You Stole My Pup, I'll Slaughter Your Pack!

Wind howled across the Moon Goddess Altar. I squeezed the linen prayer cloth, feeling the warm, sticky dampness of my own blood against my palms.

"Keep chanting, Elara," Kaelen ordered, his broad shoulders tensing beside me.

"I am," I replied, my voice hoarse.

Ten years of feeding my spiritual energy into the pack's wards. Five years of pouring my life force into our adopted son, Leo, just to ensure he survived to see his first shift tonight.

"Your hands are shaking," Kaelen noted, his gaze fixed on the center of the altar.

"He needs my blood to anchor the transition," I told him, pressing my bleeding palms harder against the sacred linen. "I won't let him suffer. His body is too frail."

"You've given him so much," Kaelen murmured, leaning close enough for his warmth to brush my shoulder. "He will be a strong Blackwood wolf tonight."

Bone cracked. A tiny whimper echoed off the stone pillars.

I leaned forward, wiping a smear of sweat and blood from my chin. I expected the midnight-black coat of the Blackwood line to burst forth.

Instead, moonlight caught on blinding, iridescent silver.

My pulse stuttered violently.

Silver.

Not black. Not brown. Silver. The unique genetic signature of the Croft family. Of my husband's first love.

"Is that..." an elder murmured from the front row of the stands.

All the guilt I carried—the fear that my weak spiritual power had stunted our adopted orphan—evaporated. A cold, sharp clarity took its place.

This wasn't an orphan of the border wars. This was a lie wrapped in five years of fake gratitude.

Gasps rippled through the gathered pack members in the lower tiers.

"Quiet!" Kaelen barked.

He didn't hesitate. He tore the ceremonial velvet robe from his shoulders and lunged forward. In one swift motion, he threw the heavy fabric over the shivering silver pup, completely swallowing the boy's form.

"Alpha," Councilman Thorne called out, standing up from his seat. "The fur color—"

"The shift is overwhelming him," Kaelen interrupted, his tone a low growl. "He needs darkness to settle."

"But the silver—"

"I said he needs darkness!" Kaelen snapped.

He pulled the struggling bundle tight to his chest, hiding the evidence. Hiding *her* evidence.

Footsteps pounded against the stone stairs.

"Leo!"

Selene Croft shoved past the elite guards. Her blonde hair whipped around her face as she sprinted toward the center of the sacred circle. She didn't bow to the altar. She didn't acknowledge me.

She reached her hands out, fingers trembling, aiming straight for the bundle in Kaelen's arms.

"Let me see him," she demanded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Kaelen, please. Just let me touch his head. Is he hurt?"

"He's fine, Selene," Kaelen muttered, shifting his stance to shield the pup from the wind. "Go back to your seat."

His voice lacked any real Alpha command. It was a plea.

I moved before he could say another word.

I stepped between my husband and his former lover, planting my boots firmly on the blood-stained stone.

"Back away, Selene," I commanded.

She blinked, finally registering my presence. "Luna Elara, I just—I was worried about the boy. The shift looked painful."

"You are breaking sacred protocol." I kept my voice dead flat. Not a trace of the devastation tearing through my chest leaked into my words. "No uninvited wolf approaches the altar during a First Shift."

"But he's—" Selene choked on her words, shooting a panicked look at Kaelen.

"He is what?" I asked, tilting my head. "Finish the sentence, Selene."

She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes darting nervously.

"He is the Alpha's heir," I stated, leveling a glare at her. "An orphan we took in. And I am your Luna."

Selene flinched, shrinking back a fraction of an inch.

I turned my head toward the perimeter. "Commander Ronan!"

The lead guard stepped forward, bowing his head. "Yes, Luna."

"Seal the altar." I pointed toward the heavy iron gates. "No one enters. No one leaves. The ceremony is over."

"Luna, the pack expects a viewing," Ronan hesitated, glancing at Kaelen for confirmation.

"Did I stutter, Commander?" I asked.

"No, Luna." Ronan signaled his men.

The heavy iron gates groaned shut with a final, echoing clang.

Silence blanketed the upper tier. The pack murmured in the distance, locked behind the iron bars.

Kaelen shifted the squirming bundle higher on his chest. His jaw worked, muscles jumping under his skin.

"You're making a scene, Elara," Kaelen said, his tone softening into that gentle cadence he always used to placate me.

"A scene?" I asked. "I just locked the gates to save your reputation."

"My reputation is fine," he insisted. "You're exhausted. You've bled too much for him tonight. Your mind is playing tricks on you."

"I bled exactly what was required," I answered.

"You need rest." He reached out his free hand, his fingers brushing the fabric of my sleeve.

I didn't yell. I didn't cry.

I laughed. A short, dry sound that made him freeze.

I stepped backward, out of his reach. The cold air rushed into the space between us.

"Don't," I said.

"You're misunderstanding this," Kaelen insisted, dropping his hand to his side.

"Am I?" I studied the man I had loved for a decade. "Is there a misunderstanding about the color silver, Alpha?"

"Genetics are complicated," he replied quickly. "The border wars left many orphans with mixed bloodlines. It means nothing."

"Mixed bloodlines," I repeated. "Right. Just a random coincidence."

"We will discuss this in the den," he snapped, his patience fraying. "Away from prying eyes."

"Go," I told him. "Take the boy. Tend to his needs."

"Come with us," Kaelen urged, taking a half-step forward.

"No."

He stared at me for a long second, searching my face for the hysterical mate he expected to find. He found nothing but stone.

"Selene, come with me. I need a healer to check his vitals," Kaelen ordered.

"Of course, Alpha," Selene whispered.

She shot me a fleeting, triumphant glance before scurrying after him.

Their footsteps faded down the private corridor, leaving me entirely alone in the biting wind.

My fingers uncurled.

The blood-soaked prayer cloth slipped from my grasp.

It hit the ground with a soft thud. As the fabric unspooled, a small roll of parchment tumbled out from the folds. It shouldn't have been there. I had washed and ironed that cloth myself this morning.

I stared at the paper.

A crimson wax seal stamped the center—not the pack crest, but the emblem of a private fertility clinic located just outside our borders.

The wind picked up, rustling the edges of the parchment.

I crouched down, the cold stone biting through my jeans, and reached for the seal.