Chapter 2

The silver bars burned through my palms like acid as I pried at the cage with desperate strength. Each touch seared my flesh, but I didn't care. Nothing mattered except reaching my son.

When I finally created an opening large enough to pull him through, my hands were ribbons of torn flesh and bone. But the sight that greeted me made my injuries meaningless.

Blood. So much blood pooled beneath the tiny cage that it looked like a crimson lake. And in the center lay my little boy, his small body pale as winter snow.

"No, no, no..." I whispered, gathering him into my arms. His skin was ice cold against my chest. "Please, baby, please wake up."

I pressed my ear to his chest, listening desperately for any sound of life. Silence.

This had to be a nightmare. Just this morning he'd been tugging at my skirt, begging me to make his favorite pancakes. His bright laughter had filled our home.

Now he lay motionless in my arms, his little fingers already stiff.

I stumbled through the pack grounds, clutching his body against me. Pack members stepped aside when they saw me coming, their faces a mixture of pity and fear. No one offered to help. No one dared.

The pack witch lived in a cottage at the edge of our territory. I burst through her door without knocking, my son still cradled in my bleeding arms.

"Healer Morgan, please!" I begged, laying him on her examination table. "Please, you have to save him!"

The elderly woman approached slowly, her experienced eyes taking in the scene. She placed a gentle hand on my son's forehead, then checked his wrist for a pulse.

"Child..." she said softly.

"Fix him!" I screamed. "Use your magic! Use whatever you have to!"

"Aria." Her voice was firm but kind. "This little one was weak from birth. The silver poisoning, the blood loss... can't you see? He's been gone for hours."

The words hit me like physical blows. I sank to my knees beside the table.

"No, you're wrong. He was fine yesterday. He was laughing and playing and..."

"I'm so sorry." Healer Morgan covered my son with a clean white cloth. "There's nothing anyone can do now."

I knew she was right. Deep down, I'd known the moment I saw him in that cage. But admitting it felt like dying myself.

I spent three days preparing my son's body for burial. Pack tradition dictated that family members handle the funeral rites, but I was completely alone.

Damon never came.

I dug the grave myself in our family plot, my wounded hands reopening with each shovel of dirt. The physical pain was a welcome distraction from the emptiness in my chest.

Other pack members watched from a distance but didn't approach. They whispered among themselves, but I caught enough words to understand.

"Cursed..." "...brought this on herself..." "...should have known better than to threaten an Alpha's mistress..."

I carved his headstone with my own claws, spelling out his name and the dates of his short life. Five years. My precious boy had only lived five years.

For two weeks after the burial, I moved through our house like a ghost. I couldn't bear to enter his room, couldn't face his toys or his tiny clothes. I barely ate, barely slept.

Every night I replayed those final moments in my mind. If only I'd been stronger. If only I'd been faster at opening that cage. If only I'd never threatened Serena's children in the first place.

The guilt was eating me alive from the inside.

Then, without warning, Damon returned.

He slammed through the front door like nothing had happened, tracking mud across the floors I'd once kept spotless for our family.

"Aria!" His voice boomed through the house. "Enough of this ridiculous sulking!"

I looked up from where I sat curled in my son's favorite chair, still wearing the same bloodstained clothes from two weeks ago.

"Is this supposed to be some kind of performance?" Damon's eyes were cold as winter steel. "This pathetic grieving mother act?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "Act?"

"You brought this on yourself!" He pointed an accusing finger at me. "If you hadn't sent someone to kidnap Ethan and traumatize him, none of this would have happened!"

"Kidnap?" The word came out as a croak. "I never—"

"Don't lie to me! Ethan told me everything. How your people grabbed him and locked him in that dark closet. He's only six years old, Aria! The poor child can't sleep anymore. He wakes up screaming every night!"

Six years old. The number echoed in my head like a death knell.

My son had been five. Only five when his father murdered him.

