Chapter 2

The sterile hospital room felt like a prison as I stared at the ceiling tiles, counting the small imperfections to keep my mind from spiraling. Three days had passed since Trevor's cruel revelation, and my body still ached from the shock of learning the truth about our false bond. But beneath the pain, something harder was crystallizing—determination.

I waited until the night shift nurse finished her rounds before reaching for the burner phone I'd hidden beneath my mattress. My father had taught me long ago that sometimes the most important conversations happened in shadows.

"Elena Carter's office," came the familiar voice of my father's secretary.

"It's Mia," I whispered, glancing toward the door. "I need to speak with him. Privately."

The line went quiet for a moment. "Hold on, dear."

My father's deep voice came through the speaker, warm with concern. "Mia? What's wrong? You sound—"

"Dad, I need your help." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I need to contact the Pack Council. About... about mate bond rejection papers."

Silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken understanding. My father had never liked Trevor, though he'd respected the political alliance our mating had created.

"Are you certain?" His voice was carefully controlled. "The process is... complex. And permanent."

"I'm certain." My hand moved to my belly, where the pup kicked weakly. "There are things you don't know. Things I'm still uncovering. But Dad, I think they've been poisoning me."

The sharp intake of breath told me he understood the gravity of what I was saying. Poisoning a mated Luna was a crime punishable by exile or death.

"Silver?" he asked quietly.

"And wolfsbane. Small doses over time." I closed my eyes, remembering Trevor's casual admission. "My wolf has been so weak I thought it was pregnancy complications, but the symptoms match everything I've researched."

"I'll have Samuel Reed contact you within the hour," my father said, his voice turning hard as steel. "He's the most senior Council member I trust completely. Can you gather evidence?"

"I'm working on it." My fingers tightened around the phone. "Dad? When this comes out, the alliance between our packs—"

"Will be the least of my concerns," he cut me off firmly. "You're my daughter first, political asset never. We'll weather whatever storms come."

After ending the call, I spent the next hour documenting everything I could remember. Dates when I'd felt particularly ill, meals that had left me nauseated, the gradual weakening of my wolf that I'd attributed to pregnancy. The pattern was clear once I stopped blaming myself.

By morning, I'd been discharged with strict orders to rest. Trevor had been conspicuously absent during the paperwork process, sending his Beta instead with a dismissive message about "pack duties."

The training grounds buzzed with activity as I made my way across the compound, moving slowly to avoid drawing attention to my weakened state. I needed to see how the pack functioned when they thought I wasn't watching, to understand who might be complicit in Trevor's schemes.

Warriors moved through combat drills with practiced precision, their movements sharp and coordinated. But as I settled on a bench in the shade, pretending to rest while observing, something caught my attention.

One warrior moved differently from the others. Where the rest fought with aggressive dominance typical of Trevor's pack, this one fought with controlled grace. His dark hair was longer than regulation, and when he turned during a sparring match, I caught a glimpse of eyes that seemed familiar.

More importantly, his scent carried on the wind—pine and rain and something that made my damaged wolf lift her head with interest for the first time in months. It wasn't the overwhelming pull of a mate bond, but something deeper. Something that whispered of safety and home.

I watched him disarm his opponent with efficient movements, never using more force than necessary. When the other warrior hit the ground hard, this mysterious fighter immediately extended a hand to help him up—a gesture of respect that seemed at odds with Trevor's pack culture.

"New recruit," said a voice beside me. I turned to find Marcus Sterling, the pack healer, settling onto the bench with a concerned expression. "Been with us about five years now. Keeps to himself mostly."

"Five years?" Something about that timeline nagged at me. "What's his name?"

"Goes by Finn," Marcus replied, then lowered his voice. "Mia, I wanted to speak with you privately. About your recent symptoms."

My pulse quickened. "What about them?"

"I've been reviewing your medical files, and some things aren't adding up." His weathered face creased with worry. "The weakness, the nausea, the way your wolf has been suppressed—these aren't typical pregnancy complications."

Before I could respond, a commotion near the main building drew our attention. Trevor strode onto the training grounds, his Alpha aura rolling off him in waves of dominance. Behind him walked Brielle, dressed in expensive clothes that marked her as someone important rather than a mere pack advisor.

"Attention!" Trevor's voice boomed across the grounds. "Pack meeting in the main hall. Now."

Warriors began filing toward the building, and I felt a chill of premonition. The mysterious fighter—Finn—lingered at the edge of the group, his attention focused not on Trevor but on me. When our eyes met across the distance, something flickered in his expression that made my breath catch.

Recognition.

As if he knew me. As if he'd been watching over me.

Marcus helped me to my feet, his hand steady on my elbow. "Whatever's about to happen," he murmured, "remember that not everyone in this pack is loyal to Trevor's version of leadership."

We followed the crowd toward the main hall, but with each step, my legs felt weaker. By the time we reached the building, black spots were dancing at the edges of my vision, and my wolf was whimpering in distress.

Something was very, very wrong.