Tate came back an hour later.
I heard his footsteps in the hall before the door opened. Measured. Unhurried. The walk of a man who had already decided how the conversation would go.
I stood by the window, one hand on my belly. My wolf pressed against my ribs, restless and snarling. I kept my face blank.
He stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. When he looked at me, his expression was different—gentler, almost regretful. The mask was back on.
"Alyssa," he said quietly. "I've been thinking."
I said nothing.
He moved closer, hands open at his sides. Nonthreatening. "You're right. I should have told you about Flora from the beginning. I was trying to protect you from the politics, but that was wrong. You deserved the truth."
My wolf growled low in my chest. I kept my breathing steady.
"I'm going to confess to the Council," he continued. "We'll handle this together. Transparently. I'll accept whatever consequences come, but we'll do it the right way. As mates. As partners."
He reached for my hand.
I let him take it.
His fingers were warm. His scent wrapped around me—pine and rain. The mate bond hummed faintly between us, a connection I had once thought was the Moon Goddess's highest blessing.
"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice broke just right. "I'm so sorry, love."
I looked into his eyes. Steady. Sincere. The performance was flawless.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that he was lying.
The realization settled in my chest like ice.
"Okay," I said softly.
Relief flickered across his face. He squeezed my hand. "We'll go to the Council tomorrow. First thing. I promise."
I nodded.
He pulled me into an embrace. I let him. My cheek pressed against his chest, and I felt his heartbeat—calm, unhurried, perfectly controlled.
Over his shoulder, I saw the door open.
Cole Briggs stepped inside. Two pack warriors followed.
I went rigid.
Tate's arms tightened around me. Not an embrace anymore. A hold.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against my hair. "I really am."
I tried to pull away. His grip didn't budge.
"Tate—"
"You should have stayed quiet, love," he said. His voice was flat now. Efficient. "You should have trusted me."
I slammed my elbow back into his ribs. He grunted but didn't let go. My wolf surged forward, the shift beginning—
Tate's Alpha tone crashed into me like a physical blow.
"Stop," he commanded.
My body froze. The shift died mid-transformation, my wolf snarling uselessly inside my chest. The mark on my neck burned.
Cole moved to my side. I tried to speak, tried to scream, but the Alpha command held my voice locked in my throat.
"Secure transport to the eastern den," Tate said. "Private. No mind-link communication."
Cole nodded. "Understood, Alpha."
One of the warriors produced a syringe. I saw it from the corner of my eye—clear liquid, enough to sedate but not harm.
Not harm me, anyway.
The pup.
I tried to move, tried to fight the command holding me frozen. My wolf threw herself against the invisible chains, howling.
"It's just a mild sedative," Tate said quietly. "For your own safety. You're upset. Hormonal. You need rest."
The needle slid into my arm.
The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Tate's face—calm, composed, and entirely without remorse.
---
I woke to stone walls and silence.
My head throbbed. My mouth tasted like metal. I pushed myself upright slowly, one hand instinctively going to my belly.
The pup kicked. Faint but present.
I exhaled.
The room was small—maybe twelve feet by twelve feet. Stone floor, stone walls, a single cot bolted to the ground. No windows. One heavy wooden door with a barred slot at eye level. A bucket in the corner.
A den. Not a guest room. Not a safe house.
A prison.
I stood carefully, testing my balance. The sedative was wearing off, leaving me shaky but functional. I moved to the door and looked through the barred slot.
A narrow hallway. Another door at the far end. A guard stationed outside—Delta rank, judging by his posture. He didn't look at me.
I tried the mind-link.
Nothing.
Not static. Not distance. Nothing. Like the connection had been severed entirely.
Cole. He must have cut my access remotely. Only a Beta could do that on an Alpha's order.
I was alone.
I pressed my hand against the stone wall, feeling for weaknesses. Solid. Reinforced. The kind of construction designed to hold a shifting wolf.
I couldn't shift here anyway. Not in this space. Not five months pregnant. The transformation would crush the pup.
My wolf paced inside my chest, furious and helpless.
I moved back to the cot and sat down, forcing myself to breathe slowly. To think.
Tate had planned this. The performance, the apology, the ambush—it had all been calculated. He wasn't going to let me leave. He wasn't going to let me speak.
And if I couldn't speak, I couldn't tell anyone what I'd seen at the lakehouse.
Flora. The boy. The alliance.
The competing heir.
My hand moved to my belly again. Our pup. The legitimate bloodline. The threat to everything Tate had built in secret.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
I stood, moving to the door.
Cole Briggs appeared on the other side of the barred slot. His expression was carefully neutral.
"Luna," he said.
I stared at him. "You cut my mind-link."
"On the Alpha's order," he said. "For your protection."
"My protection."
"You're unwell," Cole said. His voice was smooth. Rehearsed. "The pregnancy has made you unstable. The Alpha is ensuring you receive proper care."
I laughed. The sound was harsh and bitter. "Is that the story you're telling the pack?"
Cole's expression didn't change. "The pack has been informed that you require rest. Private rest. They understand."
"Do they," I said flatly.
"They trust their Alpha," Cole said. "As you should."
He turned to leave.
"Cole," I said.
He paused.
"When my father finds out what you've done," I said quietly, "there won't be anywhere in this territory you can hide."
For just a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Fear, maybe. Or calculation.
Then it was gone.
"Your father will be informed that you're resting comfortably," he said. "The Alpha will handle all external communications personally."
He walked away.
I stood at the door, listening to his footsteps fade.
Then I moved back to the cot and sat down.
My wolf was still pacing. Still snarling.
But I made myself go still.
I catalogued everything. The guard rotations I could hear through the walls. The quality of the lock on the door. The stone's texture. The faint smell of damp earth that suggested we were partially underground.
I was Luna of the Silvercrest Pack before I was ever Luna of Ironveil. My father had trained me in strategy, in patience, in the long game.
Tate thought he had contained me.
He was wrong.
I just had to wait for the right moment.
And when it came, I would be ready.
