Forsaken for a Fake: The True Luna's Revenge

My husband, Alpha Kaeden, once looked at me with adoration. But after he brought Clemmie home, his eyes turned cold, glazed over by the "herbal tea" she fed him.

Now, I lay chained to a steel table in the dungeon, the smell of my own burning flesh filling the air.

Kaeden stood over me, indifferent to my screams. He ordered the guards to electrocute me through silver cuffs—the poison of our kind—even though he knew I was carrying his pup.

But torture wasn't the end goal. I froze when I heard the doctor’s question.

"The transplant carries risks, Alpha. Taking a heart from a living donor..."

Clemmie didn't just want my husband; she wanted my heart to cure her "sickness" and steal my White Wolf power.

I waited for Kaeden to refuse. Instead, he rubbed his temples and delivered my death sentence.

"Harvest the heart. Dispose of the rest."

"And the fetus?" the doctor asked.

"Incinerate it."

Those words killed me faster than the silver. I died on the operating table that night, my heart flatlining for three minutes to stage my death.

Kaeden thinks I am ash in a jar. He thinks he saved his mistress.

But when I opened my eyes in the safe house, they weren't brown anymore. They were glowing silver.

Beside me, my daughter slept, alive and radiating ancient power.

The weak Luna is dead. The White Wolf has risen.

And I am going home to take back my pack.

Chapter 1

POV: Daria

The air in the dungeon didn't smell like damp earth or rot. It smelled like burning sugar and metallic death. It was the scent of Wolfsbane, the purple flower that could paralyze a werewolf's nerves and strip away our strength.

I lay on the cold steel table, gasping for air. My wrists were bound by cuffs that weren't just iron. They were plated with silver.

Silver is the bane of our existence. To a human, it is just jewelry. To a werewolf, it is acid. It burns on contact, stopping our supernatural healing cells from knitting our flesh back together.

"Please," I whispered. My throat felt like I had swallowed glass. "Kaeden, please."

The heavy iron door creaked open. Two figures stepped into the dim light.

First came Alpha Kaeden. He was tall, his shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the entire Moonstone Pack. But his eyes, usually a warm amber that made me feel safe, were glazed over, distant and cold.

Behind him stood Clemmie. She wore a white silk dress that looked ridiculous in a torture chamber. She clung to Kaeden's arm, looking at me with wide, fearful eyes. But I saw the smirk twitching at the corner of her lips.

"She still denies it?" Kaeden asked, his voice flat, sounding more exhausted than angry.

"She's stubborn, my love," Clemmie whispered, her hand tightening on his bicep. "The guards said she was screaming threats against me. Against us."

Kaeden rubbed his temples as if fighting a headache.