LOGIN
Rosemarie’s POV
"I am truly sorry, Rosemarie, but you have missed the best window for surgery." The doctor's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. I sat on the hard plastic chair in the pack clinic, staring at the dust floating through the sterile light. He kept talking, throwing out medical terms that felt like heavy stones landing on my chest. Late stage. Brain tumor. Aggressive growth. "Is there really nothing we can do?" I asked. My voice was barely above a whisper. "Our pack has some of the best medical equipment in the region." Dr. Evans sighed and rubbed his temples. "Equipment isn't the issue. There is no doctor in our pack with the surgical skill needed for a tumor this advanced. Even if we flew in a specialist from outside, the chances of a full recovery would still be extremely low. The surgery itself could shorten the time you have left." Time you have left. The words echoed in my head, triggering a sharp, familiar pain behind my eyes. I thanked him automatically, stood on shaky legs, and walked out of the clinic. The midday sun blinded me as I stepped into the parking lot, but my mind stayed trapped in a dark loop, counting back the months. Six months. For half a year, these headaches had been tearing through my skull. Six months ago, it had probably started as something small and treatable. I remembered the first terrible migraine that made me drop a ceramic plate in the kitchen. I had called Rex, panicking, begging him to come home and take me to the hospital. "I'm busy, Rosemarie," he had snapped over the phone. "You probably just didn't drink enough water. I have a border issue to deal with. Don't call me for small things." Every time after that, the answer was the same. He was too busy. He was the Alpha. The pack always came first. His duties always came first. And when Rex wasn't dismissing me, daily life swallowed me whole. Taking care of our son, Leo, was a full-time job. Between managing the household, serving the pack, and making sure Leo had everything he needed, I pushed my own pain aside. I took cheap painkillers, smiled through the headaches, and convinced myself it was just stress. Now look where that loyalty got me. I sacrificed my health to keep Rex’s life running smoothly, and my reward was a death sentence. Anger rose from my stomach, mixing with the terror of leaving Leo behind. Rex wouldn't care. He would just find another Luna to take my place. By the time I pulled into the driveway, the headache had become a blinding pulse behind my eyes. My vision blurred around the edges. My skin crawled with anxiety and exhaustion. All I wanted was to lie down in a dark room for one day. Just one day to process the fact that I was dying. I unlocked the front door, stepped into the quiet foyer, and kicked off my shoes. I made it exactly three steps toward the staircase before the living room couch creaked. "Oh, look who finally decided to show up." My stomach dropped. I turned slowly to see my mother-in-law, Helen, sitting neatly on the sofa with a cup of tea. Beside her sat Chloe, Rex’s sister, scrolling through her phone with her usual look of disgust. They were here. Again. "Hello, Helen. Chloe," I said, keeping my voice calm despite the pounding in my head. "I didn't know you were coming over today." "We shouldn't need an invitation to visit my brother’s house," Chloe sneered without looking up. "Though honestly, every time we come here, this place looks awful. Look at the dust on that side table. It's pathetic. I don't know how Rex puts up with such a lazy Luna." Helen placed her teacup down with a loud clink. "Rosemarie, you look terrible. Pale, messy, completely unpresentable. You are supposed to represent this family. If important pack members see you looking like a corpse, it reflects badly on Rex. A capable wife takes care of her appearance no matter how tired she feels." The irony almost made me laugh. I looked like a corpse because I was slowly becoming one. "I'm sorry," I said, pressing my fingers against my aching temple. "I have a terrible headache today. I really don't feel well. I just need some quiet time upstairs to rest. We can talk about the house later." Chloe tossed her phone onto the couch and stood up, crossing her arms. She walked over, her eyes full of malice. "A headache? Seriously? You always have some pathetic excuse to avoid your responsibilities. You think wearing a ring means you can sit around doing nothing?" "Chloe, please," I whispered. The sunlight coming through the window felt like needles in my eyes. "Just give me a few hours." "No," Chloe snapped, stepping into my space. "Rex has been working in the Alpha office since five this morning. He hasn't had a proper meal all day because he's actually doing important work, unlike you. You are going into that kitchen, making him a hot meal, and delivering it to his office." "Can't the pack house kitchen send him something?" I asked, desperation slipping into my voice. "They have staff for that." Helen scoffed. "A devoted wife prepares her husband's meals herself, Rosemarie. Stop being selfish. It's bad enough that you barely help the pack's social standing. The least you can do is feed the man who provides for you. Go. Now." I stood there trembling, staring at their cold faces. They didn't care about me. They never had. To them, I was just a low-born wolf who got lucky and needed to stay in her place. If I refused, Chloe would make a scene. Helen would complain to Rex. Rex would come home angry and accuse me of causing problems while he was trying to run a pack. I didn't have the strength for another argument. My head felt like it was splitting apart. "Fine," I muttered. I turned away from the stairs, giving up on the dark, quiet room I desperately wanted, and forced myself into the kitchen. The heat from the stove made my nausea worse immediately. Every chop of the knife sent pain shooting through my skull. I moved like a machine, cooking rice, searing meat, and packing everything into an insulated container. Tears caused by pain and resentment blurred my vision, but I wiped them away before anyone could see them. They wanted a dutiful wife? Fine.. I would do this one last thing. Once the meal was packed, I grabbed my keys and drove to the pack administrative building. The drive passed in a haze and by the time I climbed the stone steps leading