The wolfsbane vial was still warm when I found it.
I wasn't snooping. I was doing what I'd done every banquet night for three years—laying out Dominick's formal coat, checking the seams, making sure the Ironveil crest sat straight on the lapel. My fingers brushed the inner pocket, and the glass clinked.
I pulled it out. Small. Clear. Half-empty.
The label was handwritten in a script I didn't recognize: *Lunar Suppressant—Fertility Grade*. The liquid inside caught the lamplight, faintly green.
My wolf, already so quiet she was barely a whisper most days, went completely still.
I turned the vial over. The glass was warm. Recently used. I pressed my thumb against the cork and felt my heartbeat in my ears.
Three years. Three years of him telling me we had time. Three years of me wondering why my cycles felt wrong, why my body never seemed to catch, why the pack healers kept saying *it's stress* and *your wolf will settle*.
Three years of me believing him.
I heard footsteps in the hall—heavy, purposeful. Pack warriors. They knocked twice.
"Luna, the Alpha requests your presence in the banquet hall."
I slid the vial into my own jacket pocket. My hand didn't shake. I smoothed the coat one last time, draped it over my arm, and opened the door.
"I'll be right there."
The warrior nodded and stepped aside. I walked past him, my breathing steady, my wolf a hollow space inside my ribs.
---
The banquet hall was full.
Every seat at the long tables was occupied—Ironveil pack members, visiting allies from Ashgrove and Redstone, even a few Council observers in the back. Candles lined the walls. The air smelled like roasted meat and wine and something floral I couldn't place.
Dominick stood at the head table, already dressed. Someone else had helped him with the coat.
I stopped three steps inside the doorway. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the crowd, his shoulders squared, his jaw set in that way that meant he'd made a decision and wouldn't be talked out of it.
My wolf stirred. Not a growl. Just a faint, uneasy shift.
I walked to my seat beside him. He didn't acknowledge me. I sat down, folded my hands in my lap, and waited.
The hall quieted.
Dominick stepped forward.
"Three years ago," he said, his voice carrying easily over the tables, "I accepted Jenna Hamilton as my mate and marked her as Luna of this pack."
I felt the mark on my neck—warm, familiar, the place where his teeth had broken skin and sealed the bond. It pulsed faintly, the way it always did when he was near.
"Tonight," he continued, "I stand before you to correct a mistake."
The warmth in the mark flickered.
"I, Dominick Voss, Alpha of the Ironveil Pack, reject you, Jenna Hamilton, as my mate and Luna."
The mark went cold.
Not gradually. Not like something cooling. Like a door slamming shut in an empty room.
I gasped. My hand flew to my throat. The cold spread—down my collarbone, into my chest, wrapping around my ribs like ice water. My wolf collapsed. Not into silence. Into *nothing*. The space where she had been went hollow, and I couldn't feel her, couldn't hear her, couldn't reach for her.
My aura cracked.
I felt it—a fracture running through the golden shimmer that every wolf could see. The room blurred. Someone at the far table inhaled sharply.
Dominick turned to the crowd. "Anastasia Scott of the Ashgrove Pack, step forward."
A woman in ceremonial white rose from the second table. Blonde. Radiant. Smiling.
She walked to Dominick's side. He took her hand.
My wolf tried to snarl. The sound died before it reached my throat.
Anastasia turned toward the wine table, her skirt swishing. She reached for a glass, stumbled—her heel caught the table leg—and the entire row of goblets tipped. Red wine spilled across the white cloth. She clutched her arm and screamed.
"She shoved me!"
Every head turned.
I was still in my seat. Ten feet away. I hadn't moved.
Dominick's eyes locked on mine. His wolf surged forward, and I felt the Alpha tone before he spoke—a pressure in my chest, in my bones, in the place where the bond used to be.
"Kneel."
My body obeyed.
I dropped to my knees. My neck bared itself. I couldn't stop it. My shattered wolf had nothing left to resist with.
Anastasia stepped closer. She looked down at me, her smile small and satisfied.
The hall was silent.
My wolf made one last sound—not a whimper. A snarl. Faint, furious, fading.
Then she went dark.
I heard footsteps. Fast. Angry.
Jason shoved through the crowd, grabbed my arm, and hauled me upright. His wolf was barely contained—his eyes flashing amber, his grip tight enough to bruise.
"Get up," he growled.
I steadied myself against his shoulder. My hand went to my jacket pocket. I pulled out the vial—small, clear, still faintly warm—and set it on the nearest table.
Marcus, Dominick's Beta, stared at it.
I looked at Dominick. My voice came out quiet. Even.
"I'll sign the territorial documents before dawn. I'll leave Ironveil permanently."
I turned and walked toward the door. Jason stayed at my side.
I didn't look back.
Behind me, I heard Marcus pick up the vial.
