The bond broke at 10:14 on a Tuesday night.
I knew the exact moment because I was staring at the ceremonial clock above the altar when Dallas spoke the words. The white gown I'd sewn myself suddenly felt too tight. My mark—the one that had been warm against my neck for seven years—turned to ice so fast I gasped.
"I, Dallas, Alpha of the Ironveil Pack, reject you, Claire Ashwood, as my mate and declare you unworthy of the Luna title."
The words landed like silver through my chest. Clean. Formal. Final.
I'd spent three months embroidering the lace on this dress. I'd written his speech for tonight—the one he was supposed to give about partnership and strength and the future we'd build together. I'd ghostwritten every strategy that made him the most feared Alpha in the Northeast territories. I'd bankrolled his pack house with my family's money. I'd suppressed my own wolf so his could dominate every room we entered.
And he was rejecting me. In front of everyone.
My wolf released a single howl inside my chest—a sound so raw that pack members in the front rows flinched. Then she went silent. Not quiet. Silent. Like a door closing in an empty house.
The cold spread from my mark down through my shoulders. My knees wanted to buckle. I locked them.
Hannah Dunn stood three feet behind Dallas in a red dress I'd never seen before. She wasn't even trying to hide her smile.
The pack hall was dead quiet. Two hundred wolves watching me stand there in white lace while my mate—my fated mate, the one the Moon Goddess herself had chosen—erased me like a line item in a budget.
I should have seen this coming. I'd written the guest list for tonight. I'd noticed Hannah's name added in Dallas's handwriting. I'd told myself it didn't mean anything.
Stupid.
"Claire." Dallas's voice was flat. "You will step down from the altar."
I didn't move.
His eyes flashed—that Alpha gold I used to think was beautiful. "Now."
My wolf stirred. Not the quiet gray wolf Dallas had always mocked as too small. Something else. Something that didn't want to obey.
I took one step down. Then another. My legs were shaking but I kept my spine straight. I'd given him seven years. I wouldn't give him my dignity.
The pack members nearest the aisle shifted back as I passed. Like rejection was contagious.
I made it five steps before Hannah moved.
She was fast. I'd always known she was fast—Omegas had to be, in packs like ours. But I wasn't expecting her to pull something from her dress pocket. Something that gleamed silver in the ceremonial torchlight.
She grabbed my wrists.
The pain was instant. Searing. The silver brand burned through skin and muscle and nerve in less than three seconds. I screamed—I couldn't help it. The sound tore out of my throat as the wolfsbane soaked into the channels that carried my sonic gift.
I felt it die. The gift I'd had since I was fifteen. The war songs that could double a pack's strength in battle. The only thing that made me irreplaceable.
Gone.
My wolf tried to surface—tried to shift, tried to fight—and hit a wall of wolfsbane poison. She retreated so deep I couldn't feel her anymore.
I was alone in my own body.
Hannah let go. I staggered. My wrists were smoking. The smell of burned flesh filled the hall.
"She attacked me." Hannah's voice was high and trembling. She stepped back toward Dallas, cradling her hands like I'd been the one holding the brand. "She tried to—"
"I saw it." Dallas's voice cut through the hall. He wasn't even looking at me. "Claire has always been unstable."
Unstable.
I'd written his battle plans for seven years. I'd balanced his budgets. I'd turned his failing pack into a powerhouse. And I was unstable.
I had maybe thirty seconds before the wolfsbane spread far enough to drop me. I used them.
I forced my eyes open—forced myself to focus past the pain—and I found Marcus. Dallas's Beta. Standing ten feet away with his arms crossed and his face carefully blank.
I'd known Marcus since we were kids. He owed me. I'd saved his sister from a rogue attack three years ago.
I reached for the mind-link. It was like pushing through broken glass. The mate bond was dying but it wasn't dead yet. I shoved a memory fragment through the connection before it could close completely.
The memory was simple: Hannah, six hours ago, in the pack house kitchen. Preparing the wolfsbane brand. Testing the temperature. Smiling.
Marcus's eyes widened. He'd felt it.
"Enough." Dallas's voice dropped into Alpha tone. The command hit me like a fist to the chest. My knees buckled. The tone wrapped around my throat and locked my voice inside.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't warn anyone. Couldn't defend myself.
"Take her to detention," Dallas said. His voice was cold. Bored, almost. "She's been feeding intelligence to rival packs. I've suspected it for months."
Lies. Every word. But no one was going to question an Alpha in full command.
Two warriors grabbed my arms. I couldn't fight. The wolfsbane had spread too far. My wrists were still burning. My wolf was gone.
They dragged me toward the side exit. My feet scraped against the stone floor. The white dress—the one I'd embroidered by hand—tore at the hem.
I looked back once.
Hannah had moved into the space beside Dallas. She was holding his arm. He was looking down at her with an expression I'd never seen him use on me.
Tender.
The last thing I saw before they pulled me into the corridor was the ceremonial clock.
10:16.
Two minutes. That's how long it took to destroy seven years.
