POV: Daria
Pain has a way of warping time. As I lay in the puddle of my own blood and amniotic fluid, memories flickered like a broken movie reel.
I remembered the day I met Kaeden.
It was the Recognition.
For werewolves, finding a mate isn't about dating or compatibility. It is biological destiny ordained by the Moon Goddess. When you meet your Fated Mate, your senses explode.
I remembered the scent. It hit me across a crowded ballroom-fresh pine needles crushed under heavy rain, mixed with the smoky warmth of a wood fire. It was the best thing I had ever smelled.
Then came the spark. When his hand brushed mine, a jolt of static electricity, stronger than any household shock, zipped up my arm. My Inner Wolf had stood up on her hind legs and roared one word: Mine.
We were happy. For two years, we were the perfect couple.
Then Clemmie arrived.
She didn't have a scent. Or rather, she smelled like cloying vanilla perfume that masked everything else. She wasn't his mate. But she had something else.
Witchcraft.
I didn't have proof, but I knew. She gave him "herbal teas" for his stress. Slowly, Kaeden changed. He stopped reaching for me in the night. He started saying that the Moon Goddess had made a mistake. That Clemmie was his true soulmate, and I was just a genetic error.
A "defect." That's what he called me.
The defect is bleeding out, I thought bitterly, staring at the ceiling of the dungeon.
Voices drifted from the hallway. My hearing was fading, but the adrenaline of terror sharpened it for one last moment.
"Is the donor ready?" It was a man's voice. Clinical. Cold.
"She is prepped," Kaeden's voice replied. He sounded impatient, his words slurring slightly. "Just get it done. Clemmie is deteriorating fast."
"The transplant carries risks, Alpha," the doctor said. "Taking a heart from a living donor... especially a Luna..."
"She's not a Luna," Clemmie cut in, her voice sharp. "And the donor list is too long, Kaeden. You said you'd do anything to save me."
"Anything," Kaeden echoed, sounding like a man talking in his sleep.
"Her blood work matches mine, Kaeden," Clemmie pressed, her voice dropping to a hypnotic purr. "It's almost like fate. Her heart is the only one strong enough. If you love me, you'll let the doctor do his job."
I froze.
They didn't just want me dead. They wanted my heart.
Why me? There were thousands of wolves. Why did Clemmie need my heart specifically?
"The White Wolf bloodline is potent," the doctor murmured, his voice dropping so low I almost missed it. "Even if she is a recessive carrier, her organ will grant the recipient immense power. Miss Clemmie will not just be cured; she will be stronger than any female in the region."
White Wolf?
The legends spoke of the White Wolves-royalty among shifters, closest to the Goddess, capable of miracles. I had always healed fast, faster than the others, but I thought it was just luck.
"Do what is necessary," Kaeden murmured, rubbing his temples as if fighting a migraine. "Harvest the heart. Dispose of the rest."
"And the fetus?" the doctor asked.
"Incinerate it."
The words hit me harder than the Alpha Command.
He wasn't just misguided. He wasn't just drugged. He was a murderer. He had just signed the death warrant for his wife and his unborn child to please a woman who wanted to steal my strength.
Tears hot as lava slid down my temples.
I tried to move my fingers. I had to run. I had to fight.
But the silver cuffs held tight. My body was heavy, like it was filled with lead. My Inner Wolf was too weak to take control.
The door handle began to turn.
Goddess, I prayed, closing my eyes. If you are real... curse him. Curse him for eternity.
The door opened.
But it wasn't the doctor.
