Second Chance to Free Myself

The ritual left me hollowed out, as if the Healer had scraped away everything soft inside me and left only bone. My legs trembled with each step up from the underground chambers, muscles screaming protests I ignored. The medicinal herbs she'd used—ancient, powerful things that burned like liquid fire through my veins—had done their work. My wolf stirred stronger now, no longer suffocated by the false bond's pressure.

But strength came with a price. Every nerve ending felt exposed, raw. The pack house's fluorescent lights stabbed at my eyes. Voices from the common areas crashed against my skull like waves.

I needed my bed. My room. Silence.

The Luna's quarters waited at the end of the third-floor hallway—my sanctuary for three years, however cold it had been. I pressed my palm against the keypad, fingers shaking as I entered the code. Nolan's and my anniversary date, the one concession he'd made when we'd moved in.

The screen flashed red.

I blinked, certain I'd mistyped. Tried again. Red.

My wolf snarled, suddenly alert despite her exhaustion. Something was wrong.

I pulled out my override key—the backup every Luna kept for emergencies—and pushed the door open.

The scent hit me first. Jasmine and vanilla. Blair's perfume, thick enough to choke on, saturating air that should have smelled like me. Like us.

My mother's photographs—the only pieces of her I had left after she'd died when I was sixteen—sat crammed into a cardboard box by the door. Frames that had decorated the dresser for three years, tossed aside like garbage. I picked up the silver frame that held her last birthday photo, her smile frozen forever at thirty-eight, and felt something crack inside my chest.

The closet door hung open. Blair's clothes filled the space where mine should have been. Designer dresses I couldn't afford on a Luna's stipend. Shoes arranged by color. Her silver locket—the one with Nolan's childhood photo—rested on the dresser like a territorial marker.

She'd moved in. While I'd been underground, fighting to survive a ritual that could have killed me, Blair had erased me from my own room.

I touched the keypad again, understanding dawning cold and sharp. The new code. I pulled out my phone, fingers moving automatically, and typed in the numbers.

03-15-2003.

Blair's birthday.

The door's lock engaged with a soft click, confirming what I already knew.

In my past life, I'd come home to find her "visiting" in the Luna's quarters, Nolan explaining she needed somewhere quiet to rest after her "injury." I'd accepted it because I'd been too weak to fight, too desperate to keep the peace.

This was different. This was systematic. This was erasure.

I left the box of photos where it sat and walked back through the pack house on legs that barely held me. The medicinal herbs still burned through my system, making every sensation too sharp, too bright. Pack members I passed looked away or stared—I couldn't tell which through the haze.

The sitting room's double doors stood open. Laughter drifted out—Blair's high, musical sound that Nolan had once told me reminded him of wind chimes.

I stepped inside.

Nolan sat on the leather sofa, Blair tucked against his side like she belonged there. His hand rested on her ankle, an ice pack balanced on his knee. She wore leggings and one of his old training shirts—the intimacy of borrowed clothes screaming louder than words.

Her ankle showed no swelling. No bruising. No sign of the fracture that had been so urgent it required abandoning his mate during a life-threatening ritual.

Blair saw me first. Her eyes widened with practiced surprise, but I caught the calculation beneath it. The satisfaction.

"Lily! You're back. How did it go?" Her voice dripped false concern.

Nolan's head turned. His gaze traveled over me—pale skin, trembling hands, the medicinal herb scent clinging to my clothes and hair—and his expression shifted to annoyance.

Annoyance. Not concern. Not guilt.

"You look terrible," he said. "You should rest."

"I tried." My voice came out steady despite the exhaustion weighing down my bones. "My room's occupied."

Blair had the grace to look apologetic. Nolan just frowned.

"We needed the space," he said, as if it were obvious. As if it made perfect sense. "Blair needs quiet to heal properly. You understand. You can take the guest suite—it's just as comfortable."

Just as comfortable. The guest suite with its thin walls and standard furnishings. The room reserved for visiting pack members and low-ranking wolves.

I stared at the coffee table between us. Blair's childhood drawing sat there in a cheap frame—stick figures labeled "Nolan" and "Blair" holding hands under a crayon sun. The same drawing I'd seen in his office desk drawer, the one he'd checked during moments of doubt.

He'd brought it out. Put it on display in our sitting room while I'd been underground.

This wasn't accidental. This wasn't thoughtless.

This was a choice.

"The guest suite," I repeated softly.

Nolan's jaw clenched—that micro-tell I knew so well. Looking away before speaking. "It's temporary. Just until Blair's ankle heals."

Blair nestled deeper into his side, her uninjured ankle flexing slightly. I watched her toes curl in her sock, observed the way she tilted her head to rest against his shoulder. Marking territory. Claiming space.

And Nolan let her.

In my first life, I'd cried. I'd argued. I'd made myself smaller and smaller trying to fit into whatever space they'd allow me.

This time, I simply nodded.

"Of course," I said. "The guest suite is fine."

I turned to leave, each step measured and controlled despite the way my legs shook.

"Lily—" Nolan's voice followed me, uncertain now.

I didn't look back.

Behind me, I heard Blair's soft laugh, followed by Nolan's murmured response. The ice pack crinkled as he adjusted it against her perfectly healthy ankle.

My hand found the spot on my neck where his mark should have been complete, pressing against the half-formed claim that had never truly bonded us.

Three years. Three years of chosen mate status, and he'd handed my room to another woman within hours.

The guest suite waited at the end of the second-floor hallway. I closed the door behind me and finally let myself sink onto the narrow bed.

My wolf stirred, stronger now but confused. The ritual had worked. She could feel the difference—the power flowing through channels that had been blocked for so long.

But the mate bond still pulled, still insisted we needed him.

I pressed my palm against my abdomen where phantom claws had torn through us in another timeline. Where our pup had died because Nolan had chosen Blair then too.

Never again, I promised my wolf. Never again.

The strengthening ritual had worked. My wolf was no longer weak.

Now I just needed to survive long enough to use that strength to break free.