The drumbeats of the Luna Ceremony echoed through the floorboards of my prison, a steady, mocking rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart. They were preparing to crown her. They were preparing to watch me kneel.
I looked at the small pile of dirt and crushed leaves on the floor. It was a pathetic arsenal—mud from the potted plant in the corner, mixed with the pungent herbs I’d swiped from the kitchen scraps before they locked me in. Sage, rosemary, and a dash of something rotting. It smelled vile, but it was my only hope. I stripped off my shirt, shivering in the cool air, and began to smear the paste over my skin.
*Hide the scent. Become invisible.*
The door rattled.
"Dinner, traitor," a gruff voice muttered. It was Paul, an Omega guard who used to beg for my help with his sick mother. Now, he wouldn't even look me in the eye.
As the lock clicked, I pressed myself flat against the wall behind the door. Paul stepped in, balancing a tray with a bowl of watery stew. He took two steps, scanning the empty bed.
"What the—"
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the heavy ceramic vase from the side table and brought it down on the back of his head. It wasn't a lethal blow—I wasn't Daphne—but it was enough. He crumpled with a soft grunt, the stew splashing onto the floorboards.
"I'm sorry, Paul," I whispered, my hands shaking as I stripped him of his oversized, rough-spun cloak. I pulled it over my mud-smeared body, the hood casting a deep shadow over my face. It smelled of wet dog and stale tobacco, perfect for masking whatever scent I had left.
I slipped into the hallway. The pack house was vibrating with energy. Everyone was outside, gathered around the ceremonial bonfire. I could hear Maddox’s voice booming over the crowd, his Alpha tone strong and commanding. He was praising her. He was erasing me.
Keep your head down. Walk with purpose, but not too fast.
I navigated the back corridors, slipping past the kitchens where the staff was too busy plating roasted venison to notice a hooded figure. I made it to the garage, my breath hitching in my throat. The sleek luxury cars were gone, likely parked near the stage for the VIPs. But in the corner, under a tarp, sat the old supply truck. It was a rusted beast we used for hauling lumber, loud and temperamental.
Perfect.
The keys were under the visor, just where old Beta Jim always left them. The engine roared to life with a cough of black smoke. I didn't wait for the guards to investigate the noise. I slammed my foot on the gas, tearing out of the garage and swerving onto the back service road.
"Hey! Stop!" a voice shouted from the perimeter, but I was already gone, gravel spraying behind me.
As I sped toward the border, the mate bond in my chest began to scream. It wasn't just emotional pain; it was physical, a tearing sensation as if hooks were embedded in my heart, pulling me back to him. Back to Maddox. My soul knew I was leaving my other half behind, even if he didn't want me.
*Turn back,* a tiny, traitorous voice whispered. *He's your mate. You can't survive without him.*
"Watch me," I gritted out, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't wipe them away. I let the pain fuel me.
The border bridge loomed ahead—the crossing into the Neutral Zone, and beyond that, the Royal Lycan Territory. A firework exploded in the sky behind me, a brilliant burst of gold and red. The coronation had begun. Daphne was Luna now.
I slammed the truck across the bridge just as the sky lit up again. The bond snapped—not fully severed, but stretched to its absolute limit, leaving me hollow and gasping for air. But I was free.
***
Meanwhile, back at the Silverclaw Pack, the celebration was descending into chaos.
Maddox stood on the raised dais, Daphne clinging to his arm like a decorative vine. She looked radiant in white silk, waving to the cheering crowd. But Maddox’s wolf was pacing inside him, agitated. He felt a phantom pain in his chest, a sudden hollowness he couldn't explain.
Before he could place the moonstone crown on Daphne’s head, a commotion erupted near the edge of the clearing. Several warriors dragged a man into the firelight. He was filthy, smelling of gasoline and fear—a rogue.
"Alpha!" the lead warrior shouted, shoving the rogue to his knees. "We caught this filth trying to sabotage the perimeter generators."
Maddox descended the stairs, his irritation spiking. "On tonight of all nights? Dispose of him."
"Wait," the rogue wheezed, looking up. His eyes widened as they landed on Daphne. "You... you promised!"
Daphne froze. The smile slid off her face like melting wax. "I don't know this trash. Kill him, Maddox!"
Maddox paused. He recognized the rogue’s scent. It was faint, buried under years of grime, but it was there. This was the driver. The one who had swerved into their car three years ago. The accident that put Maya in a coma.
"Hold," Maddox commanded, his voice dropping an octave into the Alpha growl that made the ground tremble. He grabbed the rogue by the throat, lifting him off his knees. "I remember you."
"Please!" the rogue choked out, clawing at Maddox’s hand. "I did the job! I ran the Luna off the road! She paid me!"
The music died. The cheering stopped. A silence so heavy it felt suffocating fell over the pack.
Maddox’s grip tightened. "Who paid you?"
"Her!" The rogue pointed a shaking finger at the woman in white standing frozen on the stage. "The sister! Daphne! She paid me to kill Maya!"
Maddox released the rogue, letting him drop to the dirt. He turned slowly toward the stage. The bond he thought he felt for Daphne, the connection she had manipulated and manufactured, seemed to dissolve under the weight of the truth.
Daphne took a step back, her hands trembling. "Maddox, baby, he's lying. It's a trick. Maya probably sent him to ruin my night!"
But Maddox wasn't listening. The hollow ache in his chest suddenly made sense. He turned his gaze toward the dark forest, toward the road leading away from the pack. The wind shifted, carrying the faint, fading scent of rust and old sage.
Maya was gone.
