Chapter 7

My teeth tore through the skin of Ariana's throat.

The taste of blood exploded in my mouth.

"Ahhh!" she screamed, stumbling back, clutching the bleeding wound. "You lunatic! You bit me!"

Blood gushed between her fingers, staining her elegant black dress.

"Kill her!" she shrieked at the rogues. "Teach this bitch a lesson!"

The first lash hit my back.

The silver-laced whip tore through fabric and flesh, the poison searing my veins like fire.

Without my wolf's healing, the pain was a fire burning through my nerves.

"This is what you get for biting me!" Ariana howled, still clutching her throat.

The second lash. The third.

Each one landed precisely on my back, my arms, my legs.

The silver kept the wounds from healing, blood weeping from the torn flesh.

"Is that enough?" one of the rogues asked.

"No!" Ariana's eyes burned with a mad fire. "Break her leg! I want her to know what happens when you defy me!"

"Wait, Miss Ariana, the Alpha said not to—"

"I said break her leg!" Ariana screamed. "Byron won't blame me for what happens to this trash!"

The rogue hesitated for a second, then raised an iron bar.

"No!"

The sickening crack of bone echoed in the warehouse.

Agony exploded behind my eyes, threatening to drag me into darkness.

I could feel the jagged edges of the bone tearing through my muscle.

But with no wolf to heal me, all I could do was endure the blinding pain.

"That's still not enough," Ariana said, walking up to me and looking down. "I want you to remember this moment. Remember the consequences of defying me."

She turned to the rogues.

"Lock her up. No food, no water for three days. Let her think about what she's done."

Darkness swallowed me.

Three days.

For three whole days, I was left in that cold warehouse.

No food. No water. Just endless pain and the torment of silver poisoning.

The agony in my broken leg made sleep impossible.

The whip wounds on my back festered, the smell of rot filling the air.

By the fourth day, consciousness was a distant shore I couldn't reach.

By the fifth, hallucinations were my only companions.

On the morning of the sixth day, the door finally creaked open.

"Time's up," a rogue said coldly. "The Alpha wants us to drop you off."

They tossed me out like a piece of trash at the edge of the Blackwood territory.

I lay on the cold, damp earth, gasping for air.

Every breath was a fresh wave of agony.

A communicator buzzed inside my torn clothes.

An emergency call from my mother's sanctuary.

"Miss Sandra!" the caregiver's voice was frantic. "They cut off the Moonpetal three days ago!"

Moonpetal.

Three days ago.

The day I was taken.

"What?" I forced the words out. "How could—"

"We've contacted every supplier we know. They've all been given the same order from on high: the Blackwood Pack is cut off."

Orders from a higher power.

Only one person had that kind of authority.

Byron.

I forced myself to dial my father's number.

"Sandra? My God, your voice—"

"Father," I said weakly. "Send men to move my mother. Right now."

"What happened?"

"Byron cut off the Moonpetal. She doesn't have much time."

"I'll send them immediately. Where are you?"

"On my way," I said, struggling to my feet, my broken leg screaming in protest. "Give me two hours."

I dragged my broken body to the sanctuary.

My mother lay on the bed, her face pale as a sheet. Her eyes were open but unfocused. She was already half-gone.

"She's been like this since last night," the caregiver whispered. "The damage to her spiritual link is accelerating. Without the Moonpetal to calm her, the curse is getting stronger."

I took my mother's cold hand.

"How long do we have?"

The caregiver hesitated, then answered with a tremor in her voice.

"It was Alpha Byron," the caregiver whispered, her voice trembling. "He personally ordered the shipments stopped seven days ago. He timed it. He knew that without Moonpetal, her mind would shatter within three days..."

Seven days ago.

The day after I lost my child.

He had planned it all.

The death of my child was just the beginning.

My mother's pain was his weapon.

My brother's imprisonment was his leverage.

And I was just a pawn in his game.

My father's men arrived quickly and moved my mother to safety.

I left the sanctuary, dragging my battered body back to the place I once called home.

In the living room, I sat at the table and wrote out a document with a trembling hand.

A Mate Bond Severance Agreement.

Two copies, with clear terms and a binding curse.

Just as I finished the last word, I heard footsteps behind me.

"Sandra?"

Byron's voice.

"What are you writing?"