The mate bond was trying to kill me.
Not literally. Not the way Jackson's wolfsbane would. But the agony bleeding through the mark on my neck felt close enough.
I sat in Roland's command center three nights before the banquet and felt Jackson's excitement surge through the bond like a live wire. It hit me in waves—anticipation so sharp it made my stomach turn, satisfaction that tasted like metal in my mouth, desire for Elisa that burned across my skin like I was the one being touched.
I pressed two fingers to the mate mark. Breathed slowly. Counted to ten.
The Moon Goddess designed the mate bond to connect souls. To let partners feel each other's joy and pain. To make two wolves into one.
She never anticipated what it would feel like when one half was celebrating the other's murder.
"Princess," Roland said quietly from the doorway. "You need to rest."
"I can't." I kept my fingers pressed to my neck. The burning was constant now. "He's with her. Right now. I can feel—"
I stopped. Swallowed hard.
Roland's expression darkened. "You could sever it. Reject him through the bond before the banquet. End this."
"No." I pulled up another surveillance file, added it to the encrypted archive. "The moment I reject him, he'll know I'm coming. The bond is intelligence. Every emotion he leaks to me is information I can use."
"It's torture."
"Yes," I said. "It is."
But I'd endured eight years of Georgina's psychological warfare. I'd smiled through pack dinners while she catalogued my failures. I'd built an empire in the shadows while Jackson took credit.
I could endure three more days of feeling my mate's joy at my approaching death.
I had to.
---
The surveillance feed showed Jackson in the Alpha suite, Elisa curled against his chest. They were discussing the marking ceremony. Where he'd bite. What words he'd use. How quickly the bond would form.
"Will it hurt her?" Elisa asked. "When you mark me in front of her?"
Jackson laughed. "She'll feel it through our bond. Like I'm ripping her soul in half."
"Good," Elisa said.
I saved the file. My hands didn't shake.
The mate mark burned hotter. Jackson's satisfaction flooded through the link—he was imagining it, the moment his canines would pierce Elisa's neck while I watched. The moment he'd finally be free of the bond that had tied him to me.
I felt his relief like a physical weight lifting.
And underneath it, something else. Something that felt almost like regret, but smaller. Fainter. The kind of thing a man feels when he throws away something that was once useful but has outlived its purpose.
That was what I was to him now.
A used tool. Ready to be discarded.
I closed my eyes. Pressed both hands to the mark on my neck. And reminded myself that in three days, he would discover exactly what he'd thrown away.
---
I didn't sleep that night.
Or the next.
By the morning before the banquet, I'd been awake for forty-eight hours straight. Roland brought me coffee I didn't drink. Food I couldn't eat. He didn't lecture me. He just sat in the command center and watched me work.
I finalized the coordinates with Cassian Dray at dawn.
"Twelve warriors," he confirmed. "Full ceremonial armor. Silver chains. We'll be positioned in the tree line two hours before the ceremony begins."
"He'll try to mark her the moment he finishes the rejection speech," I said. "Don't wait for confirmation. The second his canines extend, you move."
"Understood, Princess."
I ended the call. Stared at the blank screen.
The mate mark burned steadily. Jackson was awake now. I could feel his emotions sharpening—focus, determination, anticipation. He was preparing for the banquet. Rehearsing his speech. Imagining the moment he'd stand before three hundred witnesses and reject the bond the Moon Goddess gave him.
I wondered if he'd practiced the words.
I wondered if he'd feel anything at all when he said them.
Probably not.
Men who plan murders don't waste time on sentiment.
---
That evening, I sat with Mya in the safe house bedroom.
She was asleep. Curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek. Eight years old. Innocent. Unaware that the family she'd grown up in was built on lies and theft and a crime that started the night she was placed in my arms.
I watched her breathe. Thought about the DNA test results locked in Roland's safe. Thought about Preston—my biological son, somewhere in hostile rogue territory, suffering while I'd raised another woman's pup as my own.
I should hate her.
Georgina had stolen my son and replaced him with this child. This stranger's pup. This living reminder of everything they'd taken from me.
But I didn't.
I loved her. Completely. Fiercely. In a way that had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with eight years of bedtime stories and scraped knees and the way she looked at me like I could fix anything.
She was mine.
Not because Georgina put her in my arms. But because I chose her. Every day. For eight years.
And I would choose her again. Tomorrow. And every day after.
Even when I found Preston. Even when I brought my son home.
Both of them would be mine.
I stood slowly. Crossed to the dresser. Opened the locked drawer.
The pressed moonflower sat inside, fragile and faded. A relic from the mating ceremony eight years ago. The night Jackson marked me. The night I believed the Moon Goddess had blessed us.
I picked it up. Held it in my palm.
I didn't know why I'd kept it. Sentiment, maybe. Or strategy—a reminder of what I was fighting for. What I'd lost. What I'd never really had.
I looked at it for a long moment.
Then I put it back in the drawer. Closed it. Locked it.
I wasn't ready to throw it away yet.
Maybe I never would be.
I pulled out my encrypted communicator. Sent one final message to Cassian: *Confirmed. Tomorrow night. Be ready.*
His response came immediately: *We're ready, Princess.*
I put the device away. Pressed two fingers to the mate mark on my neck. Felt Jackson's emotions bleeding through—excitement, triumph, desire for Elisa.
Three hundred witnesses tomorrow night.
Twelve Lycan warriors in the tree line.
Silver chains.
I closed my eyes. Breathed.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
---
I dressed in simple black the next evening.
No jewelry except the mate mark on my neck. No elaborate styling. Just a plain dress that made me look like exactly what Jackson expected—a broken Luna, scrambling to preserve dignity at her own public humiliation.
Mya wore a matching dress. She watched me with wide, worried eyes.
"Mom?" she said quietly. "Are you okay?"
I knelt in front of her. Smoothed her hair. "I'm fine, baby. We're just going to a party."
"You don't look like you're going to a party."
Smart girl.
I kissed her forehead. "Sometimes grown-ups have to do hard things. But I promise, everything will be okay."
She nodded slowly. Trusted me.
I stood. Took her hand.
Roland waited by the door. He looked at me for a long moment.
"Your father would be proud," he said quietly.
I pressed two fingers to my neck. Felt Jackson's mounting excitement through the bond.
"Let's go," I said.
We drove to the ceremonial hall in silence. The building was lit up like a festival. Cars lined the drive. Wolves in formal wear moved through the entrance.
Three hundred witnesses.
I parked. Helped Mya out. Took her hand.
The hall fell silent the moment I stepped through the door.
Every head turned. Every conversation stopped. I felt the weight of three hundred stares as I walked toward the Luna's table.
Jackson stood at the Alpha's position. His expression shifted from surprise to contempt in the space of a heartbeat. Beside him, Georgina's smile widened.
Elisa sat at the honored guest table, wearing a dress that looked suspiciously like Luna ceremony attire.
I took my seat. Mya beside me. No visible delegation. No guards.
Just a quiet Luna and her daughter.
Georgina leaned toward Jackson. Whispered something. He nodded.
They thought I'd come alone.
They thought I'd brought no one.
I pressed two fingers to the mate mark on my neck. Felt Jackson's triumph surge through the bond.
And in the tree line outside, twelve Lycan warriors in full ceremonial armor settled into position.
Waiting for my signal.
