Chapter 3

The morning sun cast long shadows across the Moonrise Pack boundaries as I half-carried, half-dragged my mother toward their territory. Her breathing had grown increasingly labored during the night, each wheeze sending spikes of terror through my chest. The fever that had started as a low burn now radiated from her skin like a furnace.

"Just hold on, Mom," I whispered, adjusting my grip around her waist. "The Moonrise healers are the best in the region. They'll help us."

She tried to respond, but instead doubled over in a violent coughing fit. When she pulled her hand away from her mouth, crimson droplets stained her palm. My wolf whimpered deep in my consciousness, the sound of pure anguish.

The Moonrise packhouse stood like a beacon ahead, its white stone walls gleaming in the early light. I'd met their head healer, Dr. Patricia Wells, at several inter-pack medical conferences. She was known for her compassion, her dedication to saving lives regardless of politics. Surely she would see past whatever poison Derek had spread about me.

The guards at the gate stepped forward as we approached, their expressions shifting from alertness to uncomfortable recognition. One of them—a young warrior I remembered from alliance meetings—actually took a step back.

"I need to see Dr. Wells," I said, my voice cracking with exhaustion. "My mother needs immediate medical attention."

The guards exchanged glances before the older one nodded reluctantly. "Wait here."

Minutes crawled by like hours. My mother's weight grew heavier against my side, her skin taking on a grayish pallor that made my stomach clench with dread. When Dr. Wells finally emerged from the medical wing, her usually warm face was set in professional lines that didn't reach her eyes.

"Lily," she said carefully, maintaining several feet of distance. "I'm sorry, but I cannot provide treatment."

The words hit me like ice water. "Dr. Wells, please. She's coughing up blood. She needs—"

"I'm aware of her condition." The healer's voice carried genuine regret, but her stance remained firm. "However, treating rejected wolves would violate our pack alliance agreements. Alpha Sullivan has made it clear that any aid given to you would be considered an act of aggression against Crimson Ridge Pack."

My legs nearly gave out. "She's innocent in this. Whatever Derek—Alpha Sullivan—has told you about me—"

"This isn't about guilt or innocence." Dr. Wells glanced toward the packhouse, where I could see curious faces pressed against windows. "It's about maintaining peace between allied packs. I have my own pack's safety to consider."

As if summoned by our conversation, my mother's body convulsed in another coughing fit. This time, bright red blood splattered across the pristine white stones at our feet. Dr. Wells flinched, her healer's instincts warring visibly with political necessity.

"Please," I begged, sinking to my knees beside my mother's trembling form. "Just stabilize her. I'll find another way to pay—"

"The decision is final." Dr. Wells stepped back, her voice thick with suppressed emotion. "I suggest you seek help elsewhere. Quickly."

The medical wing doors closed with a soft click that sounded like a death knell. I gathered my mother in my arms, her blood staining my already ruined dress, and stumbled away from the packhouse.

Three hours later, I sat in the sterile waiting room of the Regional Pack Council offices, my mother's head resting in my lap. The manila folder in my hands contained bank statements, work receipts, even recorded conversations where Derek had praised my dedication to the pack. Evidence of three years of sacrifice, of the $300,000 I'd earned through legitimate work.

When Elder Elena Blackwood finally called my name, hope flickered weakly in my chest. She was known for her fairness, her commitment to werewolf law above pack politics.

But the moment I entered her office, I knew I was already defeated. Elena's expression was cold, professional, devoid of the warmth I'd seen her show other petitioners.

"Ms. Foster," she said, not inviting me to sit. "I understand you wish to file a formal complaint against Alpha Sullivan."

"He stole my money," I said, placing the folder on her desk. "Money I earned working legitimate jobs to support his pack. Money meant for my mother's cancer treatment."

Elena didn't even glance at the documents. "Alpha Sullivan has already provided his account of events. Pack funds were recovered from a she-wolf who had been working inappropriately among humans, bringing shame to her pack's reputation."

The injustice of it stole my breath. "Those jobs were approved. Derek knew—"

"Alpha Sullivan," she corrected sharply, "acted within his rights as pack leader. Your behavior—working outside pack boundaries, associating with humans—reflects poorly on werewolf society as a whole."

"I was trying to help—"

"You were trying to elevate yourself above your station." Elena's voice carried the weight of centuries of pack tradition. "A proper she-wolf supports her pack through traditional means, not by degrading herself in human establishments."

My hands clenched into fists. "So earning money to save my mother's life makes me degraded?"

"Continuing to file complaints against a respected Alpha will result in a formal banishment order," Elena said, her tone final. "You'll be declared rogue, hunted by all allied packs. Is that what you want for your dying mother?"

The threat hung in the air like a blade at my throat. I gathered my useless evidence and stumbled from the office, Elena's dismissive words echoing in my ears.

That evening, as I sat beside my mother's fevered form in the abandoned cabin we'd found at the edge of no-man's-land, a familiar scent drifted through the broken window. Expensive perfume and privilege—Alexandria Bishop.

She appeared at the doorway like a vision from another world, her designer coat pristine despite the muddy path. For a moment, hope flared in my chest. Maybe she'd come to help, to show some mercy.

"Hello, Lily," she said, her voice carefully neutral.

"Alexandria." I stood slowly, not wanting to wake my mother. "If you're here to gloat—"

"I'm here to deliver a message." She stepped inside, her nose wrinkling at the cabin's musty smell. "Derek wants to make this easy for everyone."

My wolf stirred uneasily. "What kind of message?"

Alexandria's perfectly manicured fingers toyed with her pearl necklace. "Accept the rejection silently. Leave the territory forever. Never speak of what happened, and Derek will ensure you're not actively hunted."

"And if I refuse?"

Her blue eyes hardened. "Formal charges of pack disruption. You'll be declared rogue, hunted by every allied pack from here to the Canadian border. Your mother will die alone while you run for your life."

The ultimatum settled over me like a shroud. Behind Alexandria's polished exterior, I caught a flicker of something—guilt, maybe, or uncertainty. But it vanished as quickly as it came.

"You have until sunrise to decide," she said, turning toward the door. "Choose wisely, Lily. Derek's patience has limits."

As her footsteps faded into the night, I sank back down beside my mother, my father's Medal of Honor burning against my palm through the fabric of my dress. The weight of impossible choices pressed down on my shoulders, but somewhere in the darkness, a desperate plan began to form.