After My Mate Stole My Wolfsbane Formula

The sheets against my skin were cool and made of real silk. I wasn't used to that.

For four years, I had slept on a lumpy mattress in the damp basement of the Ironmaw pack house, waking up every morning smelling of mildew and bitter herbs. Here, the air smelled like polished oak and crisp autumn air. Sunlight spilled across high, arched windows.

I tried to sit up, but every muscle in my body screamed in protest.

My ribs ached. My spine felt bruised from the inside out. But worse than the physical soreness was the empty, freezing crater on the left side of my collarbone.

Where Matthew’s mate mark had burned for four years, there was only cold, dead skin. The bond was gone. The thread that had tied my heartbeat to his had been snapped like dry twine. A hollow ache spread through my chest, deep and suffocating.

*Hello, Rayna.*

The voice didn't come from the room. It rumbled softly beneath my ribs, warm, grounded, and unhurried.

My breath hitched. I pressed two fingers against my inner wrist, checking my own racing pulse. "Who’s there?" I whispered aloud.

*I have been here longer than you know,* the voice answered. It wasn't loud, but it filled every corner of my mind.

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and sudden. A storm of dizziness and nausea hit me all at once. Four years. Four years of starving myself, burning my lungs over toxic cauldrons, begging for scraps of Matthew's attention, convinced I was a broken, wolfless nobody.

"I was an Omega," I choked out, staring at my trembling hands. "He threw me away like trash."

*We were never what they said we were,* she replied.

There was no pity in her tone. No soft coddling. Just steady, absolute certainty.

*He broke the lock, Rayna. That is all he did. You called me Luna. Now let me stand with you.*

I didn't entirely believe her yet. The habit of feeling small was carved too deep into my bones. But I closed my eyes and listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing beside mine. For the first time in my life, I wasn't alone in the dark.

The heavy wooden door swung open.

Lakelyn stepped inside, dressed in a tailored black suit. Behind her walked an older woman with silver hair pulled back into a tight bun, carrying an electronic medical tablet.

"You're awake," Lakelyn said, her sharp expression softening by a fraction. "This is Dr. Elara Finch, our head healer."

Dr. Finch didn't waste time with small talk. She approached the bed, clicking on a small penlight to check my pupils before running a flat scanner over my chest and throat. She pressed two fingers to the faded gray scar where Matthew's mark used to be.

The healer pulled back, her brow furrowed in deep disbelief. She tapped the screen of her tablet rapidly, her hands shaking slightly.

"Your Highness," Dr. Finch said, turning to Lakelyn. Her clinical voice couldn't hide the shock underneath. "The damage here is catastrophic. Chronic wolfsbane poisoning. Her lung tissue has severe chemical scarring, and her liver enzymes are off the charts. She’s been inhaling toxic root fumes for years without basic neutralizers."

Lakelyn's eyes darkened to dangerous gold. "And no one in Ironmaw treated her?"

"No," Dr. Finch said coldly. "They ignored it. Medically speaking, she should have gone into organ failure six months ago. But that isn't the most shocking part."

Dr. Finch turned the tablet toward Lakelyn, showing a bright holographic scan of a wolf's skeletal frame.

"It is biologically impossible for a wolfless Omega to undergo a first shift at age twenty-two," Dr. Finch stated. "And certainly not a shift of this scale. The bone density, the muscle mass, the luminous silver pigmentation in the fur... it directly mirrors the Lycan royal archive. She carries the pure bloodline of King Alistair. I have logged these findings directly into the Council's official evidence vault."

I listened to them talk about my body like a piece of evidence.

A strange sensation stirred in my chest. It wasn't the dull ache of sadness anymore. It was heat. A thin, sharp blade of pure fury.

Matthew had known I was coughing up blood in the trenches. He had seen my cracked, blistered hands every time I handed him a fresh supply of border salve. He had known, and he had let Peyton spill it all on the floor just to watch me break.

Before Lakelyn could speak, a sharp chime echoed from the secure comm unit on her hip.

She unclipped the black radio, tapped the receiver, and put it on speaker. "Report."

Static hissed through the speaker, followed by a panicked, breathless voice that made my stomach tighten.

It was Ryder Holt, Matthew's Beta.

"...ambush at the northern ridge!" Ryder’s shout was half-drowned by the blare of Ironmaw’s pack sirens. "Rogue skirmishers used wolfsbane arrows! Three warriors are down. The poison is spreading through their veins, and their skin is necrotizing! Alpha, where is the salve?"

A beat of silence passed, and then Matthew’s voice roared through the line. He sounded frantic, his usual arrogant poise completely shattered.

"Peyton is the Luna!" Matthew snarled. "She made the formula! Send her to the infirmary to brew another batch immediately!"

"She can't do it, Matthew!" Ryder yelled back, abandoning all respect. "Peyton went down to the cellar an hour ago and ruined thirty pounds of fresh roots! She doesn't even know how to balance the carrier oil! The warriors are in agony, and the whole barracks is talking. They saw Rayna shift last night. They know the salve belonged to her!"

"Shut your mouth!" Matthew screamed, his voice cracking with pure terror. "She was an Omega stray! She was nothing!"

Lakelyn reached down and clicked the radio off.

The silence that followed was heavy and cold.

Lakelyn looked over at me, a slow, razor-thin smile touching the corner of her lips.

Inside my chest, Luna let out a low, rumbling growl of satisfaction.

*Let them bleed,* my wolf whispered. *They are about to learn what happens when they throw away the only thing keeping them alive.*