Chapter 1
When the silver chains burned, it meant the wolfsbane was working.
My mate held the torch. My stepsister held his arm. And my father watched from his throne, smiling.
They called it a cleansing. A mercy killing for a wolfless Luna.
It was murder.
"Shift." Alpha Kane's voice was cold, bored. "Prove you have a wolf, and I'll stop."
I couldn't shift. I hadn't been able to shift in three years—not since the night my stepsister Vivienne started putting drops in my evening tea.
I didn't know that then. Chained to the silver post in front of the entire Blackmoor Pack, I only knew the shame. The helplessness. The way Kane's eyes—the same golden eyes that once looked at me with hunger—now held nothing but contempt.
"See?" Vivienne's voice was honeyed poison, her hand resting on the swell of her pregnant belly. "She's barren. Wolfless. A disgrace to the Luna title. I told you, Kane. I told you from the beginning."
Kane didn't look at me. He looked at my father, Alpha Gerald of Silverpine, who had brokered this mating alliance. Gerald nodded once. Permission.
Kane raised the ceremonial blade—the one reserved for severing mate bonds. It was supposed to cut the invisible thread between our souls. A spiritual divorce.
He drove it into my chest instead.
The pain was absolute. Not just the steel splitting my ribs, but the bond—our mate bond—shredding apart like burning silk. I felt every fiber tear.
"Kane—" I choked on his name, on my own blood.
He leaned close. His breath was warm against my ear. "You were always just a political arrangement, Sera. Don't take it personally."
Vivienne appeared beside him, her smile a crescent of triumph. She pressed something into my failing hand—a small glass vial, empty. The same one I'd seen on my nightstand for three years.
"Nightshade extract," she whispered. "Suppresses the wolf entirely. Funny—you never once questioned why your tea tasted bitter." She giggled, light and girlish, like she'd shared a delightful secret at a sleepover.
My father. My mate. My sister.
Every person who should have protected me was a blade in my back.
The last thing I heard was Vivienne's voice, rising clear and bright: "Long live the true Luna of Blackmoor!"
Then, nothing.
I woke gasping.
The ceiling of my bedroom stared back at me—the one in the Luna Suite of Blackmoor Pack House. The silk sheets were cool against my sweat-drenched skin. Moonlight streamed through gauze curtains.
My hand flew to my chest. No wound. No scar. Just the frantic drumming of a heart that remembered being stopped.
I scrambled for my phone on the nightstand. The date glowed like a divine message:
October 1st.
Thirty days before the Rejection Ceremony.
Thirty days before my death.
I was back.
And deep inside me, in a place that had been silent for three agonizing years, something stirred. A rumble. A growl. Low, ancient, and furious.
My wolf. She was still there. Drugged into silence, but alive. Barely.
I looked at the nightstand. The porcelain teacup sat there, half-full, still steaming. Vivienne's nightly "gift."
I picked it up.
I poured it down the drain.
And as the poisoned liquid spiraled away, I made a vow that rang through every cell of my reborn body: They would not get a second chance to kill me.
But I would get my chance to destroy them all.
My mate held the torch. My stepsister held his arm. And my father watched from his throne, smiling.
They called it a cleansing. A mercy killing for a wolfless Luna.
It was murder.
"Shift." Alpha Kane's voice was cold, bored. "Prove you have a wolf, and I'll stop."
I couldn't shift. I hadn't been able to shift in three years—not since the night my stepsister Vivienne started putting drops in my evening tea.
I didn't know that then. Chained to the silver post in front of the entire Blackmoor Pack, I only knew the shame. The helplessness. The way Kane's eyes—the same golden eyes that once looked at me with hunger—now held nothing but contempt.
"See?" Vivienne's voice was honeyed poison, her hand resting on the swell of her pregnant belly. "She's barren. Wolfless. A disgrace to the Luna title. I told you, Kane. I told you from the beginning."
Kane didn't look at me. He looked at my father, Alpha Gerald of Silverpine, who had brokered this mating alliance. Gerald nodded once. Permission.
Kane raised the ceremonial blade—the one reserved for severing mate bonds. It was supposed to cut the invisible thread between our souls. A spiritual divorce.
He drove it into my chest instead.
The pain was absolute. Not just the steel splitting my ribs, but the bond—our mate bond—shredding apart like burning silk. I felt every fiber tear.
"Kane—" I choked on his name, on my own blood.
He leaned close. His breath was warm against my ear. "You were always just a political arrangement, Sera. Don't take it personally."
Vivienne appeared beside him, her smile a crescent of triumph. She pressed something into my failing hand—a small glass vial, empty. The same one I'd seen on my nightstand for three years.
"Nightshade extract," she whispered. "Suppresses the wolf entirely. Funny—you never once questioned why your tea tasted bitter." She giggled, light and girlish, like she'd shared a delightful secret at a sleepover.
My father. My mate. My sister.
Every person who should have protected me was a blade in my back.
The last thing I heard was Vivienne's voice, rising clear and bright: "Long live the true Luna of Blackmoor!"
Then, nothing.
I woke gasping.
The ceiling of my bedroom stared back at me—the one in the Luna Suite of Blackmoor Pack House. The silk sheets were cool against my sweat-drenched skin. Moonlight streamed through gauze curtains.
My hand flew to my chest. No wound. No scar. Just the frantic drumming of a heart that remembered being stopped.
I scrambled for my phone on the nightstand. The date glowed like a divine message:
October 1st.
Thirty days before the Rejection Ceremony.
Thirty days before my death.
I was back.
And deep inside me, in a place that had been silent for three agonizing years, something stirred. A rumble. A growl. Low, ancient, and furious.
My wolf. She was still there. Drugged into silence, but alive. Barely.
I looked at the nightstand. The porcelain teacup sat there, half-full, still steaming. Vivienne's nightly "gift."
I picked it up.
I poured it down the drain.
And as the poisoned liquid spiraled away, I made a vow that rang through every cell of my reborn body: They would not get a second chance to kill me.
But I would get my chance to destroy them all.