My Mate Poisoned Me to Steal My Birthright

Kane brought me breakfast in bed.

That should have been my first warning. In five years of marriage, he'd never once carried a tray up the stairs himself. That was what Omegas were for, what staff existed to handle. But there he was, shouldering through the bedroom door with a silver platter balanced on one hand, that easy smile I used to love stretched across his face.

"Morning, beautiful." He set the tray across my lap with exaggerated care. Poached eggs. Toast points. A crystal glass of orange juice. And a small porcelain cup filled with something dark and herbal that smelled like licorice and rot.

"What's this?" I kept my voice soft, sleepy. The perfect picture of a Luna who'd had too much champagne at her own anniversary gala.

"Just a tonic." Kane sat on the edge of the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. "You seemed stressed last night. Thought it might help with your nerves before the Summit."

My nerves.

I picked up the cup. The liquid inside was thick, almost syrupy, with an oily sheen catching the morning light. My wolf recoiled from it instantly, a visceral rejection that made my stomach clench.

"That's sweet of you." I brought it to my lips, watching him over the rim. His eyes tracked the movement with an intensity that had nothing to do with affection. Hungry. Waiting.

I tilted the cup. Let the liquid touch my bottom lip. Tasted nothing but made a small sound of appreciation.

Kane's shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"I need to grab my Summit files from the wardrobe," he said, standing. "Drink up. You'll feel better, I promise."

The moment his back turned, I dumped the entire cup into the potted fern on my nightstand. The dense leaves swallowed the liquid without a sound. I pressed the empty cup to my lips again, throat working in a fake swallow, and set it down just as Kane turned back around.

"All gone?" His smile was warm. Proud, even.

"All gone." I pressed my fingers to my temple. "Though I think I'm getting a headache."

"That's normal." He crossed back to me, kissed my forehead. His lips were cold. "It'll pass. Just rest today. Big night tomorrow."

He left whistling.

I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall before I moved. My hands were shaking—not from fear, from rage so pure it felt like lightning in my veins. I grabbed my phone and texted Wren: *Training room. Now. Code black.*

She was there in four minutes.

The panic room was soundproof, built into the basement of the pack house for emergency war councils. Concrete walls. Steel door. No windows. Wren locked it behind her and turned to me with her warrior's assessment already cataloging threats.

"What happened?"

I told her. Every word I'd overheard. Every detail of this morning's performance. The poison disguised as care.

Wren's eyes flashed gold. Her wolf surged so close to the surface I could see her canines lengthening, her fingers curling into claws. "I'm going to rip his throat out. Right now. I'm going to—"

"Wren." I used my Luna Voice. Not loud. Not a shout. Just that particular frequency of command that made her wolf snap to attention despite the fury. "Stand down."

She froze. Shook her head like she was trying to clear water from her ears. "Athena—"

"If you kill him, it's treason. The Council will execute you, and I'll have lost my only ally." I stepped closer, dropped my voice back to normal. "We don't need violence. We need annihilation."

Wren's breathing was ragged, but she was listening.

"He wants me to look insane at the Summit," I continued. "So that's exactly what I'm going to give him. I'll play the mad Luna. You gather proof—recordings, scent trails, financial records of whatever he's been funneling to rogues. We build a case so airtight the Council has no choice but to strip him of everything."

"A Trojan Horse." Understanding dawned in Wren's eyes. "You're going to let him think he's winning."

"Until the moment I destroy him."

Wren's smile was all teeth. "When do we start?"

"Now."

The Pack House common room was full during lunch. Perfect.

I walked in carrying a tray of tea and sandwiches, my hands deliberately unsteady. Halfway across the room, I let it slip. China shattered. Tea spread across the hardwood in a dark stain.

An Omega—young, maybe nineteen—rushed forward to help. "Luna, let me—"

"Don't touch me!" I rounded on her, letting my voice crack high and sharp. "You're all watching me, aren't you? All of you, whispering, plotting—"

The room went silent. Shocked faces. Concerned murmurs.

From the second-floor balcony, I caught movement. Kane and Skyla, standing close, watching. When our eyes met, Kane's expression was perfectly crafted concern. But Skyla—Skyla smiled.

I let my shoulders shake. Pressed my hands to my face. Let them see exactly what they wanted to see.

That night, I checked the fern.

The leaves had turned black. Withered. Dead.

Concentrated wolfsbane and silver. Enough to kill.

I touched the blackened leaves with one finger, feeling the brittle texture of something poisoned beyond recovery. This was what Kane had wanted to put inside me. This was what he'd smiled about while kissing my forehead.

My wolf growled low in my chest, and this time, I let her.

Because we weren't prey anymore.

We were predators. And the hunt had just begun.