Chapter 2

A streak of golden lightning shot out from the dense, dark underbrush to my right. It wasn't lightning at all—it was a blur of fur and fury, moving with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a creature so small.

It slammed into Nash’s arm just as the silver dagger was poised to deliver the killing blow.

A snarl ripped through the air, high-pitched but filled with a primal rage that vibrated in my very bones. Nash howled in surprise, the dagger flying from his grip as a set of needle-sharp teeth clamped down onto his wrist. He shook his arm violently, flinging the attacker off.

The small creature hit the wet mud with a sickening thud. It didn't make a sound. It scrambled instantly, its claws digging into the earth, finding its footing and lowering its head to snarl again.

It was a wolf pup.

But not like any pup I had ever seen. Its fur wasn't the dull grey or brown of the pack wolves. It was a shimmering, iridescent gold, glowing faintly even in the gloom of the storm. And its eyes—when they locked onto Nash—were burning orbs of molten amber.

"Sayler!" I screamed, my heart leaping into my throat. "No! Run!"

But my son didn't run. He planted his small paws firmly in the mud, standing barely a foot tall against the towering Alpha who wanted to kill us. He looked like a speck of gold dust challenging a mountain.

Nash stared at the pup, his arm bleeding, rain washing the crimson down his fingers and dripping onto the wet ground. The shock on his face was palpable. He looked from the growling pup to me, confusion warring with his aggression.

"A shifter?" Nash barked, his voice incredulous. "You brought a child into this?"

"He isn't just a child!" I cried out, scrambling to my knees. "He's—"

*Don't tell him,* my mind warned. If Nash knew Sayler was his heir right now, he wouldn't see a son; he would see a threat to his throne with Veronica. "He's my life! Please, Nash, let him go!"

Nash took a step toward the pup, his hand raised to strike. "I do not tolerate attacks on my person, rogue. Even from whelps."

Sayler snapped his jaws. And then, the impossible happened.

The air around the small wolf shimmered with a heat that warped the rain. In a burst of golden light, the fur dissolved. Bones crunched and reformed. The wolf shrank, smoothed out, and became human.

A little boy stood there, naked, shivering in the cold rain, his skin flushed with the heat of the shift. He was four years old, with wild dark hair plastered to his forehead and a thin, wiry frame that spoke of years of malnutrition and running. But his face... his face was a mirror of the man standing before him.

Sayler lifted his chin, baring his small, human teeth at the Alpha. "Don't you touch my mommy!"

Nash froze.

The silence that descended was heavier than the storm. The rain seemed to stop entirely as the Alpha stared at the boy. I saw the color drain from Nash’s face. His eyes, previously filled with hate, widened in shock. They darted over Sayler’s features—the straight bridge of the nose, the sharp angle of the jaw, the defiant set of the chin.

It was like looking in a time machine. Nash was seeing a miniature version of himself.

"He..." Nash whispered, his voice trembling. He looked at me, then back at the boy. "He has my eyes."

"He has my heart," I spat back, my voice shaking with rage and fear. "You would hurt a child? You? The Alpha who swore to protect the weak?"

Sayler, sensing my distress, didn't back down. He planted himself firmly in front of my knees, shielding me with his small body. He raised a small hand, his index finger pointing accusingly at Nash. "You are a bad man. My mommy cries because of you."

Nash flinched as if he had been struck. He took a stumbling step back, his hand dropping to his side. For a moment, the mask of the "Big Bad Alpha" slipped, leaving a bewildered man in its wake.

"I don't..." Nash shook his head, his brow furrowing deeply. "How is this possible? I never... I haven't..."

The Witch’s spell was fighting hard now. I could see it in the way Nash’s eyes glazed over, a vein pulsing in his temple. He was trying to reconcile the visual evidence of the boy with the false memories implanted in his brain.

Then, Sayler moved. He slipped in the mud, falling hard onto his hands and knees. The impact scraped the skin away from his shoulder, tearing his thin shirt.

