Elara’s eyes fluttered open to the pale silver of the Healers’ Hall. The air smelled of wolfsbane and crushed herbs, sterile and cold.
A shadow fell across her bedside, and for a heartbeat she thought it was Xander. But when her gaze cleared, it was only the Healer, his eyes filled with quiet pity.
“Luna Ashveil,” he murmured, bowing low. “We tried all our healing runes, but we could not save the pup. You… miscarried last night in your Alpha’s carriage.”
Elara stared blankly.
“Pup?” Her lips trembled. “I… was with child?” Her claws dug into the blanket, trembling.
The healer hesitated. “The sleeping pill you consumed was laced with potent dreambane. It was meant for wolves thrice your size. Combined with the rot in your womb… it was too much for the fetus.”
Before her shock could fade, the door swung open. The scent of lilies—funeral flowers—drifted through the air as Xander entered, his expression carved in marble.
“You’re awake,” he said softly. “Do not worry. I’m here now.”
His thumb brushed against her cheek, and for a fleeting moment, hope flickered in her chest — fragile, desperate.
“Xander… I—I need to tell you that I lost our pup—”
“You are overthinking,” he interrupted, his sigh gentle but sharp enough to silence her. He dismissed the healer with a flick of his hand.
“About last night,” he said evenly, “I have spoken to the children. It was nothing serious. A childish prank gone wrong. They didn’t know those pills would cause internal bleeding. Now that you are fine, there is no reason to make them suffer for a mistake.”
Elara’s body shook violently.
“They suffered? And what about me?!”
Her voice rose, startling even him. But Xander merely tucked a strand of her pale hair behind her ear, pulling her close.
“You’re strong enough to handle it,” he murmured. “Accidents happen. For me… for the pack’s sake, let it go.”
The room spun. The child she had lost wasn’t even mourned, and yet the ones who had caused it were protected like jewels.
Her mind drifted to that night years ago, when his eyes had been soft — when she had believed him kind. The Ashveil Elders had demanded she bear more heirs, but Xander had refused, holding her close and whispering:
“I can’t let you suffer, Elara. The moon’s burden is cruel. We’ll try one time, through spell-binding, not the old way. You won’t endure that pain again.”
Back then, she thought he was saving her. When the healers declared her with pup, Elara had wept with joy. She endured the fevers, the swelling, the agony of carrying three lives within her body. She nearly died giving birth beneath the Blood Moon — her blood soaking the birthing furs. Yet she smiled through it all, for him, for their children.
And now that sacrifice was dust.
A sharp pain twisted her chest. She coughed, blood staining the snow-white sheets.
“Elara!”
Xander’s roar shook the hall. He caught her as she fell, his arms tightening around her trembling frame.
“Healers! Get your best team here!”
His command echoed through the corridors, rattling even the moonstone pillars. For one fleeting heartbeat, Elara thought she mattered — that he truly cared. His thumb brushed the blood from her lips as his aura pulsed with Alpha power, fierce and raw.
Her breaths came shallow and broken. Somewhere in her heart, she wished that the boy who once pressed bread through iron bars still lived inside him.
Then Xander’s communicator crystal flared.
Ravenna.
He hesitated — only for a moment — then answered.
“What? You injured your ankle?” His jaw clenched. “Stay there. I’m coming.”
He looked once more at Elara, still gasping in his arms, then turned to the nearest healer.
“Take good care of my Luna. Don’t let anything happen to her.”
And with that, he laid her gently on the bed and strode out — his steps urgent, but not for her. For Ravenna.
Hours bled into each other. Her pulse steadied, her breathing softened. The room was silent save for the hum of runes and the steady drip of moonlight through the window.
Then her crystal tablet chimed.
Projected in shimmering light were images of Ravenna, perched upon another man’s lap, a goblet of silverwine in her hand and victory gleaming in her eyes. The caption beneath burned through Elara’s heart:
“Once, he abandoned a million-moonmark deal because I was scratched. After five years, nothing has changed. The place in his heart will always be mine.”
Below the post flowed comments from Xander’s childhood allies — wolves Elara had once treated as brothers, cooked for, nursed through wounds.
“The perfect couple. How could an orphaned she-wolf ever compare?”
“We await your wedding beneath the Blood Moon.”
“The manor by the river — of course he gifted it to his beloved.”
Elara felt nothing. Just the ache of emptiness.
In the blurred background of those images, she recognized the Silvervale Manor — the one he had promised her years ago. She remembered his whisper against her hair that night:
“A home for my Luna.”
Yet she had never been allowed to cross its threshold. Each time she asked, he smiled faintly.
“Not yet. The time isn’t right.”
Now she knew why.
This time, she did not cry. She merely pressed her trembling fingers to the glowing screen and liked the post — even added a comment.
[Congratulations.]
The hall went silent across the moonlink. Every voice stilled.
All this time, she had suffered for nothing but illusions.
Without hesitation, Elara summoned her communicator — its surface glowing with the sigil of the most feared wolf in the kingdom, the rogue Alpha who ruled the black markets of the Shadowlands.
Her voice was hoarse but steady.
“I was blind before,” she whispered. “Help me file for separation. As for custody — there’s no need. The pups were never mine.”
She paused, her gaze cold as moonlight.
“In return… this body you once desired, I’ll give it to you.”
