You Had Me Once, Never Again

Rhea

Two days before the mating ceremony.

I should’ve been finalizing details for my Luna coronation, relishing the last hours of freedom before I officially took on the role beside Alpha Draven. But instead, I stood motionless, staring at the angry red mark on my palm—raw, blistered, and pulsing with pain.

It wasn’t normal. Wounds healed fast for werewolves. Even deep cuts and burns vanished within hours. Yet this one refused to close. It lingered, sore and inflamed.

Was it because of the way I died before?

I had perished in flames. That night, fire had devoured me—engulfed my body until only ash remained. My final moments were filled with unbearable heat, excruciating pain, and the devastated look in the eyes of those I once called my pack as they watched everything burn.

Now, even a small burn lingered like a curse.

My jaw tensed as the nurse gently applied a salve, the sting dull compared to what I’d endured in that other life.

“You’re lucky it didn’t go deeper,” she murmured as she wrapped my hand in fresh gauze, her touch delicate.

Once the treatment was done, I stepped into the corridor, stretching my fingers slightly beneath the tight bandages. They hid the wound—my secret vulnerability.

That’s when I spotted them.

Draven and Mirielle, standing outside the obstetrics wing of the hospital.

Draven’s arm rested protectively across her back, his body angled toward her as if to shield her from the world. The second they noticed me, both went rigid.

Draven stepped forward instantly, moving to obscure her from sight. His gaze flashed with something alarmingly close to panic.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, voice tense.

I raised my wrapped hand with a crooked smile. “Caught a burn.” Then I nodded toward the sign above the door behind them, bold silver letters spelling out their location. “What about you, Alpha? You singed something too?”

His jaw ticked with restrained anger.

Mirielle shrank behind him, fingers twisting into her dress, face pale and mouth pressed in a thin line.

Draven gave a brittle laugh, completely lacking humor. “She wasn’t feeling well after standing in the storm. I brought her in to get checked.”

I hummed thoughtfully, crossing my arms. “Oh, at the OB-GYN?”

Silence dropped like a stone.

Neither spoke. Draven’s eyes narrowed, his irritation barely restrained, while Mirielle blinked rapidly, looking for an explanation she couldn’t form.

Then Draven recovered. “Just a precaution. Wanted to make sure she’s fine in every way.”

Just a precaution.

I looked between them, chuckling quietly. “Of course. Nothing serious at all.”

Without waiting for their response, I brushed past, their eyes burning into my back as I walked away.

That evening, the packhouse was steeped in tension. Dinner passed under a heavy silence that clung to every corner of the room.

I had prepared everything myself—set the table, arranged the dishes, and most importantly, filled every glass with freshly pressed juice. When I placed Mirielle’s drink before her, my fingers tingled faintly.

“Drink up,” I said, my voice pleasant, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to me with caution. Draven gave her a reassuring nod, so she slowly lifted the glass.

I took a sip from my own. One by one, the rest followed suit. It was quiet. Still. Until—

A gasp tore from Mirielle’s throat.

Her body jerked, trembling violently. She gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, as a choked sound escaped her. A bright flush spread across her cheeks. Her breathing turned ragged, uneven.

“Draven…” she croaked, eyes wide with fear.

Draven stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. He rushed to her, catching her before she collapsed.

“Mirielle?” he called out, his voice laced with panic.

She clutched at him, pressing her heated body against his, her hands curling in his shirt. “I feel… burning. Something’s wrong…”

Draven’s golden gaze found me. And it burned.

“You,” he hissed, voice deadly with accusation. “What did you do to her?”

I blinked innocently. “What are you suggesting?”

His lips pulled back in a snarl. “You drugged her drink.”

I let out a short laugh. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you’ve done it before!” he snapped. “After the Full Moon Festival—you drugged me, didn’t you?!”

The words struck something deep, but I kept my expression neutral.

I remembered that night well—how he’d been drunk, how we woke tangled in the same bed, how our furious parents burst in. He’d held it against me ever since, convinced I’d tricked him into this union. But I knew the truth. I hadn’t drugged him. He’d drowned himself in wine and poor decisions.

I met his furious gaze calmly. “I didn’t touch her drink, Draven.”

He didn’t believe me. His silence said it all.

But that didn’t matter.

He carried Mirielle upstairs, leaving me at the table, the room cloaked in lingering suspicion and quiet judgment.

The following morning, he confronted me again, jaw tight, face unreadable.

“It was a false alarm,” he said coldly.

I raised a brow. “Was it?”

“She’s alright now,” he went on. “Nothing serious.”

“How comforting,” I replied dryly, the corner of my mouth twitching.

Mirielle stepped out from behind him, looking ashamed.

“I just… I want to apologize,” she began softly.

I regarded her silently.

“As a peace offering,” she continued, “I repaired your bracelet. The moonstone one.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

My heartbeat slowed. She held out the bracelet—once shattered, once sacred. The last keepsake from my mother.

But the moment I examined it, my chest hollowed.

It wasn’t the same.

The original fragments—those precious shards I’d gathered with trembling fingers—were gone. Replaced by something new. Foreign.

“You did what?” My tone was even, but dangerously quiet.

Mirielle’s smile wavered. “I threw away the broken parts and used a new moonstone. I wanted to make it beautiful again.”

Everything stopped.

She had discarded it. The final connection I had to my mother—gone like trash.

Before I could stop myself, my hand struck her cheek with a sharp slap. The sound echoed.

Mirielle stumbled back, gasping, her hand flying to her face in stunned silence.

“You had no right,” I whispered, every word trembling with fury. “None.”

Draven immediately stepped between us, golden eyes ablaze. “Rhea!” he barked.