My Mate Betrayed My Child

I jolted awake to the sound of whimpering. The digital clock on my nightstand read 2:17 AM, its red numbers casting an eerie glow across my bedroom. The whimpering grew louder, followed by a feverish mumble that sent ice through my veins.

"Emma," I whispered, throwing off my covers.

My feet barely touched the cold wooden floor before I was racing down the hallway to my daughter's room. The door creaked as I pushed it open, revealing my six-year-old daughter thrashing beneath her moon-and-stars comforter.

"Mommy," she croaked, her voice raw and broken. "It hurts."

I rushed to her side, pressing my palm against her forehead. Her skin burned against my touch, unnaturally hot even for a werewolf child.

"I'm here, baby," I soothed, though panic clawed at my chest. "Tell Mommy where it hurts."

"Everywhere," Emma whimpered, her small body convulsing. "My wolf... she's trying to come out, but she can't."

My heart plummeted. I'd seen this before in my years as the pack healer—the telltale signs of wolf-fever, a rare condition that trapped a young werewolf's inner beast. With the full moon approaching in just five days, Emma's wolf would be fighting desperately to emerge for her first shift.

And if she couldn't shift...

I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on immediate action. I gathered my daughter into my arms, her nightgown soaked with sweat, her chestnut curls plastered to her feverish face.

"We're going to see Elara," I told her, referring to our elderly pack healer who had trained me. "She'll know what to do."

Emma's eyes fluttered open, revealing irises that flashed between her normal hazel and a desperate amber as her wolf fought to surface. "Will Daddy come?"

The question stabbed at my heart. Derek hadn't slept in our bed for weeks, claiming night patrol duties that I knew were lies. He was with Sophia again, I was certain—helping with his nephew, as he always claimed.

"Daddy's working," I said softly, the words bitter on my tongue. "But we don't need him. We're strong, remember?"

Emma nodded weakly as I carried her through our small cabin and into the cool Montana night. The Silver Moon territory was peaceful under the waning crescent, oblivious to the terror gripping my heart.

---

"Wolf-fever," Elara confirmed grimly, her ancient hands hovering over Emma's trembling form. "And a severe case."

The old healer's cabin smelled of dried herbs and tallow candles, the walls lined with remedies collected over her century of service to our pack. Her eyes—cloudy with cataracts but still sharp with wisdom—met mine with solemn gravity.

"The full moon comes in five days," she continued. "Without intervention, her wolf will tear her apart from within, trying to emerge."

I clutched Emma's limp hand, her fever now partially controlled by Elara's herbal compress. "There must be something we can do."

Elara turned to her shelves, her gnarled fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes. "There is one remedy," she said. "The moonflower elixir."

My breath caught. The