I gasped.

On Sayler’s left shoulder, revealed by the tear, was a jagged birthmark. It was a crescent moon, surrounded by three small stars—the mark of the Silver Creek Alpha bloodline, a trait passed down only to direct heirs. It was a mark that I had, and that Nash had.

Nash saw it.

His gaze locked onto the birthmark. His breathing hitched. He took a step forward, reaching out with a hand that was no longer threatening, but trembling. "That mark..."

"Stay away from him!" I scrambled forward, clutching Sayler to my chest, shielding the mark with my hand. I could feel Sayler’s heartbeat hammering against my ribs. He was terrified, but he was brave. So brave.

Nash stopped, his hand hovering in the air. He looked at his own hand, then at us. The internal war was tearing him apart. I saw the pain in his eyes—the soul-deep confusion of a man whose heart was screaming one thing and his brain was screaming another.

*He feels it,* I realized with a jolt. *He feels the bond to the pup.*

Before he could say another word, before he could process the impossible revelation standing in the mud, a pair of headlights cut through the rain.

A sleek, black SUV tore down the dirt road, tires spinning in the muck, coming to a screeching halt just feet away from the tableau. The door flew open, and a tall woman stepped out.

Veronica.

She wore a pristine white trench coat, spotless despite the rain, her blonde hair perfectly styled. She looked like an angel descending from heaven, a stark contrast to the mud-and-blood-soaked scene she interrupted.

"Nash!" she cried out, her voice dripping with concern. She rushed toward him, her heels clicking rapidly on the asphalt. "I heard the patrol report—rogues at the border. I came as fast as I could."

Nash turned to her, his expression dazed. "Veronica. The boy... he... look at him."

Veronica skidded to a halt. She looked down at me, huddled in the mud with the naked boy. Her eyes swept over Sayler, and I saw it—the flash of pure, unadulterated panic. She saw the resemblance. She saw the birthmark.

She knew.

The Witch’s ally knew exactly who was standing there.

But her mask slipped back into place in a fraction of a second. She covered her mouth with a manicured hand, feigning horror.

"Oh, Goddess," she gasped, her eyes filling with fake tears. "Nash, don't tell me you bought into this?"

"Into what?" Nash growled, his defenses snapping back up at the sound of her voice. "He has the mark, Veronica. He looks like me."

Veronica rushed forward, grabbing Nash’s arm and turning him away from us. She whispered frantically, but loud enough for me to hear.

"That’s exactly what she wants you to think!" she hissed, her eyes wide with feigned terror. "Don't you see the magic around her? She’s a witch, Nash! A dark practitioner from the Northern Covens! They steal our genetic material, our hair, our blood, and they create... homunculi. Abominations."

She pointed a shaking finger at Sayler. "That isn't a child. That’s a construct. A blood glamour meant to trick you into lowering your defenses so she can assassinate you!"

Sayler let out a fierce growl. "I am not a glamour! I am Sayler!"

Nash looked at the boy. The doubt was creeping back in, eating away at his instinct. The spell was strong, but fear was stronger. The idea of a magical assassin was easier to believe than the idea that he had forgotten his own family.

"He speaks," Nash said, his voice low.

"A parrot trick!" Veronica cried. "Nash, remember what the witches did to your father? They play with minds! She stole your seed years ago—maybe when she worked in the pack kitchens—and grew this thing to destroy us."

She turned to me, her eyes hardening into diamonds of hate. "You vile creature. You thought you could fool the Alpha with a puppet?"

"Liar!" I screamed, clutching Sayler tighter as he began to cry, his bravery finally cracking. "Nash, please! Touch him! Just touch his skin! You’ll feel the bond! You’ll feel the truth!"

Nash hesitated. He looked at Sayler, who was shivering in my arms.

For a second, I thought he might do it. I thought he might reach out and touch his son, and the spell would shatter under the weight of a father's love.

