ceiling. Sterile air. The beeping of monitors.
I woke to agony so complete that for a moment I thought I was still burning.
Every nerve ending screamed. The skin on my arms, my torso, my legs—gone and regrown in patches, angry red and silver-scarred where the flames had poisoned my healing.
Then I heard the system's voice again—still linked to me through what remained of the mate bond's echo.
"WARNING. Elara Voss is in critical condition. Lunar essence fading. The Blood Moon Seal has begun to fracture. Shadow Plague emergence: estimated 20 days. Host—administer the Moonstone Elixir immediately to stabilize her core."
Dominic's voice came from somewhere beyond the glass wall of my isolation chamber.
"No. Not yet."
My blood ran cold.
"The whole point," he said, speaking to someone—probably his Beta, Marcus Cole—"was for her body to adapt to silver exposure. If I heal her now, she won't develop immunity. Next time Serena needs protection from a silver-based threat, we'd have to do this all over again."
The system's voice crackled with something close to fury. "This is a VIOLATION of the prophecy timeline! Elara's body cannot sustain prolonged silver poisoning! Her lunar core is fragmenting! If you do not intervene—"
"She's the True Luna," Dominic interrupted, his voice flat with certainty. "She won't die from this. Her kind never does."
A pause.
Then, almost gently: "And when it's over, I'll give her the best healers. I'll make sure she recovers fully. Even if there are scars—" His voice softened with what he probably thought was generosity. "I won't reject her for it."
Won't reject me.
As if that was a gift.
As if not being disgusted by my melted flesh was some grand act of mercy.
I lay in that glass pod, unable to move, unable to speak, and realized with horrible clarity: he wasn't keeping me alive out of love.
He was keeping me alive because I was useful.
A shield. A test subject. A tool to make Serena's life easier.
The system spoke again, its voice strained. "Host, if the True Luna's core shatters, the Seal collapses permanently. No other wolf can maintain it. Serena Vale does NOT carry lunar essence—she never did. Your plan has no scientific basis."
"The Pack researchers disagree," Dominic said coolly. "They believe a core transfer is possible. Luna essence can be extracted and implanted. Once Elara stabilizes, we move forward with the procedure."
Core transfer.
Extracting my lunar essence.
The thing fused with my soul since birth.
Taking it would kill me.
He knew that.
He had to know that.
"Even if she can't fight anymore," he continued, "I'll take care of her. She'll live comfortably. I promise."
Comfortably.
Like a retired dog.
The monitors beeped faster as my heart rate spiked. A nurse rushed in, adjusting my IV.
She didn't meet my eyes.
None of them did.
Because they all knew what was coming. And not one of them would stop it.
I closed my eyes and felt something inside me—something that had held on for years, through every cold word, every dismissal, every time he chose her—finally let go.
The love I had for Dominic Ashford didn't die in fire.
It died in that sterile room, listening to him plan my murder with the voice of a man scheduling a meeting.
I woke to agony so complete that for a moment I thought I was still burning.
Every nerve ending screamed. The skin on my arms, my torso, my legs—gone and regrown in patches, angry red and silver-scarred where the flames had poisoned my healing.
Then I heard the system's voice again—still linked to me through what remained of the mate bond's echo.
"WARNING. Elara Voss is in critical condition. Lunar essence fading. The Blood Moon Seal has begun to fracture. Shadow Plague emergence: estimated 20 days. Host—administer the Moonstone Elixir immediately to stabilize her core."
Dominic's voice came from somewhere beyond the glass wall of my isolation chamber.
"No. Not yet."
My blood ran cold.
"The whole point," he said, speaking to someone—probably his Beta, Marcus Cole—"was for her body to adapt to silver exposure. If I heal her now, she won't develop immunity. Next time Serena needs protection from a silver-based threat, we'd have to do this all over again."
The system's voice crackled with something close to fury. "This is a VIOLATION of the prophecy timeline! Elara's body cannot sustain prolonged silver poisoning! Her lunar core is fragmenting! If you do not intervene—"
"She's the True Luna," Dominic interrupted, his voice flat with certainty. "She won't die from this. Her kind never does."
A pause.
Then, almost gently: "And when it's over, I'll give her the best healers. I'll make sure she recovers fully. Even if there are scars—" His voice softened with what he probably thought was generosity. "I won't reject her for it."
Won't reject me.
As if that was a gift.
As if not being disgusted by my melted flesh was some grand act of mercy.
I lay in that glass pod, unable to move, unable to speak, and realized with horrible clarity: he wasn't keeping me alive out of love.
He was keeping me alive because I was useful.
A shield. A test subject. A tool to make Serena's life easier.
The system spoke again, its voice strained. "Host, if the True Luna's core shatters, the Seal collapses permanently. No other wolf can maintain it. Serena Vale does NOT carry lunar essence—she never did. Your plan has no scientific basis."
"The Pack researchers disagree," Dominic said coolly. "They believe a core transfer is possible. Luna essence can be extracted and implanted. Once Elara stabilizes, we move forward with the procedure."
Core transfer.
Extracting my lunar essence.
The thing fused with my soul since birth.
Taking it would kill me.
He knew that.
He had to know that.
"Even if she can't fight anymore," he continued, "I'll take care of her. She'll live comfortably. I promise."
Comfortably.
Like a retired dog.
The monitors beeped faster as my heart rate spiked. A nurse rushed in, adjusting my IV.
She didn't meet my eyes.
None of them did.
Because they all knew what was coming. And not one of them would stop it.
I closed my eyes and felt something inside me—something that had held on for years, through every cold word, every dismissal, every time he chose her—finally let go.
The love I had for Dominic Ashford didn't die in fire.
It died in that sterile room, listening to him plan my murder with the voice of a man scheduling a meeting.