For eighteen years, I used the Moonlight Blessing bestowed upon me by the Moon Goddess to lift my Alpha husband, Basil, to the pinnacle of power. Until I discovered he had stolen my child—replacing her with the bastard son he’d fathered with my adopted sister, making that boy his heir. While my true daughter was exiled to a bottom-rung settlement, beaten and broken. And my parents had known all along, keeping silent to protect their interests. I didn’t weep. I didn’t beg. I simply reached out through the mindlink to the Alpha of the Northern Pack—Ronan Nightveil. “I’m willing to transfer my Moonlight Blessing to the Nightveil Pack,” I said. “I have only one condition—I want Delphinium Pack destroyed. Completely.” Basil once thought controlling an Omega was like keeping a pet on a leash. He was wrong. When he loses the Blessing, when his allies abandon him, when he’s on his knees begging for my forgiveness— I’ll make sure he knows exactly what it feels like to be ripped out by the roots. … … The night before my son Caspian’s eighteenth birthday, my husband Basil informed me that I would not be attending the Shift ceremony. “An Omega’s scent interferes with the first Shift,” he said without looking up, his tone laced with contempt and impatience. “Just stay home.” Eighteen years. I had never missed a single milestone in Caspian’s life—and now, on the most important night of his existence, my husband was telling me to stay away. “Basil, I’m his mother.” “Precisely because you’re his mother, you should be thinking of what’s best for him.” He finally raised his eyes, his gaze calm but utterly non-negotiable. “Serena, don’t be difficult.” Don’t be difficult. The words slid into my chest like a thin needle. As if insisting on attending my own child’s coming-of-age ceremony was somehow an unreasonable demand. I said nothing more. But at midnight, when the full moon climbed to its zenith, I slipped out of our home anyway. I followed the glow of the ritual bonfire through the silver fir forest until I reached the outer perimeter of the clan’s sacred grounds. At the center of the stone platform, Caspian knelt beneath the moonlight. His muscles were undergoing their first reshaping—shoulder blades rising, spine curving, knuckles beginning to distort. Basil stood behind him, his black-gold eyes blazing like lanterns. And then I saw someone who shouldn’t have been there. Breenda. She stood in the inner circle—the position reserved only for immediate blood kin. I, Caspian’s mother, had been barred from attending. Yet she—my adopted sister, exiled years ago—stood brazenly in the closest position, hands clasped together, lips moving as though praying for Caspian. My heart seized violently. In the next moment, Caspian completed his Shift. A young wolf rose in the firelight, lifted his head, and let out his first long howl. His coat was clearly visible in the flames—a base of black-gold interwoven with silver-grey, like storm clouds split open by lightning in a dark sky. Black-gold. Basil’s color. Silver-grey. Breenda’s color. And my wolf was moon-white—the color that should have flowed through my own flesh and blood—not a single trace of it existed. My legs began to buckle. I stumbled back a step. My spine hit a tree trunk, and the pain brought me partially back to my senses. I don’t remember how I made it home. I only know that when Basil pushed open the door at dawn, I was sitting in the dark, waiting. “His color is wrong.” My voice came out far calmer than I expected. Basil’s footsteps halted. “Serena—” “Black-gold and silver-grey. Your colors and Breenda’s.” I looked up at him. “Caspian isn’t my child, is he?” His reaction wasn’t denial. It wasn’t confusion. It was rage. “Have you lost your mind?” He snarled like a beast on the verge of losing control. “You carried him for ten months! You’re going to doubt your own son over fur color?” “Then let’s do a blood lineage test.” He grabbed my wrist with crushing force, enough to grind bone. “No.” “Basil—” “I said no!” His pheromones exploded outward in an instant, Alpha dominance slamming into me like a wall. My body trembled instinctively—an Omega has almost no capacity to resist that kind of pressure. Then he released me, turned, and stormed out of the room. A moment later, I heard the front door lock from the outside. I had been locked inside my own home. I opened my palms and stared at the four crescent-shaped blood marks on each one. I started to laugh. And somewhere in the laughing, the tears came. Eighteen years. For eighteen