"You're talking about Serena's son," I said slowly, the realization hitting me. "You actually believe I would hurt a child?"

"You threatened them!" Damon's face flushed red with anger. "You said you'd make me regret it! Did you think I'd forgotten?"

I tried to speak, to explain, but my throat had closed up completely. The grief and shock made it impossible to form words.

"Serena is a good woman," Damon continued, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. "Kind and gentle, unlike you. I won't allow you to hurt her anymore!"

He spun to face me, his Alpha authority radiating from every pore.

"From today forward, Serena and Ethan will live in this house. Ethan may be mixed-blood, but he's still my son. I won't let him suffer on the streets because of your jealousy!"

"Our son is dead," I whispered.

"What did you say?"

"Our son is dead!" The words erupted from me like a primal scream. "While you were playing happy family with your mistress, your real son was dying in agony!"

Damon's face went blank. "That's impossible. I would have been told—"

"By who? You disappeared for two weeks! I buried him alone!"

For just a moment, uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Then his expression hardened again.

"You're lying. Trying to manipulate me with guilt. Our son is fine. He's probably hiding because he's afraid of you."

The casual dismissal of our child's death broke something inside me.

"You know what, Damon? You're right. Serena should move in. Give her my room too while you're at it."

His pupils contracted to pinpoints—I recognized the sign of his impending rage.

"Don't test me, Aria! What Alpha doesn't have multiple lovers? I've been more faithful to you than most! One mistress is nothing!"

"One mistress?" I laughed bitterly. "Is that supposed to make me grateful?"

"You'll always be my primary mate," he said, as if offering me a great gift. "Serena could never replace you. She knows her place."

I thought about the young woman I'd been ten years ago when we first met. How Damon's eyes had shone with adoration as he promised to love only me forever.

"You swore an oath," I said quietly. "You said loyalty was a wolf's nature."

"I've been loyal! Keeping one Omega on the side isn't betrayal—it's practically expected!"

Before I could respond, the front door opened again. Serena entered with her chin ducked submissively, but I caught the flash of triumph in her eyes.

"Damon, I'm sorry to interrupt," she said in a voice like honey. "But if Aria doesn't want us here, perhaps Ethan and I should find somewhere else to stay..."

She had a small overnight bag in one hand and held her son's hand with the other. Clearly, she'd been listening outside the door, waiting for the perfect moment to make her entrance.

"Absolutely not!" Damon strode over and took the bag from her. "This is your home now. No one is going to drive you away."

Serena's son—Ethan—immediately ran to the coffee table where I kept a small wooden box. Before I could react, he'd opened it and dumped the contents onto the floor.

My son's baby teeth scattered across the hardwood like fallen stars.

"Don't touch those!" I lunged forward, desperate to protect the only physical reminders I had left.

But it was too late. Ethan's shoe had already crushed one of the tiny teeth into powder.

Both children started wailing immediately. Serena scooped up her son with practiced ease, crocodile tears streaming down her face.

"I know you hate me," she sobbed to Damon. "But please don't let her hurt my baby. He's been through enough trauma already."

"Damon, she tried to grab Ethan!" Serena's voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "Right in front of you! What will she do when you're not here to protect us?"

I was still on my hands and knees, frantically gathering the remaining teeth. One was missing entirely, ground to dust under a six-year-old's foot.

The last physical piece of my son. Gone.

Damon moved to the wall where he kept his disciplinary tools. The silver-spiked whip was traditionally used only on rogue wolves or criminals.

Never on a mate.

Never on the mother of his child.

"You need to learn your place," he said, his voice deadly calm. "I've been too lenient with you. Too forgiving."

The first lash caught me across the cheek, splitting the skin to the bone. Silver burned like liquid fire, ensuring the wound would never heal properly.

The second strike landed across my shoulder, tearing through fabric and flesh alike.

"This is what happens when you threaten my family," Damon growled, raising the whip again. "Remember this lesson, Aria. There won't be a next time."