2

**Chapter 2**

The clinic was too quiet after Moon Hall.

I locked the door behind me, washed the blood from my palm, and wrapped the wound tight enough to stop the trembling. Outside, the Blood Moon kept rising, staining the windows red. My wolf paced inside me, restless and miserable, still pulling toward Alexander even after everything he had done. The bond remembered his heat, his scent, the way his body used to press against mine during every relapse, desperate and shaking while he breathed my name into my skin.

I forced myself to sit down and open the Reed family account.

The numbers appeared one by one, colder than any insult. Sarah Reed’s heart medicine, paid by me for three years. Emma Reed’s elite warrior training, paid by me. Reed villa’s safe barrier, travel permits, private rooms, Alexander’s Blood Moon therapy, rare herbs, stabilizers, isolation chamber, all paid by me. The Reed family had lived under my name, my money, my reputation, and my blood.

I clicked freeze.

Medical credit revoked.

I clicked again.

Travel permits canceled.

Again.

Safe house bookings canceled.

Again.

Emma’s training sponsorship terminated.

The system flashed red across the screen: All Reed family privileges under Scarlett Hayes have been revoked.

Alexander’s mind-link hit me seconds later, hard enough to make my temples throb.

“Scarlett, what did you do?”

His voice was rough, already strained by the Blood Moon. Once, that sound would have made me drop everything and run to him. I knew what came next: his wolf would burn too hot under his skin, his hands would shake, and he would reach for me like I was the only cure he trusted. He would pull me close, bury his face in my neck, and breathe me in until the worst of the madness passed.

Tonight, I stayed in my chair.

“I froze your family’s privileges,” I said.

There was a sharp silence. Then his anger came through. “My mother’s medicine was denied.”

“She can book through the public clinic and pay in advance.”

“She’s my mother.”

“She is not my responsibility.”

His breathing changed. I could feel the Blood Moon working on him through the bond, dragging heat and pain into every word. “Scarlett, stop this. Victoria was dying. I did what any decent person would do.”

“You took my cure.”

“I saved a life.”

“You cut my hand open and didn’t even look at me.”

He went quiet for half a second. Then his voice hardened again, because guilt was still too unfamiliar for him to hold. “I said I would make it up to you.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“You’re lying,” he said, low and rough. “I can feel you through the bond. You’re hurt. You’re angry. And you still want me.”

The words slid under my skin before I could stop them. The bond pulsed, cruel and intimate, dragging up memories I did not ask for: Alexander’s hands gripping my waist during a relapse, his mouth hot against my wrist, his body trembling as my blood calmed his wolf. My breath caught.

Then I looked down at the bandage on my palm.

“No,” I said. “My wolf remembers you. That isn’t the same thing.”

I cut the mind-link before he could answer.

My phone lit up almost immediately. Emma had sent a string of messages, each one uglier than the last. She called me petty, jealous, insecure. She said Victoria had nearly died and I was punishing the whole family because I could not stand that Alexander still cared about his ex.

Before I could close the messages, the pack group exploded.

Victoria had posted a photo.

She was sitting on the edge of a bed in the Reed villa, wearing Alexander’s white shirt. It hung loose over her shoulders, the collar open enough to reveal the pale line of her throat and the shadow beneath her collarbone. The sheets behind her were rumpled. At the edge of the photo, Alexander’s black obsidian wrist guard lay on the nightstand.

The caption read: Thank you for staying with me tonight. I was so scared.

For several seconds, I only stared.

She had not shown anything explicit. She did not need to. Every wolf in the pack could read the picture. His shirt. His room. His scent all over her skin. The kind of intimacy that did not have to be confessed because everyone could imagine it for themselves.

Comments began appearing.

Alexander is so kind.

Poor Victoria.

Scarlett should understand. She’s a healer.

A mate shouldn’t control who her man saves.

My chest tightened, then went strangely calm. Victoria wanted me to explain. She wanted me to look jealous, frantic, pathetic. She wanted me to fight for a place Alexander had already handed her in public.

I opened the pack group and posted my own message.

Effective immediately, all Reed family private medical privileges, mate-family discounts, clinic credit, sponsored training, safe house access, and travel permit coverage under my name are revoked. Future services must be booked through standard pack procedure with payment made in advance.

The group went silent.

A minute later, Sarah messaged me privately.

Scarlett, how could you shame Alexander in front of the pack? This is family business.

I typed back: I am not the Reed family’s wallet.

Then I put the phone down.

The first howl came from Moon Hall not long after.

It tore through the night, deep and broken, and my wolf slammed against my ribs. Alexander. His relapse had started. I felt the bond stretch between us like a hot chain, carrying flashes of his pain: claws against stone, breath turning ragged, his wolf rising too fast.

My body moved before my mind did. One hand reached for the black medicine case I had prepared for him every Blood Moon.

Then I stopped.

The case sat in the cabinet, engraved with his name. Silver needles. Stabilizers. Sedatives. Bandages. Everything he had always expected me to prepare. Everything he believed would be waiting no matter how deeply he hurt me.

I locked the cabinet instead.

Another howl shook the clinic windows.

The on-duty healer rushed in, pale. “Scarlett, Moon Hall called. Alexander’s wolf is losing control. Sarah wants you there immediately.”

I took the emergency bill from my desk and handed it to her.

“Send Caleb.”

She stared at me. “A regular healer?”

“Yes.”

“What about you?”

I looked toward the red moon outside. Through the bond, Alexander’s pain surged again, followed by something hotter, darker, more desperate. His wolf was searching for my scent. For my blood. For the body it had always used to survive the night.

I closed my hand over the edge of the desk until the bandage pulled tight.

“I’m not going.”

The healer swallowed, then nodded and turned to leave. At the door, she hesitated.

“There’s one more thing,” she said. “Victoria reacted strangely to the Moonbane Cure. A mark appeared under her collarbone.”

My eyes lifted.

“What kind of mark?”

She lowered her voice. “It doesn’t look like Silver Moon. It looks like a rogue-pack binding mark.”

For the first time that night, the cold inside me sharpened into something clear.

Victoria had not needed my cure to live.

She had needed it to hide something.

And Alexander had handed it to her with my blood still on his fingers.