Carrying the Hockey Prince's Secret child

Those incriminating photos were a merciless bolt of lightning, shattering the perfect mate bond Ian Stormfang and I had pretended to have for five years.

My wolf howled inside me, yet I had no choice but to bear the crippling pain alone.

He had severed our mind link long ago.

Even now, he was likely with his Omega, basking in the presence of her youth.

At the edge of the Shadowmoon pack's territory, in a valley overgrown with wolfsbane, the faint glow of a cigarette flickered once before it died.

"Three times the market rate," the rogue said. "You're in too much of a hurry. Besides, no one wants to be on the receiving end of the Shadowmoon pack Alpha's rage."

I pulled out two gold bars without hesitation.

"Deal. Within three days, I expect the new identity and the car to be ready."

The scar-faced rogue nodded, but he didn't take the gold right away. Instead, he fixed me with a hard stare.

"Lena, I have to be blunt. Once you leave, you can't come sneaking back. None of the packs around here can handle Ian in a fight. I don't want innocent people getting hurt," he said.

"Neither do I," I replied. "As long as I can leave, I'll never step foot in the Shadowmoon pack's territory again."

Satisfied by my resolve, the rogue took the money and disappeared down the valley.

I reached down and plucked several stalks of wolfsbane, crushing them between my fingers before applying its juice to the skin of my neck.

Five years ago, Ian and I had agreed to leave matching marks on each other's bodies as a testament to our love.

On the night our bonding eremony ended, I had the mark he left tattooed over with a silver crescent moon.

Now, I clenched my teeth and let the wolfsbane seep into my skin, burning its way to my wolf.

My wolf grew weakened, and the skin on my neck became raw and irritated. Still, no matter how much it hurt, it couldn't compare to what Ian had done to me.

When I returned to the estate, the home where Ian and I had lived for five years, his nauseating scent seemed to linger in every corner.

Three more days.

In three days, I would be out of this cage built from lies and betrayal.

Just then, a jaunty whistle echoed from the stairs.

Ian was home.

I picked up a book and leaned against the headboard.

"Lena, you're still awake?"

He smiled as he approached the bed, leaning down with practiced ease to press a kiss onto my forehead.

Just as his lips were about to touch my skin, I tilted my head slightly, lifting a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"I couldn't sleep. Why did you come home so late?" I said, casting him a glance, my smile soft and gentle.

He had clearly showered elsewhere, but the sickly sweet scent of the Omega, Perla Blackwood, still lingered.

My stomach churned as a wave of nausea surged up my throat, but I quickly forced it down.

"There have been a few skirmishes at the border, so I was discussing it with the elders."

Ian straightened and sat on the edge of the bed. He began idly twirling the ends of my hair around his finger. "I'm just glad I have you here, Lena. You're like an anchor, holding me steady."

An anchor?

A laugh nearly escaped me.

So that was all our relationship was to him—an anchor fixed in place that he didn't have to bother maintaining, which he could drop or haul up whenever it suited his convenience.

His fingers brushed the back of my neck by accident, grazing the thick layer of gauze that now covered the place where my silver crescent tattoo used to be.

Ian frowned, and a chill crept into his eyes.

"Lena, your tattoo…"

"I burned myself while I was studying herbs with the healer," I lied.

I forced my lips into a curve and uttered the line I had rehearsed a thousand times in my head, "You're my light, too, Ian."

Inside me, however, there was no light at all. There was only a vast, frozen emptiness.

At that moment, his phone flickered to life on the nightstand.

There was no sound, but the specific pattern of the flashing light told me it was a priority notification, reserved only for someone special.

Even I had never been granted such a privilege.

Ian moved quickly, snatching the phone and pocketing it after a single glance, but I had already seen the nauseating contact name on the screen—"My Rose".

He was rattled. A frantic edge crept into his voice, one he didn't even seem to notice.

"Sorry, Lena. I just remembered an urgent message I need to send regarding tomorrow's border patrol deployment. You should go to sleep. I'll be right back."

He hurried into the adjoining study and shut the door.

Silence returned to the bedroom.

The hollow smile vanished from my face. I crossed the room barefoot to the floor-to-ceiling window and let the moonlight wash over me.

Yet, it failed to give me the peace and power I once found in it, offering nothing but a piercing shiver.

Three days.

I repeated the words silently.

In three days, Lena Wolfhart, the Luna of the Shadowmoon pack, would be dead.