Chapter 3

The full moon cast an ethereal glow over the eastern ridge as I made my way through the familiar path. My heart pounded with each step, a mixture of hope and dread churning in my stomach. Eight years of this cycle—of loving, being rejected, and crawling back—had worn paths in my soul as clear as the one beneath my feet.

The clearing where Michael and I always met on our mate-anniversary came into view. I paused at its edge, my breath catching in my throat.

There, bathed in moonlight, stood Michael—his powerful frame silhouetted against the night sky. But he wasn't alone.

Victoria stood beside him, draped in my Luna robe. The moonstone beads I'd worked countless extra shifts to pay for glittered in the moonlight, catching and reflecting the glow like stars brought down to earth. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her hand was possessively intertwined with Michael's.

Around them, pack members gathered in preparation for the run—our run, the one tradition Michael and I had maintained through every rejection. The one sacred thing I thought was still ours alone.

My wolf whimpered inside me, the betrayal cutting deeper than any rejection ritual ever had. This wasn't just another humiliation. This was Michael taking the one memory I still cherished and corrupting it before my eyes.

"Tonight," Michael's voice carried across the clearing, "we celebrate the strength of Silver Moon Pack under the full moon's blessing."

Victoria's eyes found mine across the distance, her lips curling into a triumphant smile as she pressed herself closer to Michael. She knew I was watching. She wanted me to see.

Michael didn't even look for me. He simply turned, shifting smoothly into his magnificent silver wolf form. Victoria followed, her golden wolf form smaller but no less regal in the stolen Luna robe that now lay discarded on the forest floor. Together, they howled—a call to the pack that had once been mine and Michael's signal—and bounded into the forest, the pack following in their wake.

I stood frozen, watching them disappear among the trees. The sound of their joyful howls faded into the distance, leaving me alone in the clearing with nothing but the cold light of the moon and the shattered remains of my last illusion.

Something final and irrevocable shifted inside me. The ember that had been kindled during my conversation with Rachel now blazed into a steady flame.

I returned to my Omega quarters with measured steps, my mind strangely clear. The small room that had felt like a prison now seemed like a temporary waystation—a place between what was and what could be.

From beneath my thin mattress, I retrieved a small wooden box containing the herbs I'd collected during my time as a healer. My fingers moved with remembered precision, selecting dried moonflower petals, crushed wolfsbane root, and silver sage—a mixture I'd once used to treat burn wounds, now repurposed for a different kind of healing.

I ground the herbs in a small stone mortar, adding drops of spring water until they formed a thick paste. The familiar scent—sharp, clean, and slightly bitter—filled my small quarters, awakening memories of a time when I had been more than just Michael's discarded mate.

With trembling fingers, I unbuttoned my high-collared shirt and exposed the faded bite marks on my neck. Eight sets of scars, each layered over the last, each representing a time Michael had claimed me and then cast me aside when it suited him.

I lit a single candle and held a small metal rod in its flame until the tip glowed red. Then, with the herbal paste spread over my scars, I pressed the heated metal against my skin.

Pain seared through me, sharp and clarifying. I didn't cry out. Instead, I watched in the small mirror as the herb mixture bubbled and smoked, burning away the physical reminder of Michael's ownership.

"I, Olivia Reed," I whispered, my voice growing stronger with each word, "release myself from this bond."

When it was done, a crescent-shaped burn covered the mating marks, transforming them into something of my own making rather than his.

At my small desk, I pulled out a sheet of parchment and began to write, my handwriting steadier than my heart:

*Dear Healer Elara Vance,*

*I write to you as a former apprentice seeking sanctuary and purpose. I was once training under Healer Marcus of the Silver Moon Pack before circumstances led me down a different path. I humbly request permission to enter Northern Frost territory and offer my services, however modest they may now be, to your healing den.*

*I come with little but the knowledge I've managed to preserve and the sincere desire to be of use.*

*With respect,*

*Olivia Reed*

I sealed the letter with wax, pressing a dried moonflower petal into it while it was still soft—the traditional mark of a healer seeking placement. As I watched the wax harden, tears slipped silently down my cheeks, not for what I was losing, but for the eight years it had taken me to find the courage to leave.

Tomorrow, I would begin a journey toward something I hadn't allowed myself to imagine in years: a life that was truly my own.