Chapter 3
The hospital's night shift was predictable. Every evening at exactly 11:45 PM, the guard stationed outside the restricted wing would make himself a cup of tea before beginning his rounds. I'd been watching him for days, memorizing his routine while pretending to be asleep whenever the nurses checked on me.
Tonight would be different. I'd spent the afternoon carefully crushing the sleep-inducing herbs I'd collected from Elara's poorly secured medicine cabinet, hiding them in the fold of my hospital gown. My fingers trembled slightly as I mixed the powder into the guard's abandoned tea when he stepped away to speak with a nurse.
"Just enough to make him drowsy," I whispered to my unborn pup, "not enough to harm."
My wolf purred in agreement, growing stronger each day as I recovered. We both knew what was at stake.
I waited patiently, counting the minutes until the guard's head began to droop, his chin eventually resting on his chest as soft snores escaped his lips. Moving silently, I slipped from my bed and took his key card, my heart racing with both fear and determination.
The forbidden corridors of the pack hospital were eerily silent at night. I moved like a ghost, stopping at each junction to listen for footsteps. The basement level housed the herb garden where Elara grew her medicinal plants. I needed something strong enough to mask my scent when the time came to escape.
My fingers brushed against the pungent leaves of wolfsbane and moonflower, carefully harvesting just enough to avoid detection. The sharp, acrid smell made my nose itch, but it would serve its purpose when mixed with other herbs.
"We're one step closer," I murmured to my wolf as I tucked the plants into a small pouch I'd fashioned from a torn pillowcase.
Returning the key card was trickier than taking it. The guard had shifted in his sleep, and I had to carefully slide it back onto his belt without waking him. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine as his eyelids fluttered, but he merely sighed and continued sleeping.
Back in my room, I hid my treasures beneath the loose floorboard I'd discovered days earlier. Each small victory brought me closer to freedom, closer to Andrew.
* * *
Two days later, I convinced Elara I needed fresh air to aid my recovery. She reluctantly agreed to let me walk the perimeter of the hospital grounds, accompanied by a young Delta wolf who seemed more interested in flirting with the kitchen staff than watching me.
"I'll just sit by those trees," I told him, pointing to a copse near the eastern boundary. "The sun feels wonderful after being inside for so long."
He nodded absently, his attention already drifting to a pretty she-wolf arranging flowers by the entrance.
I walked slowly, maintaining my facade of weakness while my senses stretched out, searching. The eastern boundary was closest to the abandoned mining territory where the documents had placed Andrew. If I could just get a glimpse...
My heart nearly stopped when I saw it. Beyond the tree line, partially hidden by overgrown bushes, stood a crude enclosure. The chain-link fence was rusted, topped with barbed wire, like something used to contain animals rather than a child.
And there, huddled in the corner amidst filth and discarded food wrappers, was a small boy.
Andrew.
My son.
Even from this distance, I could see how thin he was, his clothes hanging from his frame like rags on a scarecrow. His dark hair—so like mine—was matted and dirty. He sat with his knees pulled to his chest, rocking slightly, his eyes vacant.
My wolf howled in anguish within me, the sound echoing in my mind but thankfully not escaping my lips. The maternal rage that surged through me was so powerful I had to dig my nails into my palms until they bled to keep from shifting right there.
"Luna Victoria? Are you alright?" The Delta had finally noticed my extended absence.
"Yes," I managed, forcing my face into a mask of calm while my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. "Just tired. I think I should go back now."
* * *
That evening, Marcus announced a formal dinner to celebrate my recovery. The great hall was decorated with silver and blue streamers, the pack's colors, and the tables groaned under the weight of food.
I sat at Marcus's right, dressed in a gown that hung loosely on my still-thin frame, watching the farce unfold with a coldness settling in my chest.
Then she entered—Isabelle Crawford, radiant in a blue silk dress that matched Marcus's tie perfectly. Beside her walked a little girl, perhaps three years old, with bouncing blonde curls and Marcus's gray eyes.
"Pack members," Marcus announced, standing to address the crowd, "join me in welcoming my daughter, Chloe, future Luna of the Silvermoon Pack."
Cheers erupted as Isabelle guided the smiling child to stand between her and Marcus. The perfect family portrait. My replacement, and the replacement for my children, displayed for all to see.
Marcus's hand came to rest possessively on my shoulder, his fingers digging in slightly. "And of course, we celebrate Victoria's miraculous recovery."
The pack applauded politely, but their eyes told the truth—I was a relic, a ghost from the past. Isabelle's triumphant smile confirmed what I already knew: in the eyes of the pack, she was the true Luna now.
I smiled back at her, a perfect mask of serenity hiding the inferno of rage within me. Let them believe I was broken. Let them think I was blind to their betrayal.
They would learn too late just how dangerous a mother's love could be.
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