The engine of the black sedan hummed beneath me, a steady vibration that did little to calm the chaotic rhythm of my heart. Three years. It had been one thousand and ninety-five days since I last smelled the pine and rain scent of the Silver Moon territory. My hands shook as I gripped the reinforced metal briefcase in my lap. Inside lay the culmination of my sacrifice: a single, glowing blue vial of serum and three leather-bound journals filled with formulas that could save our entire race from the Feral Blight.
"We're here, Miss Bishop," the driver murmured, slowing the car as the iron gates of the pack house loomed ahead.
"Thank you," I whispered, my throat tight.
I stepped out, the gravel crunching under my boots. I expected the guards to recognize me instantly. I was high-ranking, the daughter of the former Beta, and—though I had never spoken it aloud—the fated mate of their Alpha. But as I moved toward the gate, two Gamma warriors I didn't recognize stepped forward, their spears crossed.
"Halt! Identify yourself, Rogue," one growled, his eyes flashing with aggression.
"I am not a Rogue," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, channeling the authority I had learned at the Royal Stronghold. "I am Helena Bishop. I have returned to see Alpha Greyson."
Before I could take another breath, rough hands grabbed my arms. I gasped, nearly dropping the briefcase. "Hey! Careful! This is delicate!"
"Alpha's orders," the guard sneered, shoving me forward. "All intruders are to be detained."
They didn't escort me; they dragged me. My heels scraped against the stone steps of the pack house, a place that used to be my home. Shame burned my cheeks as pack members stopped to stare, whispering behind their hands. I held the briefcase against my chest like a shield, protecting the cure with my life.
They threw the double doors to the Alpha's office open and shoved me inside. I stumbled, barely catching myself on the edge of a mahogany desk.
And then, I froze.
The scent hit me like a physical blow—storm clouds, cedar, and something uniquely *him*. Greyson. My wolf, Selene, stirred from her slumber, whimpering with a longing that nearly brought me to my knees. *Mate,* she whispered. *Mate is here.*
Greyson sat behind the massive desk, looking older, harder than the boy I had left behind. His jaw was set in stone, his dark hair falling over eyes that should have been filled with love. Instead, they were cold. Dead cold.
But he wasn't alone.
Perched on the arm of his leather chair, fingers trailing possessively over his shoulder, was Francesca. She was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way, her dark eyes gleaming with triumph as they landed on me.
"Greyson," I breathed, stepping forward, the pull of the bond urging me to touch him. "I'm home."
He didn't stand. He didn't smile. He just laughed—a dry, humorless sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Home? You think you can just waltz back in here after three years of silence, Helena?"
"I couldn't contact you," I pleaded, my heart hammering against my ribs. "It was a top-secret mission for the Crown. I was working on the cure. For the Blight."
"Lies," Francesca purred, her voice like poisoned honey. She leaned down, whispering into Greyson's ear, her lips brushing his skin. "Tell her what we found, Grey."
Greyson reached into a drawer and tossed a stack of photographs across the desk. They fanned out, landing at my feet. I looked down and felt the blood drain from my face. The photos showed me—or someone who looked exactly like me—dancing in a club, draped over men with the distinct, rugged look of Rogues.
"I... these are fake," I stammered, looking up at him. "Greyson, look at me. You know me. I would never—"
"I thought I knew you," Greyson interrupted, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "But clearly, while my brother was dying and I was trying to hold this pack together, you were out being a whore for Rogues."
The word slapped me harder than any physical blow. "No! Greyson, please! The bond—can't you feel it?"
His eyes flashed gold for a split second, the Alpha within him recognizing his mate, but he clenched his fists, forcing the color back to a dull brown. "I feel nothing for a traitor."
Desperation clawed at my throat. I had to make him see. I slammed the briefcase onto the desk and clicked the latches open. "Forget the photos. Look at this! This is why I left!"
The lid popped up, revealing the single glass vial glowing with a soft, ethereal blue light, nestled beside my leather-bound journals. "This is the cure, Greyson. The Royal Healers and I... we did it. This can save everyone."
Francesca gasped, shrinking back against Greyson's chest, feigning terror. "Oh goddess, Grey! Look at it! That's not medicine. That's... that's Rogue poison! It looks just like the toxins they used to kill your brother! She's trying to kill us all!"
"No!" I screamed, reaching for the vial. "It's the cure!"
But Greyson was faster. Fueled by Francesca's fear and his own blinded rage, he stood up, his hand lashing out. He backhanded the briefcase off the desk.
Time seemed to slow down.
I watched in horror as the case hit the stone fireplace hearth. The glass vial shattered. The glowing blue liquid—three years of sleepless nights, of blood draws, of isolation—spilled out, hissing as it touched the hot ashes.
"No!" I wailed, dropping to my knees, my hands hovering uselessly over the mess. The liquid evaporated into useless steam.
Greyson didn't stop there. He grabbed my journals—the only copies of the formulas—and hurled them into the roaring fire. The dry paper caught instantly, the flames licking up the pages that contained the salvation of our species.
"My work!" I sobbed, the smell of burning paper filling the room. "Greyson, what have you done? You've doomed us!"
He walked around the desk, looming over me, his shadow swallowing me whole. There was no love in his face, only disgust.
"Get her out of my sight," he ordered the guards, his voice devoid of emotion. "Strip her of her rank. She is no longer a high-ranking wolf of this pack."
"Greyson, please," I whispered, tears streaming down my face.
"Take her to the stables," he spat, turning his back on me to comfort a smirking Francesca. "If she loves animals so much, she can sleep with them. She's an Omega now."
