Aurora POV:
The smell of antiseptic was the first thing that hit me.
I opened my eyes, expecting darkness, but was met with the blinding white of the pack hospital ceiling. I tried to turn my head, but a sharp, tearing pain in my neck made me gasp.
"Careful," a nurse said softly. She was a Gamma, a lower-ranked wolf, looking at me with pity. "The Wolfsbane was concentrated. Because you are... because your wolf is dormant, your healing is very slow."
I touched the bandages wrapped thick around my throat. I was an Omega. In our hierarchy, we are the weakest. We heal slower, we run slower, and we are expected to serve. But I was worse than a normal Omega. I hadn't shifted since I turned eighteen. They called me "The Wolf-less."
But they were wrong. I had a wolf. She was just... locked away. Buried under layers of fear and rejection.
The door opened.
Ethan walked in. He looked tired. His shirt was rumpled, and he smelled of stale coffee and... her. That sickly sweet rose scent clung to him like a parasite.
He approached the bed. "Aurora."
He reached out to touch my hand. The moment his skin brushed mine, a jolt of electricity shot up my arm. It was the Mate Bond. No matter how much he hurt me, my biology recognized him as the other half of my soul. It was a cruel joke by the Moon Goddess.
He pulled his hand back as if he had been burned. He felt it too.
"How is she?" I asked, my voice rasping like sandpaper.
"Ilene is in shock," Ethan said, avoiding my eyes. "The noise... it triggered her PTSD from the shooting."
"I was screaming because she poured Wolfsbane on me, Ethan," I whispered.
"It was an accident," he snapped, his jaw tightening. "The waiter put the Wolfsbane in the soup as a garnish, not knowing. Ilene just spilled it. She feels terrible."
"Did she tell you that?" I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Or did she draw you a diagram with crayons this time?"
"Stop it," he warned, his voice lowering. "She saved my life. She can't have children because of me. I will not have you slander her."
"So you used the Alpha Command on me," I said, tears pricking my eyes. "You forced me to lie in my own burning flesh to stop me from upsetting her."
Ethan looked away, a flicker of shame crossing his face. "I did what was necessary to control the situation. Humans were watching."
"You chose her. Again."
"I am trying to do right by everyone!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, once Ilene is stable... once she feels secure... we will do the Marking Ceremony. I promise. I just need time to transition her out of the public eye."
The Marking Ceremony. The act of an Alpha biting his mate, sealing their bond and sharing his power. He had promised me this for five years.
"You're lying," I said simply.
His phone buzzed. He looked at it, and his expression softened instantly.
Ethan? Are you there? I'm scared. The shadows are moving again.
I heard Ilene's voice through the Mind-Link he still hadn't blocked. It was whiny, pathetic, and completely calculated.
"I have to go," Ethan said, already backing away. "She's having an episode."
"Ethan, I'm in the hospital," I pleaded, though I knew it was useless. "I'm your wife."
"She has no one else, Aurora. You have... you're strong in your own way."
He turned and walked out.
As the door clicked shut, my phone vibrated. A video message from an unknown number.
I clicked play.
It was Ilene. She was lying in the master bedroom of the Pack House—my bedroom. She was wearing Ethan's shirt. She pulled the collar down to reveal a red mark on her neck. It looked like a hickey, cleverly made up to look like a bite mark.
"He's coming back to me," she whispered into the camera, her eyes bright with malice. "Face it, sweetie. You're just the placeholder. He might be bound to you by magic, but he's leashed to me by choice. Do us all a favor and stop breathing."
The video ended.
I stared at the black screen.
Something inside me, something fragile that I had been holding together with hope and duct tape for five years, finally snapped.
"Moon Goddess," I whispered to the empty room. "I don't want this anymore. I don't owe him my pain."
I closed my eyes and focused on the mental thread that connected me to Ethan. It was a golden cord, pulsing with light. I imagined a pair of scissors.
With a mental scream of effort, I clamped down on the connection.
I couldn't break the bond—only a formal rejection could do that—but I could build a wall. I shoved a brick wall between our minds. The golden light dimmed. The background noise of his emotions—his guilt, his annoyance, his worry for Ilene—vanished.
Silence.
For the first time in five years, my head was quiet. And in that silence, I began to plan.
