My Mate Betrayed My Child

I jolted awake to the sound of whimpering. The digital clock on my nightstand read 2:17 AM, its red numbers casting an eerie glow across my bedroom. The whimpering grew louder, followed by a feverish mumble that sent ice through my veins.

"Emma," I whispered, throwing off my covers.

My feet barely touched the cold wooden floor before I was racing down the hallway to my daughter's room. The door creaked as I pushed it open, revealing my six-year-old daughter thrashing beneath her moon-and-stars comforter.

"Mommy," she croaked, her voice raw and broken. "It hurts."

I rushed to her side, pressing my palm against her forehead. Her skin burned against my touch, unnaturally hot even for a werewolf child.

"I'm here, baby," I soothed, though panic clawed at my chest. "Tell Mommy where it hurts."

"Everywhere," Emma whimpered, her small body convulsing. "My wolf... she's trying to come out, but she can't."

My heart plummeted. I'd seen this before in my years as the pack healer—the telltale signs of wolf-fever, a rare condition that trapped a young werewolf's inner beast. With the full moon approaching in just five days, Emma's wolf would be fighting desperately to emerge for her first shift.

And if she couldn't shift...

I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on immediate action. I gathered my daughter into my arms, her nightgown soaked with sweat, her chestnut curls plastered to her feverish face.

"We're going to see Elara," I told her, referring to our elderly pack healer who had trained me. "She'll know what to do."

Emma's eyes fluttered open, revealing irises that flashed between her normal hazel and a desperate amber as her wolf fought to surface. "Will Daddy come?"

The question stabbed at my heart. Derek hadn't slept in our bed for weeks, claiming night patrol duties that I knew were lies. He was with Sophia again, I was certain—helping with his nephew, as he always claimed.

"Daddy's working," I said softly, the words bitter on my tongue. "But we don't need him. We're strong, remember?"

Emma nodded weakly as I carried her through our small cabin and into the cool Montana night. The Silver Moon territory was peaceful under the waning crescent, oblivious to the terror gripping my heart.

---

"Wolf-fever," Elara confirmed grimly, her ancient hands hovering over Emma's trembling form. "And a severe case."

The old healer's cabin smelled of dried herbs and tallow candles, the walls lined with remedies collected over her century of service to our pack. Her eyes—cloudy with cataracts but still sharp with wisdom—met mine with solemn gravity.

"The full moon comes in five days," she continued. "Without intervention, her wolf will tear her apart from within, trying to emerge."

I clutched Emma's limp hand, her fever now partially controlled by Elara's herbal compress. "There must be something we can do."

Elara turned to her shelves, her gnarled fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes. "There is one remedy," she said. "The moonflower elixir."

My breath caught. The moonflower was sacred to our kind—rare, powerful, and notoriously difficult to process into medicine.

"The Northern Trading Post might have some," Elara continued, pulling down a worn leather journal. "But it will cost dearly. The elixir must be administered precisely at moonrise on the full moon, not a moment before or after."

"I'll get it," I said without hesitation. "Whatever it costs."

Elara's eyes softened with pity. "Luna, a single vial contains barely enough for one child. Even a drop less than the full dose..."

She didn't need to finish. I understood the stakes with crystal clarity.

---

The journey to the neighboring pack's trading post took me through dense forest and across the river that marked our territory's edge. I carried my grandmother's healing journals—irreplaceable family heirlooms filled with centuries of werewolf healing knowledge—clutched against my chest.

The trading post keeper, an old wolf with a scar running down his face, examined the journals with reverent hands.

"These are worth more than gold," he murmured. "But the elixir you seek is rarer still."

"Please," I begged, not too proud to plead for my daughter's life. "She's only six."

After what felt like an eternity, he nodded, disappearing into a back room. He returned with a small vial of luminescent blue liquid that seemed to capture moonlight itself.

"Keep it cool," he instructed as he carefully wrapped the vial. "And remember—the entire dose, at the exact moment of moonrise."

I clutched the precious cargo to my chest, my grandmother's journals now gone forever. A fair trade for my daughter's life.

As I hurried home under the stars, I felt a flicker of hope ignite in my chest. Five days until the full moon. Five days until Emma would be saved.

I had no way of knowing that in three days' time, that hope would be shattered by the two people I trusted most in the world.