Mercy Ashquill
The night before the Blood Moon, my Alpha, Kael was drugged with Silver Fern — an aphrodisiac so strong it sent him into an uncontrollable rut, his eyes burning red.
I was his fiancée's younger sister, raised to be his "Shadow Luna."
That night, he pinned me against the cold stone steps of the Moon Temple. I should have pushed him away. Instead, I melted into his heat.
When I finally lifted my bloodied head, I saw his true Luna — my own sister — standing in the doorway in her moonstone bonding gown, tears in her eyes.
Three days later, the patrol dragged a body from the Silver Lake. A woman in a bonding gown. She was carrying the Alpha's first heir.
He married me anyway, to keep the pack stable. On our wedding night, he gripped my chin and sneered: "Are you satisfied now?"
For thirty years after that, he never marked me, never gave me a Luna's power, never touched me again. On my deathbed, he leaned down and whispered, word by word:
"I wish I had never met you."
When I opened my eyes, I was back on that moonless night — the night he was drugged.
This time, I clutched my collar shut, and pushed my sister into his room.