No Longer Your Spare Part: The Luna's Revenge

The drill's whine was the only thing in my world, vibrating through my skull and drowning out my own screams.

I was strapped to a cold metal table, paralyzed by wolfsbane, while surgeons bored into my hip bone to siphon my essence.

"Just a little more," the surgeon muttered. "Isabella needs the boost for the wedding photos."

They weren't saving my sister's life. They were harvesting my marrow just to make her skin glow for a picture.

I looked at the observation window, begging with my eyes.

Dante, the Alpha I had dragged from the jaws of death, stood there. He wasn't looking at me. He was holding Isabella's hand.

He didn't know I was the one who healed him. He believed her lies.

"Take it all if you have to," Dante's voice drifted through our fading mate bond. "Don't let her fade."

The drill punched through. My heart stuttered and stopped.

I died on that table, a hollowed-out husk used to feed my sister's vanity.

"Seraphina! Are you deaf?"

A sharp voice snapped me back into existence.

I gasped, clutching my hip. No blood. No drill. No pain.

I looked at the calendar on my father's desk.

I was alive. And I had exactly one year before the surgery that killed me.

I looked at my trembling hands and felt the ancient anger of my White Wolf stirring.

I wasn't going to be the sacrifice this time.

I was going to be the arsonist.

Chapter 1

Seraphina POV:

The drill's whine was the only thing in the world.

It wasn't just noise; it was a physical intrusion, vibrating through my skull and drowning out the wet, ragged sound of my own screams. I was strapped to a cold metal table, limbs heavy with wolfsbane anesthesia—enough to paralyze my muscles, but designed to keep my nerves screamingly awake.

"Just a little more marrow, Seraphina," the surgeon muttered, his mask splattered with my blood. "Isabella's levels are dropping. She needs the boost for the wedding photos."

Not to save her life. To make her glow.

I wanted to beg. I wanted to scream that I was empty. My liver was a map of scar tissue from previous resections. My blood count was so low I was constantly dizzy. And now, they were boring into my hip bone to siphon the essence of my wolf to feed my sister's vanity.

I looked at the observation window. My father, Alpha Giovanni, stood there, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the monitor displaying Isabella's vitals.

Beside him stood Dante.

My mate. The Alpha of the Moretti Pack. The man I had dragged out of the jaws of death.

He wasn't looking at me. He was holding Isabella's hand as she lay on the adjacent bed, looking pale and tragically beautiful.

"Take it all if you have to," Dante said. His voice was muffled by the glass, but I heard it through our fading mate bond. "Don't let her fade."

Take it all.

The drill punched