years, I had poured the Moon Goddess’s Moonlight Blessing into the Delphinium Pack without reservation. Their warriors were formidable because of my blood, unkillable because of my protection, united because of my bond. Basil had risen from the young leader of a third-rate clan to the most feared Alpha on the continent. And me? I wasn’t even allowed to attend my own “son’s” Shift ceremony. In the darkness, I activated my mindlink and reached out to someone I had never contacted of my own volition before. The Alpha of the Nightveil Pack—Ronan Nightveil. “Serena?” The voice on the other end carried obvious surprise. “Ronan,” I said. “About the Moonlight Blessing transfer—I agree.” A beat of silence. Then a low, measured response: “I’ll send someone to collect you tomorrow.” “No. It’s not time yet.” I severed the link and erased all traces. After dawn, Basil came back. He stood in the kitchen, clumsily frying a cut of venison. “Serena,” he turned to look at me, his voice softened by three degrees. “Last night—I was too impulsive.” On the table sat warm wine and slightly charred venison chops. He sat across from me, and neither of us mentioned the night before. “Caspian comes home next week.” “Mm.” His voice dropped lower. “Serena, stop overthinking this, all right? When he gets back, we’ll have a proper family dinner.” Family. The word suddenly sounded obscene. “What about the blood test?” The tenderness on his face froze for an instant, then slowly drained away. “Why do you insist on fixating on this?” His knife and fork clattered against the plate, the sound sharp and piercing. He stood up and left for the second time. I stood by the window, watching his figure disappear into the morning mist, then walked into the study. On the desk lay a mate-bond dissolution contract and a territory division agreement. Just then, a voice appeared in my mindlink. My mother, Gwendolyn. “Serena, how have you been feeling? Oh, by the way—Breenda is officially returning to the pack next week. Basil arranged a Warrior Elder seat for her. It’s been so long since we’ve all been together. We should have a family gathering.” I stared at those words, my fingertips ice-cold. Breenda. She was coming back.
Breenda Whitmore. The name made my eyelid twitch involuntarily. She was coming back. Basil had arranged it. I was a born Luna, blessed by the Moon Goddess herself, having poured eighteen years of Moonlight Blessing into this pack—yet because I was an Omega, I had never been granted a single formal position within the clan. And she—an adopted daughter who had been exiled for poisoning my food—was being handed the title of Warrior Elder the moment she returned. I would never forget the day Breenda was taken away. The hatred in her eyes—cold as a viper’s. “I hate her! I just hate her!” “Why? I’m a warrior’s descendant! I’m an Alpha! She’s nothing but a pathetic little Omega—why does she get everything?” For a long time afterward, she still appeared in my nightmares. But I had never stopped to think carefully about why Breenda—who had only survived because my family took her in—despised me so deeply. Or when exactly she and Basil had become so close. I swallowed the chill rising in my chest, kept my voice steady, and replied to my mother: “All right. When? I’ll get things ready.” “Don’t worry about it—we’ll handle everything. You just rest.” Mother paused, then added, “Serena, listen to me. Be gentler with Basil tonight. You know how Alphas are—pride matters more to them than anything.” I didn’t reply. That same day, I reached out through a secret channel outside the pack and contacted an independent blood lineage specialist. I paid the rush fee and sent a sample of fur Caspian had shed at the ritual site after his Shift. Then, through a separate line, I hired a roaming intelligence operative who moved between packs, tasking him with a full investigation into Basil’s secret resource flows over the years. Twelve hours later, the results came back. I sat in the study for a long time before I opened the document. I turned directly to the last line. “Based on comparative blood lineage analysis, no parental relationship exists between Serena Whitmore and Caspian Delphinium.” Even though I’d already suspected, seeing it in black and white made my hands tremble uncontrollably. Eighteen years. I pressed down on the shaking in my hands and looked out the window. In the distance, the surface of Moon Lake lay still as a mirror, reflecting everything I once thought I would protect for a lifetime. But now, nothing