to the Alpha office, my hands were shaking so badly that the container rattled. The hallway outside Rex's private office was empty..The thick carpet softened my footsteps as I approached the door. I reached for the brass handle, planning to drop the food on his desk and leave before I threw up. But before my fingers touched the metal, a sound stopped me cold. The breathless laugh of a woman coming from inside the office.RosemarieI blew gently across the rim of my ceramic mug, watching the steam curl into the morning air.Warm milk with a splash of vanilla and two spoonfuls of honey. Martha had made it without me even asking, practically shoving it into my hands before shooing me out toward the private terrace.I leaned my forearms against the cool granite railing, letting the quiet wash over me. Down below, the fortress valley was just waking up. Smoke drifted from the barracks chimneys, and in the distance, the pine trees were dusted in the first faint frost of early winter.I pulled my wool cardigan tighter over my belly, resting one palm flat against the solid, rounded weight of my five-month bump.God, Rose, I thought, shaking my head with a dry, disbelieving laugh. Look where you are.Sometimes it hit me so hard it knocked the breath clean out of my lungs.Six months ago, I was vomiting bile into a chipped sink in a backwater clinic, clutching a medical printout that told me a brain tumor was g
RexMy hands were shaking under the table.I shoved them flat against my wool slacks, digging my fingernails into my palms to force the tremor down. Across the cold, utilitarian room, the neutral lodge smelled of damp rock, burning cedar from the corner iron stove, and the bite of frost creeping along the window glass."Rex, relax," Marcus murmured from the chair beside me. My Beta had his leather folder open, his knuckles red from the freezing drive up the mountain pass. "We're here to negotiate transit terms, not face a firing squad.""Easy for you to say," I rasped, my throat burning. "You didn't spend five years treating the sovereign regent across that table like an unpaid scullery maid."“But you already apologized…”“Yeah, well no amount of apology can measure up to what I did to her.”Marcus didn't answer. He couldn't. The truth had teeth, and it had been tearing our pack apart from the inside out for months.Outside, the rumble of high-grade diesel engines vibrated through th
Rosemarie I spun my favorite blue felt-tip pen between my knuckles, staring down at the glowing terminal in the main boardroom.My back was killing me. The ergonomic executive chair was supposed to be state-of-the-art, but my lower spine currently felt like someone had driven a drywall screw between my vertebrae. Still, I wasn't about to get up. Not when the numbers on this draft were finally falling into place."So we're actually doing this?" Dan asked from across the glass table. He had a printed ledger pinned down with one beefy hand, shaking his head. "We're really opening the northern emergency granaries for Blackwood territory?""Not for Rex," I said, my voice flat. "For the lower valley villages. The border families who didn't get a vote when Helen and Tracy turned the pack treasury into their personal jewelry slush fund."Garrett leaned back against the sideboard, arms crossed over his vest, an eyebrow raised. "They're on their knees, Rose. The embargo from the capital is cho
RosemarieFive months in, and I officially walked like a duck.There was no point in denying it anymore. The baby had hit a growth spurt over the last two weeks, turning my neat little bump into an unmistakable basketball that sat right out front. My ribs felt bruised, my lower back was constantly on fire, and putting on socks had become an Olympic sport."Rose, hold the roller steady. You're dripping on the baseboards.""I am holding it steady, Carrillo. You're the one crowding my elbow.""I am providing structural oversight.""You're hovering.""I am supervising an asset."I rolled my eyes so hard I almost lost my footing on the drop cloth.We were up on the third floor of the east wing, turning the sunniest corner suite into the nursery. The old heavy drapes were gone, replaced by sheer linen, and the dark walnut wainscoting had been scrubbed clean. Today’s battleground was the accent wall behind where the crib was supposed to go.I had won the war on paint colors. No tactical slat
RexThe numbers on the screen were red. All of them.I sat alone at the head of the long council table, staring at the financial readouts until my vision blurred. Two months ago, twelve elders would have been sitting in these leather chairs, arguing over timber quotas and sipping twenty-year-old scotch.Now? The room was a tomb.I had cleared out half of them myself. Five marshals in the stockade, three senior treasurers exiled for pocketing Vance kickbacks, and the rest running scared. I thought purging Tracy’s rot would clean the slate. I thought if I finally acted like a real Alpha—if I cut the poison out with my own hands—the High Council would respect the resolve.Instead, they threw an economic noose around our necks and pulled it tight.Tier-Four Quarantine.The capital banks had frozen our secondary transport corridors. The grain elevators in the lower valley were down to a three-week reserve. Yesterday, two major merchant families packed their trucks and defected across the e
RosemarieDust motes danced in the pale afternoon light filtering through the stained glass of the fortress library.Across the long walnut table, Clara was carefully turning the brittle, yellowed leaves of an archival ledger, but my focus was on the small leather-bound book resting in my lap.Dan had pulled it from a false-bottom floorboard in the cellar of the Wilton estate three days ago. The leather was scuffed and cracked at the corners, smelling of dried lavender, cedar, and aged paper. On the inside cover, written in sweeping, elegant cursive that made my throat instantly tighten, was my mother’s name:Violetta Donalds-Wilton. Autumn, 1994.I traced the faded ink with a thumb, my four-month belly resting comfortably against the edge of the desk.“If you are reading this, my sweet Rose,” one of the earliest entries began, “it means I am gone, and the quiet life your father and I built has reached its end. I pray every night to the Moon Goddess that you never have to turn this ke







