My Alpha Forced a Bond to Save Another Woman

I told Delia I was organizing a charity supply run to the neutral-territory refugee shelter. She smiled that warm, pitying smile and told me how generous I was, how the pack was lucky to have such a thoughtful Luna. I smiled back and thanked her for the compliment.

The lies came easier now.

I drove for two hours, past the Ironvale borders, past the neighboring pack territories, into the stretch of no-man's-land where rogue traders and neutral healers operated outside pack jurisdiction. The roads turned rough. My car rattled over frozen dirt paths until I reached a small clinic tucked between two hills, marked only by a wooden sign that read *Nora Graves, Healer.*

The building smelled like sage and something sharper—medicinal, clean. An older she-wolf with silver hair braided down her back looked up from a desk covered in glass vials and dried herbs. Her eyes were pale gray, the kind that missed nothing.

"You're not here for charity supplies," she said.

I closed the door behind me. "No."

"What pack?"

"Ironvale."

Her gaze sharpened. "You're their Luna."

I nodded.

"Does your Alpha know you're here?"

"No."

She studied me for a long moment, then gestured to a small examination room in the back. "Come."

I followed her into a room with a padded table, shelves lined with jars of powders and tinctures, and a window that let in cold winter light. Nora closed the door and turned to face me.

"What do you need?"

I swallowed. "I need to know if my wolf is dying."

Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in those pale eyes. "Sit."

I sat on the examination table. She moved closer, her hands surprisingly gentle as she tilted my chin up and examined my eyes, my throat, the glands beneath my jaw. She pressed two fingers to my wrist and held them there, silent and still. Then she reached for the mark on my neck.

I flinched before I could stop myself.

"Easy," she murmured. "I won't hurt you."

She traced the raised scar tissue with careful, clinical precision. Her brow furrowed. She leaned closer, inhaling near the mark, then pulled back sharply.

"How long have you been mated?" she asked.

"Three years."

"And your wolf? How does she feel?"

"Weak," I said quietly. "She's always been weak. My pack healer said it's normal. That some she-wolves just have delicate constitutions."

Nora's jaw tightened. "Let me draw blood."

She worked quickly, filling three vials and labeling them with a tight, angry efficiency that made my pulse spike. When she was done, she gestured for me to lie back on the table.

"I'm going to examine your wolf directly," she said. "It will feel invasive. Don't fight it."

I nodded and closed my eyes. I felt her hands press against my sternum, and then something deeper—a probing sensation that reached past skin and bone, searching for the place where my wolf should have been strong and present. What she found instead made her go completely still.

"Moon Goddess," she whispered.

I opened my eyes. Her face was pale.

"What is it?"

She stepped back and braced her hands on the counter, breathing carefully. When she looked at me again, her expression was a mix of fury and grief.

"Your wolf is on the verge of permanent dormancy," she said. "Your regenerative capacity has been systematically hollowed. Blood extractions. Marrow extractions. Possibly essence work. And you've been given suppressants—long-term, high-dose suppressants designed to keep a wolf too weak to sense a false bond."

The room tilted. I gripped the edge of the table.

"A false bond?"

Nora crossed to me and gently turned my head, exposing the mark. "This carries no mate-bond signature. It was forced. Whoever marked you, they weren't your fated mate. They manufactured the connection."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The walls felt too close.

"If the extractions continue," Nora said quietly, "you will lose your ability to shift forever. Your wolf will die inside you, and you'll live the rest of your life as a shell."

I pressed two fingers to the mark, the habit so ingrained I didn't realize I was doing it until Nora's hand covered mine and gently pulled it away.

"Don't," she said. "Don't give it reverence it doesn't deserve."

I looked at her. My voice came out steady, which surprised me. "Can it be broken?"

"A forced mark? Yes. But not without pain. And not without risk, especially in your condition. A formal rejection could kill you."

"What if I don't reject it formally?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you asking?"

"What if I just... stop complying? Stop taking the suppressants. Stop showing up for the extractions. What happens then?"

"Your wolf will begin to recover. Slowly. But whoever did this to you will notice. And they'll come for you."

"Good," I said.

Nora stared at me. Then, slowly, she smiled. It was a hard, sharp smile that made her look decades younger.

"You're not here for healing," she said. "You're here for a battle plan."

I met her gaze. "Yes."

She walked to a locked cabinet, pulled out a small glass vial filled with clear liquid, and set it on the counter between us.

"This is a suppressant neutralizer," she said. "One drop under your tongue every morning. It won't heal you overnight, but it will stop the damage and give your wolf room to breathe. Keep taking whatever they're giving you—but spit it out the moment you're alone."

I took the vial. It was warm in my palm.

"There's something else," Nora said. Her voice was quieter now. "If you're planning what I think you're planning, you need to understand: the people who did this to you won't stop because you ask nicely. They'll escalate. You'll need protection. You'll need leverage."

"I know."

"Do you have either?"

I thought of the folder on Cody's nightstand. The medical charts. The extraction schedules. The financials I'd been quietly cataloging in my mind.

"I'm working on it," I said.

Nora studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Come back in two weeks. I'll monitor your recovery. And if you need anything else—anything—you come to me. Not your pack healer. Me."

"Thank you."

She walked me to the door. As I stepped outside into the cold, she caught my arm.

"One more thing," she said. "Whoever your true mate is—and you have one, every wolf does—they're out there. And when you meet them, your wolf will know. Even in her current state, she'll know. Don't ignore it."

I nodded, though the idea of a true mate felt like a story from another life. A life I'd never get to live.

I drove back to Ironvale with the vial hidden in my coat pocket and my hands steady on the wheel. The sun was setting by the time I crossed back into pack territory. I parked outside the pack house and sat in the car for a moment, staring at the warm lights in the windows.

Then I walked inside.

Delia was waiting in the kitchen, a glass of water and a small capsule already set out on the counter.

"There you are, sweetheart," she said warmly. "How was the supply run?"

"Productive," I said. I picked up the capsule and swallowed it with the water, meeting her eyes the entire time. "Thank you for reminding me to take this."

Her smile widened. "Of course. You know I worry about you."

"I know."

She patted my hand and left the kitchen. I waited until her footsteps faded up the stairs. Then I walked calmly to the bathroom, locked the door, and spat the capsule into the drain. I ran the water until it disappeared completely.

I leaned against the sink and stared at my reflection. My face looked the same. The mark on my neck looked the same. But something inside me had shifted. Hardened.

I pulled out my phone and opened a new note. At the top, I typed: *Ironvale Pack Financials.* Then I started listing every allocation I'd overheard, every allied fund transfer, every name on Rowan's appointment schedule that didn't make sense.

I would not be bled dry.

I would bleed them instead.