was what it had been. The operative’s preliminary report arrived shortly after. From Basil’s private vault, large shipments of moon coins, rare herbs, and forging materials had been sent to the border on a regular monthly basis. It had been going on for over twelve years. The recipient was registered as a shell trading company—but the actual beneficiary was one person: Breenda. The amounts were substantial. More than enough for someone in exile to live in extreme comfort. The final note made my stomach clench. [Breenda Whitmore owns a private estate in the exile territory, purchased nineteen years ago with full payment in moon coins.] Nineteen years ago—the same year I was diagnosed as pregnant. The same year Breenda was sent away. A horrifying theory began to form in my mind. … The weekend family dinner arrived on schedule. Mother brought a full basket of ingredients. Father Harold helped unload at the door. Breenda entered last. She wore a silver-grey evening gown, her hair loosely pinned behind her ears, her gait unhurried—as though she were returning to a place that had always been hers. “Serena.” She smiled and walked toward me, arms open for an embrace. I stepped aside. Her smile stiffened for a flash, then recovered seamlessly. “It’s been so long. I brought you a gift.” The dining table was laden with dishes. Mother bustled in the kitchen; Father Harold and Basil discussed pack affairs in the living room. Breenda naturally took the seat beside Basil. I frowned but said nothing. Halfway through the meal, Breenda raised her glass to drink, and a necklace slipped from beneath her collar, catching the candlelight with a cold blue-white radiance. My gaze locked onto it. Moonstone. —One of fewer than three such pieces on the entire continent. I had seen it two years ago at a cross-pack auction. Sealed within the moonstone was a thread of true lunar essence. I had loved it desperately, but given the price, I ultimately never bid. At the time, Basil had said: “If you can’t bring yourself to spend it, then let it go. I’ll find you something better later.” He never did. Now it hung around Breenda’s neck. “Serena, are you looking at this?” Breenda noticed my gaze. She smiled faintly, fingertips brushing the pendant. “Basil said it was a welcome-home gift to celebrate my return to the pack. He really does have excellent taste—the color complements my hair perfectly.” Basil’s hand tightened around his glass, but he said nothing. Mother laughed and smoothed things over: “It’s perfectly normal for family to exchange little gifts. Serena, don’t be so petty.” I said nothing. I only fixed my gaze on Basil’s face. He looked away. Breenda smiled again, her voice soft and seemingly harmless. “Don’t misunderstand, Serena. It’s just that some things only shine when they’re on the right person. This necklace, for instance—doesn’t it look better on me?” As she said it, her eyes bored directly into mine. —Triumph. Disdain. After dinner, Breenda volunteered to clear the dishes. Basil followed her to help. I sat in the living room, listening to the sound of running water and fragmented murmurs. I couldn’t make out the words, but Breenda’s occasional laugh cut through with particular sharpness. Mother sat down beside me. “Serena, Breenda really did come back to help with pack duties. Look how much she’s matured—volunteering to help and everything. You’re the older sister. Don’t be so stiff with her.” Father chimed in. “Basil carries a heavy burden. It’s good to have family pitching in. You need to be more open-minded. Stop holding grudges over old matters.” I turned to look at my father. “Dad, Basil is your son-in-law. Breenda is your adopted daughter. Don’t you think they’re a little too close?” Father’s expression darkened. “What nonsense. We raised Breenda—she’s the same as you. What’s wrong with helping her brother-in-law?” “The same as me?” I echoed softly. “You were both at Caspian’s Shift that night, weren’t you?” Both parents froze. “Black-gold and silver-grey. Nothing to do with my moon-white. And you truly had no questions at all?” Father’s face hardened. “Serena, what exactly are you trying to say?” “I’m asking you—is Caspian my biological child or not?” Mother shot to her feet. “Serena! You can’t just say things like that! How could Caspian not be your child? Are you having delusions again?” Father slammed his palm on the armrest. “Enough! You really have gone mad! Basil is right—you need to see the healer!” Their reaction extinguished the last flicker of hope in my heart.
