Beneath the Waning Moon
Through the bond that tied my wolf to his, I sent ninety-nine screams for help.
The hundredth time, he answered—distant, distracted.
"Seraphine, I'm occupied. Stop whining like a needy pup."
I lay in an ice crevice, our pup suffocating in my womb, while he hunted beneath the full moon with another.
Five days later, I woke in a healing den. Through the wall, I heard my mate—my Alpha—speaking of me like livestock.
"Keep her under until Lysandra whelps," Leon growled to the shaman. "If she learns I drained our pup for that she-wolf's marrow, I'll have your tongue. And if you fail me—I'll burn your den to ash."
I touched the mating mark burning on my throat and reached for the crystal. My voice didn't tremble.
"Harris. Prepare the severance scroll. I want his signature before the moon wanes."
The she-wolf who loved her Alpha died in that ravine.
The one who clawed out will make him howl.