Then Veronica stepped between us, blocking his view. She grabbed his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Do not touch it," she commanded, using her Luna tone. "If you touch a cursed object, the spell activates. You could die, Nash. Is that what you want? To leave me alone? To leave your pack vulnerable because you fell for a cheap trick?"

The mention of his pack’s safety was the nail in the coffin. Nash’s duty always came first. Even before his own heart.

Nash’s jaw hardened. The warmth in his eyes evaporated, replaced by the cold, icy resolve of the Alpha. He looked at me one last time, but there was no recognition left. Only disgust.

"She’s right," Nash said, his voice dead. "The rogue is a liar. And that thing... is a weapon."

"No!" I sobbed.

Nash moved with lightning speed. He shoved Veronica aside and lunged forward. He didn't come for me. He went for Sayler.

"No!" I tried to fight, to bite, to scratch, but Nash was too strong. He grabbed Sayler by the arm, tearing him from my grip. Sayler screamed, a high-pitched wail of terror that shattered the night.

"Mommy!"

"Silence," Nash roared, shaking the boy.

He held Sayler up by the arm, inspecting him like a piece of meat. Sayler kicked and screamed, tears streaming down his face, his little fists beating against Nash’s stone chest.

"Get your hands off him!" I scrambled to crawl toward them, but Nash planted a heavy boot on my chest, pinning me to the mud. The weight of it knocked the wind out of me.

"He’s a stolen pup," Nash said coldly, looking down at me with a sneer. "You kidnapped him from a neighboring pack to use in your little game. Did you think I wouldn't notice the magic? I might not remember everything, woman, but I know the smell of black magic when it’s rubbing off on a child."

"He is your son!" I choked out, the pressure on my chest making it hard to breathe. "Look at him! Really look at him! He has your wolf! He shifted at four years old, Nash! That’s impossible for a stolen pup!"

Nash paused for a fraction of a second. Impossible? Yes. A stolen pup wouldn't shift naturally into a golden wolf to protect a rogue mother. Only a True Mating heir could do that.

Confusion flickered across his face again.

Veronica saw it. She knew she had to end this now.

"Kill the rogue," Veronica said softly, her voice like silk over steel. "Save the boy. The pack doctor can examine him, break the glamour, and find out who his real parents are. But the mother... she must pay for her crimes."

Nash looked down at me. Rain dripped from his nose onto my cheek. His grey eyes were turbulent, a storm of hatred and doubt.

"You had your chance," he whispered, almost sadly. "You should have stayed dead."

He lifted his boot from my chest, only to replace it with the silver dagger he had dropped earlier. He picked it up, wiping the mud from the blade on his pants.

"Take the thing to the dungeon," Nash commanded, thrusting a struggling, screaming Sayler toward two guards who had emerged from the trees. "Lock it in the silver cell. Do not feed it until the Doctor examines it."

"And the female, Alpha?" one of the guards asked, leering at me.

Nash looked at me, his eyes void of light.

"If the boy is just a trick," Nash said, his voice cutting through the rain, "then she has no value. Throw her in the Pit with the feral wolves. Let them tear her apart."

"No!" Sayler screamed, his voice raw and broken as the guards dragged him away. "Daddy! No! Daddy, help us!"

The word hung in the air, heavy and desperate.

Daddy.

Nash flinched visibly. His hand gripped the dagger so hard his knuckles turned white. For a heartbeat, I saw the man I loved breaking through the surface. He looked at the boy being dragged away, then back at me.

I saw the question in his eyes: *What if I'm wrong?*

But then Veronica wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself against his side, whispering poison into his ear. "Forget them, my love. They are nothing. Come inside, let me warm you up."

Nash closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the Alpha was back. Cold. Ruthless. Dead.

"Do it," he said, turning his back on us as the guards hauled me toward the darkness of the woods.

"And wash the mud off," were his final words, drifting back to me as he walked away with the woman who stole my life. "You're filth."