That night, I returned to the small lakeside house where I had lived before my marriage. My parents had moved to their new residence years ago, and the hallways were thick with dust. I had come for one thing. In the attic, inside a leather trunk, were things Breenda hadn’t had time to take when she left. Some photographs, a few gifts I’d given her, and three journals. I opened the first page and saw a line written in familiar handwriting. —”Dear Basil.” Unmistakably Breenda’s script. I kept reading. “Basil, you came to the house to see Serena again today. Your voice is so gentle when you talk to her. The way you smiled at her made my heart ache. I was in the kitchen washing fruit, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.” And below that, another entry. “I know he doesn’t belong to me. But I can’t stop myself from thinking—if he’d met me first, would everything be different?” “The bonding ceremony invitation arrived. I locked myself in my room and cried all night.” My hands began to shake. I kept turning pages. Several pages after that had been torn out. I opened the second journal. The dates had jumped to just before and after her exile. “He came to see me. He said he was sorry, said he couldn’t go public, but that he would always take care of me.” There was also a photograph. Breenda and Basil standing shoulder to shoulder beneath the old silver fir in Moonlight Grove. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder, one hand placed on her swollen belly. Both of them smiling. On the back of the photo, a line scrawled in hasty handwriting: Even if the whole world refuses to acknowledge it, you’re mine. I held the photograph, my fingertips frozen. So it had started that long ago. And I had been kept in the dark all these years. Then where was my real child? I drew a deep breath and sent a message to the operative. [Investigate the birth records at Delphinium Pack Hospital from eighteen years ago. Full moon day, afternoon to dusk.] [Also check Breenda’s reproductive records in the exile territory. Confirm whether she has any documented delivery.] The mindlink was about to disconnect when it was pinged again. An emotional surge from Basil’s end bled through. What followed was a barrage of ragged breathing and distorted images flooding my mind— That was my bedroom. Breenda sat facing him, straddling Basil’s lap. She wore a gown thin as cicada wings, her fingers threaded through his hair. Basil tilted his head back, both hands gripping her waist, his breathing rough and heavy. Moonlight fell across them both, their bodies intertwined beyond separation. I stared at the images, my stomach dropping like a block of ice, nausea surging from the base of my throat. “Basil…” Her voice dripped, soft as honey. “Did you see Caspian’s fur color? It’s the perfect blend of both of us.” “Breenda, not here.” “I just want to say…” She leaned down, her lips nearly brushing his— “You know how much it hurts every time Caspian calls me ‘Auntie’? He should be calling me—” “Breenda!” Basil cut her off, turning his face away. But the hand gripping her waist never let go. In that moment, something inside me shattered completely. What followed was too revolting to watch. I shut down the link and rushed to the bathroom to vomit. Again and again I retched, bringing up nothing, only a searing pain that radiated from my chest through every inch of my body. It was a long time before I could compose myself enough to receive the operative’s message. [Ms. Whitmore, I have results.] [Breenda Whitmore arrived at the border exile territory eighteen years ago in July. In August, she gave birth to a full-term male infant at a private den. Blood type classified as Alpha.] [Your delivery-day records at the hospital show two female infants born during the afternoon-to-dusk window. One was classified Beta. The birthing ward was later decommissioned, and most files were lost.] [However, in November of that same year, when Breenda next traveled to the border, she was accompanied by a female infant approximately five months old.] [That girl currently performs hard labor at the lowest-tier slag mines on the border. Her physical condition is extremely poor—multiple old injuries, severe malnutrition, near-total social withdrawal. Breenda collects the majority of her wages each month through a middleman.] Attached at the end were several photographs. A skeletal girl hauling broken stone at the edge of a mine pit. Her forearms covered in bruises and old scars. Another image: she was curled up on a broken stool in some corner, expressionless, gnawing on cold scraps. In that instant, a hatred so vast it blotted out the sky swallowed me whole. I wept for a long time, until my tears ran dry and nothing remained in my chest but a searing, blunt ache. Then I stood up. I gathered every piece of evidence—the journals, the photographs, the recorded link images, the intelligence files—and transmitted the entire package to the pack’s judicial arbiter. After that, I contacted Ronan Nightveil again. “Tomorrow I’ll formally sign the transfer contract. But I have one condition—Delphinium Pack must be completely destroyed.” A low chuckle came through the link, followed by Ronan’s calm, unwavering voice. “Done.” Basil, I lifted you to every height you ever reached. And I will make sure the fall is just as far.
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