After His Luna Murdered Our Daughter, I Escaped

Pain ripped through me in waves, each one stronger than the last. I gripped the edges of the hospital bed, my knuckles white as another contraction seized my body.

"You're doing great, Harper," Della encouraged, her healer's hands cool against my forehead. "Just a little more."

I wanted to scream, but my voice caught in my throat. Silver thrashed inside me, sharing my pain as we brought our daughter into the world.

"I can see her head!" the pack doctor announced. "One more push, Harper."

With a final, tremendous effort, I felt something slip from my body. A tiny cry pierced the air—strong, defiant, alive.

"She's perfect," Della whispered, tears in her eyes as she helped clean the tiny bundle.

They placed her on my chest, this miracle with Lucien's dark hair and my silver-gray eyes. Her tiny hand curled around my finger with surprising strength.

"Hello, little one," I murmured, pressing my lips to her forehead. "Welcome to the world."

Silver howled inside me, her presence warm with maternal love. *Our pup. Our Violeta.*

---

Two months later, I sat in the rocking chair by the nursery window, Violeta cradled against my chest. She slept peacefully, her tiny features relaxed in the way only babies can achieve.

"Such a beautiful sight," came a voice from the doorway.

I looked up to see Sofia, elegant as always in a cream silk blouse and tailored pants. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, instinctively tightening my hold on Violeta.

"Lucien asked me to check on you," she replied smoothly, gliding into the room. "He's so busy with pack affairs."

I nodded stiffly. Lucien had been absent for days, leaving me alone with our daughter and Della.

"I brought you something," Sofia continued, producing a small porcelain cup. "A post-partum tonic. For your health."

Della wasn't here—she'd stepped out to prepare Violeta's formula. I should have waited for her return.

"Thank you," I said reluctantly, accepting the cup.

Sofia's smile widened as she watched me raise it to my lips. The liquid was bitter, with an underlying sweetness that couldn't quite mask its strange aroma.

"Drink up," she urged. "It's traditional for new mothers."

I took a small sip, then grimaced at the taste. "It's strange."

"Drink it all," Sofia insisted, her voice hardening slightly. "Or I'll tell Lucien you're being difficult again."

Something in her tone made Silver growl inside me. But before I could react, Sofia grabbed my chin, forcing my mouth open.

"Swallow," she hissed, tipping the cup against my lips.

The liquid burned like fire down my throat. I choked, struggling against her grip as it seared through me like acid. Violeta woke with a startled cry.

"What have you done?" I gasped, clutching my throat.

Sofia's laugh was cold as she stepped back. "Just ensuring you can't howl for help anymore."

The pain intensified, spreading through my chest. I tried to call for Silver, but our connection felt muted, distant. I opened my mouth to scream, but only a raspy whisper emerged.

"Concentrated wolfsbane," Sofia explained casually, picking up Violeta from my arms. "Enough to damage your vocal cords and sever your connection to your wolf."

I lunged for my daughter, but my body felt weak, unresponsive. "Give her back!"

"Oh, I will," Sofia said, placing Violeta in her crib. "But remember this moment. Remember that I can take everything from you."

---

Two years passed in a blur of silent desperation. Violeta grew into a curly-haired toddler with her father's confidence and my love for the ocean. She was my entire world, the only light in my gilded cage.

"Higher, Mama!" she squealed as I pushed her on the swing in our small garden—the only outdoor space we were permitted to use.

Her laughter was like music to my damaged ears. I smiled, my fingers gently guiding the swing.

"Careful, she's getting too excited," warned the guard stationed nearby.

I ignored him, focusing on Violeta's joy. These supervised outings were rare treasures.

"Mama, look!" Violeta called, pointing to something shiny on the ground.

As she ran toward it, Sofia appeared from the path, her eyes narrowing at the sight of us.

"Playing with the child again?" she asked the guard. "Has Lucien approved this?"

Before he could answer, Sofia knelt beside Violeta. "What's this you've found, sweetie?"

I watched in horror as she slipped something into my daughter's pocket—something small and gleaming.

Later that afternoon, chaos erupted when the sacred Lycan moonstone was reported missing. Guards stormed the West Wing, searching everywhere.

"Check the child," Sofia commanded, her voice dripping with false concern.

They found it in Violeta's pocket.

"I didn't!" Violeta cried, her small face crumpling in confusion.

"She's a thief, just like her mother," Sofia declared, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Lucien appeared, his face drawn with exhaustion. "What's happening?"

"The moonstone was missing," Sofia explained smoothly. "We found it on Violeta."

I tried to protest, my raspy voice barely audible. "She didn't—"

"Enough," Lucien silenced me with a look. "Violeta will remain in the West Wing until she learns discipline."

"But she's just a child!" My damaged voice cracked with desperation.

Lucien's eyes met mine, something like regret flashing briefly before hardening again. "It's for her own good."

As he turned away, Violeta's small hand slipped into mine, her eyes wide with fear. In that moment, I knew we had to escape—or we would lose everything.