Chapter 3

Dawn broke cold and gray over Silver Moon territory, but I was already awake, dressed in my running gear. My muscles remembered the routine even if my heart had forgotten how to hope. Every morning for the past week, I'd waited by the den entrance, watching the mist curl through the pines, listening for the sound of his approach.

He never came.

The first day, I'd made excuses. Alpha duties. Pack business. The second day, doubt crept in like frost. By the seventh day, I understood. Our morning runs—those sacred hours when it was just us, our wolves, and the wilderness—were another casualty of Grace's invasion into my life.

I heard them before I saw them. Laughter, bright and careless, floating through the trees. Then two wolves burst from the forest edge—one massive and black, the other honey-gold and lithe. They moved in perfect synchronization, her smaller form weaving between his legs, his muzzle nudging her flank in play.

My knees buckled. I gripped the doorframe, wood splintering under my fingers.

"Olivia?" My father's voice, heavy with concern. "You missed breakfast. And your healing herbs—"

"I'm fine." The lie tasted like ash. "Just tired."

But we both knew the truth. The carefully scheduled doses of moonflower extract and wolf's bane tincture sat untouched on my nightstand. Ethan used to remind me, used to watch me take each dose with the focus of a mate protecting his own. Now the bottles gathered dust while my wolf grew weaker, the foreign essence inside me turning toxic without proper management.

"He has responsibilities," my father said quietly. "The pack—"

"The pack doesn't run at dawn, Papa." My voice cracked. "That was ours. Just ours."

The days blurred together after that. Pack meetings where Grace sat in my chair. Training sessions where she wore my pendant. Meals where Ethan's eyes never found mine, too busy tracking her every movement.

But it was the nights that broke me.

Ethan's patrol schedule had been sacred—something he'd established the day he became Alpha. North border at sunset. East at midnight. South at three. West at dawn. Like clockwork, like breathing.

Now his scent vanished at sunset and didn't return until the stars faded. Sometimes I caught whispers of it on the wind, always mingled with honeysuckle and rain. Always leading away from pack territory, toward the hidden valleys where young wolves went to be alone.

One moonless night, when the darkness was thick enough to hide my shame, I couldn't stand it anymore. I slipped through the packhouse shadows, avoiding the night guards, following a path my feet knew by heart.

The Alpha's private chamber had been our sanctuary once. Where we'd planned our future, whispered promises, stolen moments when duty became too heavy. My hand trembled on the door handle. I shouldn't be here. But Luna whimpered inside me, desperate for any connection to our mate.

The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges.

The scent hit first—blood and pain and her, always her, saturating everything. Then my eyes adjusted to the dimness, and my heart shattered all over again.

Ethan sat on the bed, cradling Grace against his chest. Her shoulder bore fresh claw marks, already healing but still angry red. His hands moved over her skin with devastating tenderness, while his lips pressed against her hair.

"Shh, my moon," he murmured, the endearment he'd once reserved for me cutting deeper than any claw. "You're safe. I've got you."

Grace's eyes fluttered open, meeting mine over his shoulder. No surprise. No guilt. Just cold triumph as she pressed closer to him, letting out a small, pained whimper.

"It hurts," she breathed, and I watched Ethan's entire body tense with protective rage.

"Who did this?" His voice dropped to a growl. "Tell me who dared—"

"No one important." Her fingers traced his jaw, pulling his attention back. "Just hold me. Please, mate."

The word hung in the air like a death knell. Not publicly, not formally, but whispered in the darkness where truth lived. Where pretense died.

I backed away, silent as smoke, but not before I saw him press his forehead to hers, their minds linking in that intimate way only true mates could share. Not before I heard him whisper back, "Always, my heart. Always."

The Full Moon Ceremony arrived with all the pomp our traditions demanded. The packhouse gleamed under hundreds of lanterns, wolves from allied packs mingling in their finest clothes. I stood with my parents on the Beta platform, wearing a dress of midnight blue that my mother had insisted brought out my eyes.

It didn't matter. No one was looking at my eyes.

Ethan took the ceremonial platform, magnificent in his formal Alpha attire. The silver thread in his black jacket caught the light as he raised his hands for silence. Grace stood beside him, radiant in white—Luna colors, my colors—her honey hair crowned with moonflowers.

"My pack," Ethan's voice rang clear and strong. "Tonight we celebrate not just the full moon, but the strength of our bonds. The connections that make us who we are."

His hand found Grace's, fingers intertwining with practiced ease.

"Some bonds are forged in duty," he continued, and for one heartbeat, his eyes found mine across the crowd. "But the strongest bonds are those the Moon Goddess herself blesses. Those that come not from obligation, but from the very essence of our wolves."

He turned to Grace, his expression soft with an emotion I'd once believed was mine alone.

"My Luna has brought light to our pack. Strength to your Alpha. And tonight, I wish to honor that bond with a gift."

The blood in my veins turned to ice as he reached into his jacket. I knew what was coming before he drew out the velvet box. Knew with the certainty of three years' work, of countless hours spent carving, shaping, perfecting.

The mate pendants caught the lantern light like fallen stars.

"These pendants," Ethan announced, lifting them for all to see, "represent the unbreakable bond between Alpha and Luna. Designed with devotion, crafted with love."

He didn't mention who had designed them. Who had carved each wolf with shaking hands and hope in her heart. He simply clasped the chain around Grace's neck, then allowed her to do the same for him.

But the worst was yet to come.

"If you look closely," Grace's voice carried across the silent crowd, "you'll see our wolf marks engraved in the silver. Onyx and Honey, bound for eternity."

She turned, letting the light catch the new additions to my work. Where smooth silver should have been, their marks gleamed—the distinctive patterns that appeared only when wolves truly bonded. The marks that should have been mine and Ethan's.

The crowd erupted in celebration. Wolves howled their approval while glasses raised in toast. No one noticed the Beta's daughter slip away from the platform. No one saw me flee into the darkness, my father's desperate call lost in the revelry.

No one except Grace, whose triumphant smile followed me into the night, promising this was far from over.