Fated Love Twisted Into Murder

The night I slaughtered the Silvermoon Alpha and Luna, the pack howled. I can still hear their cries.

The entire werewolf world trembled.

The girl they’d treated like a daughter had murdered them.

I was caught red-handed, drenched in the blood of his parents and their eighteen retainers.

“Traitor!”

“Tear her apart!”

Roars and growls ripped through the air. The pack's fury was a physical force, crackling around me.

Lachlan clutched his parents’ bodies. Tears carved tracks through the blood smearing his face.

The love in his eyes was gone. Only a chilling hatred remained.

My wolf howled in agony.

Her mate stared at her with pure disgust. The rejection from our soul-bond was a pain worse than any physical torture.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

The pack stared, their eyes burning with a hatred that wanted to devour me whole.

One year later.

I faced my 999th interrogation in the Werewolf Council’s silver cells.

"Speak!" the Head Elder roared. “Why did you kill them?”

I remained silent.

The silver shackles had worn my wrists raw. My skin was a ruin of festering silver burns.

"Enough." Lachlan's voice came from outside the cell.

He had lost all patience.

He'd made a deal with an exiled Moon Shaman for a forbidden potion—one brewed from the very soul of a wolf.

"Shaman's Memory Tears," he explained, his voice cold. "It consumes your wolf to project your memories. After three doses, your soul will be erased. Completely.”

He held the vial in front of me.

“Anya. Tell me the truth now. This is your last chance.”

The elders around us gasped.

Every wolf knew the price of such a potion. The Alpha’s own wolf would suffer for using it.

Clearly, Lachlan no longer cared.

I looked up into Lachlan’s eyes.

I'd seen that look a thousand times this past year. It still pierced me deeper than any silver blade.

I shook my head. I still refused to answer.

Some things, I couldn't say. I wouldn't.

"She's still playing dumb!" a beta snarled. "Five pups died mysteriously after she joined! The west-side warehouse burned down. She's a curse!"

"She doesn't deserve a choice!" a young wolf shouted.

"She should be grateful! Without the Silvermoon Pack, the little rogue would've died from the Feral Curse long ago."

"She betrayed us when we were most vulnerable. Make her drink it!"

The pack erupted again.

Lachlan’s voice was raw. “If you won’t talk,” he snarled, “then I’ll let your soul do the talking for you!”

The last glimmer of warmth in his eyes was swallowed by pure, crazed hatred. He forced the potion down my throat.

The cold liquid seared my very soul.

My wolf fell silent.

My strength gave out. I collapsed.

I was jolted from the familiar darkness by a bucket of ice water laced with silver powder.

Lachlan stood over me. I could feel his wolf pacing, restless and in pain.

He strode forward and grabbed my collar.

"I'll ask you one last time. Why, Anya? We saved your life! They treated you like a daughter! Why did you kill them?"

I closed my eyes.

A single tear traced a path through the scars on my face.

I was a rogue. The Silvermoon Pack gave me a home.

Lachlan and his parents showed me what it felt like to have a pack, to be loved.

I admit it. My time with the Silvermoon Pack was the only peace I’d ever known.

A beautiful suite on the top floor. A warm fireplace. Unending affection.

This is the reason why I am doing this.

I melted the Moonstone necklace Lachlan gave me... forging the symbol of our love into a lethal silver poison.

I couldn't let them suffer a second longer. It had to be a single, fatal blow.

My heart felt like it was being ripped in two. The pain crested, and then, the world went still.

Everyone in the dungeon froze.

The potion was working.

My first memory exploded into their minds.