Beneath the Waning Moon

Three weeks ago. The night of the blood moon.

I ran alone through the high passes, heavy with young—nine moons along, the pup quickening with every step.

The trail gave way. I tumbled, striking stone and ice, wedged in a crevice where the cold would finish what gravity began.

I sent my call through the spirit-web to the healers. Needed the Alpha's permission to cut the pup from my dying flesh. Ninety-nine summons. Silence.

The hundredth time, the bond stirred.

"Seraphine." Leon's voice, sharp as winter wind. "Must you always demand my attention? I'm occupied. Cease your crying."

Before the link closed, I heard her.

Lysandra. No bond, no mark—but close enough to murmur in his ear.

"The fire-dance begins soon, Leon. Leave the pack business. Come warm yourself."

Days later, I woke in the healing den, consciousness returning like poison. Through the stone, I heard Leon's truth.

"Alpha," the shaman protested, "the wolfsbane will kill her wolf. The marrow ritual is complete. Lysandra walks. Let your mate wake."

Leon's laugh held no warmth. "If Seraphine rises now, she'll know I triggered the rockslide to harvest our pup for Lysandra 's blood-rotting sickness. I need her dreaming until Lysandra births my heir."

My heart seized.

All those moons, I had cradled Lysandra 's swelling belly, sung to her human young, loved her as pack-kin—while she lay with my marked mate, carried his seed, and drank my offspring's life to cure her own.

The shaman's voice cracked. "Alpha, the she-wolf will die—"

"Then let her," Leon said. "You've taken my gold. Cross me, and I'll leave your pups fatherless."

I pressed my hand to the mark on my throat, feeling our bond shudder and fray. Silent tears tracked my cheeks.

My fated mate. My chosen Alpha. He had murdered our young for his first love—the female who fled him at the altar five winters ago.

I reached for the crystal, fingers unsteady.

"Harris," I said, flat as lake-ice. "Prepare the severance scroll. I want his mark removed before the week ends."

I let the crystal fall.

In the corridor, laughter echoed from the chamber of rest.

I moved toward it, dread pooling in my gut, each step betraying the bond that still cried out for him. Through the gap in the wooden screen, I saw them.

Leon sat on the edge of the healing bed, his warrior's fingers tracing Lysandra 's pale hair. She smiled up at him, one hand resting on the swell beneath her gown.

"You saved us both," she whispered. "Your son is safe because of what you sacrificed."

He bent, pressing his mouth to her forehead. "What I lost was worth the price."

My breath stopped. I clamped my palm over my lips, trapping the sob.

What I lost.

He spoke of me. Of our pup. Of the bond he was shredding.

I turned, stumbling, vision narrowing to tunnels. The wash-chamber offered cold stone to grip. I stared at the she-wolf in the polished metal—pelt dull, eyes hollow, the mark on my throat livid against gray skin.

The door opened. Lysandra 's reflection joined mine.

"Hiding, little wolf?" she asked, voice honey over venom. "Don't you wish to prepare my nest for the birthing?"

I splashed water on my face, refusing her image. "Leave me."

She pouted, false innocence. "Such hostility, Seraphine. Especially since I'm the one who decides which she-wolf sleeps in the Alpha's chamber now."

I turned, meeting her eyes. "What do you want? Because you carry my mate's young? You're a creature I pitied and sheltered. Nothing more."

Her smile twisted, rage beneath the mask. "I know exactly what I am, Seraphine. I'm grateful you opened your den to me—which is why I want you to see your pup. Before he stopped breathing."

I laughed, harsh and broken. "Madness. My young died in my womb."

"Did he?" She giggled, the sound obscene. "The healers didn't tell you? Your pup drew breath. You were simply too lost in dreams to witness it."

My heart lurched. "You lie."

She produced a viewing-crystal. In its depths, a newborn wolf-pup lay—fur damp, eyes sealed, chest rising with perfect breaths.

Tears blinded me. I stared at the image, reaching for the glass. "He's beautiful... my eyes, he has my eyes..."

"Perfect, yes," she agreed.

"Where?" I demanded.

She leaned close, whispering, "That was the difficulty. Your pup was too perfect. Too strong. I couldn't allow any threat to my son's place as Leon's heir."

My throat closed. "Lysandra . What did you do?"

She shrugged, casual as weather. "I merely observed that his marrow would cure my blood-sickness. The healers warned Leon—your pup might not survive the extraction. Leon insisted. And so..."

I lunged.

My claws found her throat, my scream tearing from where my wolf should have been. "Monster—you murdered my young!"

"Leon!" she shrieked, practiced, perfect.

The screen shattered. He filled the doorway, golden eyes wide for one heartbeat—then narrowing to cold amber.

He crossed in two strides and brushed me aside like I was nothing.

The world tilted. My skull struck tile. Blood filled my mouth.

"How dare you attack her?" he roared.

I glared through the pain, through the bond that screamed his name. "She killed our pup! You both—"

"You assault a female carrying young," he cut in, voice carrying the Alpha command that once protected me. "You forfeit your right to call yourself mother. This is why your pup died—your violence, your instability."

The words cut deeper than the blow. A whimper escaped, my throat constricting around grief and fury.

He didn't look at me again. He lifted Lysandra, cradling her against the chest where I had once rested my head, and carried her into the light.

I sat in my own blood, in the dark, and understood finally.

What died tonight wasn’t just my pup.

It was whatever part of me still waited for him.

Seven days. Then I would run from this territory, from the male who wore my mark while he destroyed me. But I would not run quietly.

I would make him regret every breath he stole from our pup's lungs.