Chapter 3
The first wave hit me like a tsunami—a rush of heat that flooded my body from core to skin, leaving me gasping against my pillow. My heat cycle had arrived early, catching me unprepared in my quarters—the small, separate room Marcus had insisted I use months ago when he claimed my 'restlessness' disturbed his sleep.
Silvana whimpered inside me, our wolf's discomfort amplifying my own. During a mated wolf's heat, her Alpha should be drawn to her side, their bond strengthened by the primal connection. Instead, I was alone, my sheets damp with sweat, my skin burning with fever.
"Marcus," I called through our mind-link, my mental voice weak and strained. "I need you."
Silence answered me. I tried again, pushing harder against the bond that had grown increasingly thin over the years.
"Marcus, please. The fever's bad this time."
Still nothing. Either he was deliberately ignoring me, or our bond had deteriorated so much that he couldn't even feel my distress. I wasn't sure which possibility hurt more.
I managed to drag myself to the bathroom, running a cold cloth over my face and neck. The mirror reflected a woman I barely recognized—pale except for two bright spots of color high on my cheeks, eyes glassy with fever. This wasn't just an ordinary heat cycle. Something was wrong.
Hours passed in a haze of pain and heat. I drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the sun setting outside my window. No one came to check on me. No one noticed the Luna's absence.
It was nearly midnight when voices in the corridor jolted me awake.
"Hurry, Alpha! Her fever's spiking!"
Marcus's voice replied, urgent and concerned: "Get the healer. Now!"
My heart leapt. Had he finally sensed my condition? Was he coming for me?
I struggled to sit up, pushing matted hair from my face, hope flaring briefly in my chest.
But the footsteps rushed past my door without pausing.
Using the wall for support, I dragged myself to the doorway and peered into the corridor. Through blurred vision, I saw Marcus's broad back as he carried someone in his arms—Stephanie, her head lolling against his shoulder, her face flushed.
"Hold on," he murmured to her, his voice tender in a way I hadn't heard in years. "I've got you."
I slumped against the doorframe, watching as he disappeared around the corner toward the healer's quarters. The contrast couldn't have been more stark—me, his Luna, suffering alone while he rushed to Stephanie's aid with such obvious concern.
Somehow, I made it back to my bed before collapsing. The fever dreams that followed were vivid and disjointed—memories of happier times twisted into nightmares, Silvana howling in my mind, the sensation of falling endlessly.
When I finally regained full consciousness, pale morning light was filtering through my curtains. The fever had broken, leaving me weak but clear-headed. A young pack member—Mira, one of the kitchen staff—was placing a tray beside my bed.
"Oh! You're awake, Luna," she said, startled. "I thought... well, no one had seen you for two days, so I thought I should check."
"Two days?" My voice was a croak.
Mira nodded, her eyes darting nervously to the door. "Yes, Luna. There's been quite a commotion with Beta Stephanie falling ill. Alpha Marcus hasn't left her side. He even traveled to the Northern Territory himself to get those special fever herbs that only grow there."
Something cold and hard settled in my chest. "Did he?"
"Oh yes," Mira continued, unaware of the knife she was twisting. "Everyone's talking about how devoted he's been—sleeping in a chair by her bed, feeding her the medicine himself. It's quite... touching."
I closed my eyes, unable to bear the pity in her gaze. "Thank you for checking on me, Mira."
After she left, I lay staring at the ceiling, Silvana unusually quiet within me. The contrast in treatment wasn't just humiliating—it was illuminating. Any lingering doubt about Marcus's true feelings had been burned away by the fever, leaving only clarity in its wake.
"We need more evidence," I whispered to Silvana. "And I know exactly where to find it."
That night, when the pack house had grown quiet, I slipped from my room like a ghost. My destination: Marcus's private ledger room. If his heart had betrayed me, perhaps his financial records would tell the same story.
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