My Mate Broke My Hand for His Luna

The kitchen woman handed me a tin plate at 7:15. "Servant rotation. Ten minutes. Eat fast."

I took the plate—cold meat, bread, something that might have been vegetables—and looked around. The kitchen was empty. Everyone else had already gone to their break stations.

"Where—"

"Hall. Far corner. Your table's marked." She turned back to the stove without waiting for a response.

I walked back through the swinging door into the banquet hall. The main meal service was underway now. Wolves at every table were eating, drinking, their voices filling the vaulted space with the comfortable hum of pack hierarchy and old alliances. I moved along the far wall, head down, scanning for wherever they'd put the Omega break station.

I found it in the back corner, half-hidden behind a stone column.

The table was smaller than the others. No linen cloth. No candles. Just bare wood and a placard propped in the center, cream cardstock with elegant hand-lettering that could only be Jocelyn's.

*Rogues and Rejects*

I stared at it for three seconds. Then I sat down.

Two elderly wolves were already seated—a man with clouded eyes and a woman whose hands shook when she lifted her cup. Across from me sat a younger male, maybe thirty, with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw and his left ear missing entirely. Omega. All of them. Packless or bottom-rank, brought here to serve and then tucked away where the visiting Alphas wouldn't have to look at them.

None of them met my eyes.

I set my plate down and started eating. The meat was tough. I chewed mechanically, counting the minutes. Eight left. Then back to tray duty.

The woman beside me made a sound—low, wet, rattling.

I glanced over. She was hunched forward, one hand pressed to her ribs, her face gray. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps. The clouded-eyed man touched her shoulder and murmured something I couldn't hear. She shook her head and tried to straighten, but the movement made her cough—a deep, tearing sound that turned heads at the nearest table.

I set my fork down.

"How long?" I kept my voice low.

The woman's eyes flicked to mine. Pale blue, watery. "What?"

"How long have you been coughing like that?"

She hesitated. Glanced at the man beside her. He gave a small nod.

"Six months," she whispered. "Maybe more."

I leaned closer. The scent hit me immediately—sour, metallic, laced with the oily bitterness I knew too well. Wolfsbane. Old. Deep. The kind that had been sitting in her organs for years, crystallizing slowly into something her body couldn't fight anymore.

"Rogue attack?" I asked.

"Twenty years ago." Her voice was barely audible. "They said I was lucky. The poison didn't kill me right away."

No. It just took twenty years to finish the job.

I looked at her—really looked. The violet veining under her jaw. The way her hand trembled against her ribs. The shallow, desperate quality of each breath. I knew what I was seeing. I'd been watching it happen to Caiden for five years.

She had weeks. Maybe days.

The Healer instinct flared in my right hand, sharp and insistent. My fingers curled against my palm. I glanced around the hall. Too many wolves. Too much light. If anyone saw—

The woman coughed again. This time she couldn't stop. Her whole body convulsed. The man beside her gripped her shoulders, trying to steady her, but she was folding inward, her face turning purple.

I made my decision.

I unwrapped the cloth from my right hand and reached across the table. My palm found the side of her neck, just below her jaw, where the veining was darkest.

The Healer gift flowed.

It wasn't visible—not to human eyes. But to a wolf, to anyone paying attention, it would look like exactly what it was. A warm, golden pulse radiating from my hand into her skin. I felt the wolfsbane in her liver, thick and black, coiled around the organ like wire. I pulled.

The poison came slowly at first, resisting. Then all at once it loosened, dissolved, flowed up through her bloodstream and into my palm where it burned away into nothing.

The woman gasped. Her back straightened. Her eyes went wide.

I pulled my hand back and wrapped the cloth around it again, my heart hammering. The whole thing had taken maybe fifteen seconds.

The woman stared at me. Color flooded back into her face. Her breathing steadied—deep, even, clear. She touched her own ribs, her neck, her chest, like she couldn't believe what she was feeling.

"You—" Her voice broke. She grabbed my wrist across the table, her grip surprisingly strong. "You're a Healer."

"Keep your voice down."

But it was too late.

The scarred Omega across from me was staring. So was the man beside her. And three wolves at the next table had turned in their seats, their eyes locked on our corner.

The whispers started.

Low at first. Just a murmur. Then spreading outward like ripples on water. *Healer. Packless. Unmarked. Did you see? She touched her and—*

I kept my head down and picked up my fork. My hand was shaking now. The Healer channels throbbed, the ache deeper than before, but I forced myself to take another bite. Chew. Swallow. Pretend I didn't feel the weight of two dozen gazes turning toward me.

The woman—Maren, I heard someone call her—wouldn't let go of my wrist. Tears streamed down her face.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, thank you—"

"Let go."

She released me. But the damage was done.

The whispers had reached the center tables now. I saw wolves leaning toward each other, gesturing toward our corner. A Healer. Genuine. Here.

And then the whispers reached the head table.

I didn't look up, but I felt it—the sudden shift in the room's energy. The way the noise dampened. The way attention pivoted, all at once, toward the raised platform where Julian and Jocelyn sat.

I felt Julian's focus lock onto me through the bond. Sharp. Immediate.

And then I felt Jocelyn.

She rose from her seat. The hall went quiet.

"My friends." Her voice carried across the room, warm and honeyed, the perfect blend of authority and grace. "It seems we have an unexpected demonstration tonight."

I set my fork down. My hand curled into a fist under the table.

Jocelyn descended the steps from the head table, her cream gown flowing behind her like water. Every eye in the hall followed her as she walked toward the center of the room. She stopped beneath the largest chandelier and turned to face the crowd, her smile radiant.

"In the spirit of transparency," she continued, "I have invited a former member of Ironveil to speak with us tonight. To share her truth before our honored guests."

She looked directly at me.

"Vivian, sweetheart. Would you come forward, please?"

Silence.

I didn't move.

Jocelyn's smile sharpened. She reached into a hidden pocket in her gown and pulled out the cream card—the confession she'd given me in the corridor. She held it up so the entire hall could see.

"Don't be shy," she said softly. "We're all family here."

I felt the bond flare in my chest. Julian's cold satisfaction pouring through. He was watching. Waiting.

I stood.

The hall was silent as I walked toward the center. My boots made no sound on the stone floor. I kept my wrapped hand at my side and my eyes on Jocelyn's face.

She handed me the card when I reached her. Her fingers lingered on mine for just a moment.

"Read it clearly," she whispered. "So everyone can hear."

I took the card.

Looked down at the elegant script.

*I, Vivian Pierce, confess that I manipulated the sacred mate bond for personal gain...*

I looked up. At the six hundred wolves watching me. At the visiting Alphas in their silk and leather. At Julian, seated at the head table with his arms crossed and his jaw tight.

At Jocelyn, standing beside me, her smile perfect.

I folded the card in half.

And dropped it on the floor.