The pack house felt different as I walked through its familiar corridors three days after the attack. Every step sent sharp reminders through my healing body, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache where our baby should have been growing. The silver burns had faded to angry red lines across my shoulder and ribs, but the cramping had stopped. Everything had stopped.
I found Drake in his office, exactly where I'd expected. He sat behind his mahogany desk—a gift from my family that he'd never acknowledged—reviewing territorial reports as if nothing had happened. As if his mate hadn't nearly died calling his name.
"We need to talk."
He didn't look up from his papers. "If this is about the rogue incident, Lilah, I've already increased patrols. The threat has been handled."
Rogue incident. The words hit me like another silver claw to the chest.
"Incident?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Drake, I called you ninety-nine times. Ninety-nine times I reached out through our bond while rogues were trying to kill me, and you blocked every single call."
Finally, he raised his eyes. There was no guilt there, no remorse. Just irritation. "The timing was unfortunate, but I was handling pack business. You survived, didn't you? Sarah patched you up just fine."
"I lost our baby."
The words hung in the air between us like a death sentence. For a moment, something flickered across his features—surprise, maybe even regret. But it vanished so quickly I might have imagined it.
"That's... unfortunate," he said, returning to his reports. "But you're young. There will be other opportunities."
Other opportunities. As if our child had been a missed business meeting.
"Where were you, Drake?" My hands trembled, but I kept my voice level. "What pack business was so important that you couldn't answer your mate's dying calls?"
His jaw tightened, and I caught the faintest hint of his Alpha aura pressing against me—a warning to back down. Once, that would have worked. Once, I would have apologized and retreated.
Not anymore.
"My whereabouts are not your concern," he said coldly. "Your job is to be Luna of this pack, not create drama over every minor skirmish. The rogues are dealt with. Focus on your duties instead of manufacturing crises."
Manufacturing crises. The mate bond that had once felt like warm honey in my veins now felt like ice water.
"Minor skirmish," I repeated softly. "Is that what you're calling it in your reports?"
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Enough, Lilah. I have real work to do."
I turned and left without another word, my wolf Luna whimpering in the back of my mind. She still felt the pull of the mate bond, still wanted to submit to our Alpha's authority. But for the first time in ten years, my human side was stronger.
The pack meeting that evening was routine—territorial updates, security briefings, the usual administrative matters that kept our community running. I took my place at Drake's right side, playing the perfect Luna as I had for a decade. Smile. Nod. Support your Alpha's decisions.
But when the visiting delegation from the Crescent Moon Pack arrived for their scheduled alliance discussion, everything changed.
She walked in behind their Alpha like she belonged there. Elina Shaw, beautiful and glowing with that unmistakable radiance of early pregnancy. She wore a deep blue dress that complemented her dark hair, and around her throat...
My breath caught. The silver pendant she wore was Luna-crafted, embedded with moonstone and marked with ceremonial engravings. It was the kind of jewelry reserved for pack leadership, for Lunas and Alpha females. The kind I should have been wearing.
"Alpha Sanchez," the visiting Alpha greeted Drake warmly. "Thank you for hosting us. I believe you know my companion, your future Luna."
Future Luna.
The words echoed in the sudden silence of the meeting hall. Every pack member present turned to stare—first at Elina, then at me. I felt their confusion, their shock, but I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Drake didn't correct him.
Elina smiled graciously, her hand resting protectively over her rounded belly as she took the seat that should have been mine. "It's wonderful to be here," she said, her voice carrying the practiced authority of someone who'd been preparing for this role. "Drake has told me so much about the alliance possibilities."
Drake. Not Alpha Sanchez. Not sir. Drake, spoken with the intimate familiarity of a mate.
I watched in numb horror as she proceeded to discuss territorial boundaries and trade agreements with the visiting Alpha, displaying detailed knowledge of our pack's resources and strategic positions. Information that should have been restricted to the Alpha and Luna.
Information I had never been given.
"The eastern borders have been particularly challenging," she continued, "but with the recent security improvements, we've managed to reduce rogue incursions by sixty percent."
Security improvements paid for by Morrison Pack funds. My family's money, funneled through anonymous trusts to keep Drake's territory safe. Money that had apparently bought him the freedom to parade his pregnant chosen mate in front of visiting Alphas while his actual Luna sat forgotten at his side.
The meeting continued around me, but I heard none of it. All I could see was Elina's confident smile, her Luna jewelry, her protective hand over the child that should have been mine. The child Drake had already replaced before I'd even lost the one I'd carried.
When the formal discussions ended, I excused myself quietly and made my way to my private study. The room had been my sanctuary for years, filled with financial records and investment portfolios that Drake had never bothered to examine. He'd always assumed the pack's prosperity came from his leadership, his strategic decisions.
He'd never asked where the money actually came from.
I pulled out my secure laptop and accessed the Morrison family financial network. Account after account appeared on the screen—anonymous trusts, shell companies, investment funds. All of them funneling money into Silvermoon Pack operations. All of them under my control.
Ten years of silent support. Ten years of paying for his territory improvements, his security forces, his pack's very survival. And he'd used that stability to build a life with another woman while treating me like an inconvenient obligation.
My fingers moved across the keyboard with steady precision. Transfer authorizations. Account closures. Investment liquidations. Each click severed another financial lifeline, each transaction a quiet act of rebellion against a decade of being taken for granted.
By dawn, it would be done. The anonymous benefactor who had kept Silvermoon Pack solvent would disappear as completely as if she'd never existed.
Drake wanted to treat our mate bond like a business arrangement? Fine.
Time to renegotiate the terms.
