Chapter 3
I couldn't sleep. The image of Nova wearing my necklace, lounging in what should have been my bedroom, haunted me. But worse was Cameron's threat against my mother. I had to see her.
The pack infirmary was quiet at this hour. Only the soft beeping of monitors broke the silence as I slipped past the night nurse's station. My mother's room was at the end of the hall—a private suite that Cameron had reluctantly provided when she first fell ill.
"Mom," I whispered, taking her hand. Her skin felt cooler than usual, almost brittle.
Something caught my eye—fresh needle marks on her arm, not in the usual spot where her IV entered. These were higher up, near her shoulder, and there were several of them.
I frowned, gently turning her arm to examine them more closely. "What are they doing to you?"
Her face had a grayish cast that hadn't been there yesterday. I touched her cheek, then noticed her lips were tinged blue.
"Looking for something?"
I jumped at Marcus Reid's voice. The pack Healer stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral.
"I'm just checking on my mother," I said, straightening up. "These marks—they weren't here yesterday."
Marcus stepped into the room, his movements too quick, too deliberate. "Just routine IV lines. Her medication schedule has been adjusted."
"Adjusted how?" I pressed.
He busied himself checking monitors, avoiding my gaze. "Alpha's orders. I'm just following protocol."
"Protocol doesn't explain why she looks gray," I insisted. "Or why there are needle marks where there shouldn't be."
Marcus's hand hesitated over a file he was pretending to review. "You're imagining things, Luna Brooke. Perhaps you should get some rest."
As he turned away, I caught a glimpse of his eyes—guilty, frightened. He was hiding something.
---
Midnight. The pack house was silent except for the occasional patrol passing by outside. I waited until the guards changed shifts—a brief window when the east wing would be unmonitored.
The master key felt heavy in my palm as I approached Marcus's office. I'd kept it from my days managing pack logistics—something Cameron never knew about.
The lock clicked open with barely a sound. I slipped inside, closing the door behind me.
"Find what you're looking for?" a voice hissed from the shadows.
I spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs. Elena stepped forward, her face grim in the moonlight.
"How did you—"
"I followed you," she said simply. "I knew something was wrong when you came back from the infirmary looking like you'd seen a ghost."
I nodded, grateful for her presence. "Help me find whatever he's hiding."
We moved methodically through the office, searching drawers and cabinets. Elena checked the computer while I examined the shelves.
"There," I pointed to a locked cabinet behind his desk.
Elena produced a paperclip from her pocket and worked quickly on the lock. "Years of picking locks as a pup," she explained with a grim smile.
The cabinet swung open to reveal rows of files. Most were normal patient records, but one folder was labeled simply: "Project Vitality."
My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside were detailed logs of blood extractions—all from my mother. The notes were clinical, cold:
"Elder Blood extraction successful. 200ml collected for processing. Subject N serum production ongoing."
Subject N. Nova.
The logs continued, detailing how my mother's blood was being processed into a stabilizing serum for someone whose body was rejecting its wolfless state.
"She's been poisoning my mother," I whispered, horror washing over me. "Using her as a blood bank."
Elena's face hardened. "We need to get this to the Council."
---
The garden was my only refuge now. Under the ancient oak trees, I could breathe without feeling Cameron's control crushing me.
I sank onto a bench, the stolen files clutched to my chest, and finally allowed myself to cry. Not just for my mother, but for five years of devotion thrown away on a man who saw me as nothing but a tool.
The tears blurred my vision, but as I looked up at the moon through my tears, something stirred in my memory.
This garden. Ten years ago.
I'd been sitting on this very bench when a group of older pups cornered me, calling me "half-breed" and "Rogue spawn." I'd fought back with everything I had, but there were too many of them.
Then he appeared—a stranger with golden eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. He hadn't said a word, just stood between me and my attackers. Something about his presence made them scatter like leaves in a storm.
"You're safe now," he'd said, his voice deep and reassuring.
I remembered the strange sensation that had washed over me—like being struck by lightning, but warm instead of painful. His scent had been unlike anything I'd ever experienced: forest rain and ozone, wild and powerful.
I'd never felt that spark with Cameron.
The memory crystallized with sudden clarity. That stranger had been Waylen Bishop—the Lycan King.
And somehow, I knew with absolute certainty that he had been watching over me all these years.
The files in my lap suddenly felt heavier with purpose. If what I suspected was true—if Cameron had manipulated our mate bond somehow—then there might be a way out after all.
I straightened my spine, wiping away my tears. For the first time in days, I felt something other than despair.
I felt resolve.
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