Chapter 1

Elena

"Killian, I'm pregnant!" I dropped to my knees, not caring if my white dress got ruined in the dirt. I didn't care about clothes anymore, or even my own dignity as I begged and pleaded with my mate not to reject me.

All I cared about was my baby—because if Killian rejected me, then both the baby and I would die.

Killian, the man who I had been married to for five years, stared down at me with a coldness in his eyes that shook me to my core. Once, his dark hair and even darker eyes would have made me swoon. But now, that look of hatred only filled me with terror.

"You really expect me to believe that, Elena?" Killian barked out a humorless laugh. "Even after everything you've done, I didn't think you would stoop so low as to fake a pregnancy to keep me around."

"But it's true—"

Killian leaned forward so his face was almost touching my neck. I shuddered as he inhaled deeply, stirring the baby hairs around my ears.

"Hm," he said, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye. "I certainly don't scent a new life in the pack. All I smell is a liar."

My throat bobbed, and out of instinct, I dropped my gaze. As the Alpha of Waning Moon Pack, Killian should be able to smell any new life—especially the one inside his fated mate's belly. I wasn't sure why he couldn't sense my baby now, but I was too afraid to raise my voice for fear of him actually going through with rejecting me.

But I would have no such luck. Because she was standing behind him, whispering horrible things to my husband like a demon sitting on his shoulder.

She said I was a liar. A schemer. A murderer.

Her name was Natalie Hart. She was my adoptive sister. And she was supposed to be dead.

Natalie was supposed to marry Killian, not me. They were in love—Killian always loved her—and engaged to be wed. But then the rogues attacked one night, and they killed Elena. All that was left of her were a few scraps of fabric.

And within a week, I'd found out that Killian was my fated mate.

"She always loved you," Natalie sneered, her upper lip curling to reveal a row of perfectly white teeth. "She was jealous and planned everything, and now she's faking a pregnancy to keep you around."

I shook my head so hard my hair fell into my eyes. "No, no, it's not true!" I insisted. I gave Killian an imploring look. "Killian, all I've ever done is devote myself to you and the pack. I would never—"

"Enough." He held his hand up to cut me off, a muscle feathering in his jaw. I immediately snapped my mouth shut. "I never should have married you."

Those words cut deep, far deeper than I wanted to admit. They hurt so much because half of Natalie's accusation was true; I had always loved Killian from the moment I set eyes on him. I hadn't known he was my fated mate at the time, but I couldn't deny my feelings.

But I had never acted on any of it while Natalie was alive. I had never even dreamed of it.

I wouldn't have even approached Killian had our mate bond not snapped into place once she was gone and I came of age, but what was I supposed to do? Killian, in an effort to secure his succession as Alpha, married me right away.

Of course, I knew he never loved me—would never love me as much as he loved my adoptive sister—but I tried my best to support him. I tried to take care of him, to be the obedient wife he wanted. I did everything he asked and then some, and I never complained, because a small part of me wanted him to grow to love me.

I never thought Natalie would come back five years after her death. None of us did.

The pack healers said it was a miracle. From Natalie's perspective, the last thing she remembered doing was leading the rogues away from our pack, saving us from certain slaughter and sacrificing herself in the process.

And then the next thing she recalled was waking up in the forest, unscathed, five years later.

Now here she was, having returned to find her love married to the adoptive sister she always despised. The sister who had allegedly staged the entire rogue attack to have her killed and secure my position as Killian's Luna.

The sister who not only married her love, but was now claiming to be pregnant with his child.

But I was pregnant with Killian's baby. I had just taken the test that morning, and it was positive. I was so excited to tell Killian the news, and now…

Now, he was going to reject me so he could go back to Natalie. And because I was with child, it was going to kill both of us.

"Please," I whimpered one last time, clasping my hands together. "Please, Killian. If you want a divorce, then I'll do it. But spare my child."

Killian looked down his nose at me and scoffed. Scoffed.

"As I said, I can scent no child in your belly. I know you're lying."

"I'm not—"

"You're lying!"

His voice came out sharp and decisive, and when I dared to look up into those black eyes, I knew I had been defeated.

"Therefore," Killian went on, "with no pregnancy, you have nothing to fear from the rejection. It won't kill you—it will only hurt for a second."

That was true; if I wasn't pregnant, I would survive the rejection. If I wasn't pregnant. But I was, so his point was moot.

Before I could so much as blink, he said the words.

"Elena Hart, I reject you as my mate."

I felt as if I'd been stabbed in the heart. The invisible thread between us, one end tied to my rib and one to his, didn't just snap in half. It wrenched away from me, and it took everything of me with it. It felt as if I had left my body, as if he had reached his hand into my chest and taken my heart and soul and everything that kept me going and had ripped it out.

The guttural scream that erupted from my lips could likely be heard three packs over, but no one came for me. Killian just stood there, his face set in an emotionless mask, as he waited for my "tantrum" to be over.

He was killing me; I could feel it. He was killing me and my baby and he thought I was faking it.

Suddenly, soft footsteps approached. A cool, slender hand cupped my cheek and lifted my tear-and-dirt-stained face from the ground, and I saw Natalie's calm green eyes staring down at me.

"There, there," she whispered, wrapping her arms around me and helping me to my feet. "I've got you."

To anyone watching, the scene might have looked like a moment of sisterly affection. They might see Natalie as the gentle, selfless heroine who was helping her adoptive sister despite being murdered by her.

But the words she whispered in my ear were anything but.

"How does it feel?" Her lips brushed the shell of my ear, her breath cold and damp like a corpse. "To lose not only your status and husband, but also your baby. To feel its life force drip out of you." When I tried to struggle away from her grip, she held me tighter as if embracing me, but her nails dug into my back. "I want to watch the entire process. I want to watch you and your child die right here in the dirt."

My eyes widened, and before I could stop myself, I staggered backwards and hit her.

The slap rang through the small courtyard. I hadn't even known I possessed so much strength, especially not now, but it was enough to knock Natalie down. She fell to the ground, right where I had just been laying, and began to sob as she clutched her face.

"What have you done?!" Killian rushed forward. His black eyes blazed with fury as he growled, "Have you gone mad?!"

I didn't have a chance to answer before he surged toward me, his hand shooting out to clasp around my throat. My airways became restricted, but I didn't fight back this time. I didn't beg or plead or whimper, not even as my vision grew fuzzy around the edges or the agony from losing my mate bond became too much to bear.

If I was going to die anyway, then I might as well die honest.

"The greatest mistake in my life," I choked out, "was falling in love with you."

As if on cue, something warm gushed between my legs. I didn't need to look down to know it was my baby, barely ten weeks old.

Just as consciousness began to fade and death took hold, I saw the terrified and regretful look on Killian's face. Had he finally realized the truth, now that I was dying?

The world tilted as he lifted me into his arms. He shouted something about a doctor, but it was too late, and his voice was already growing muffled as if I were sinking into the ocean.

And as I finally slipped beneath that dark abyss, I vowed to myself that if I had another chance at life like Natalie had, I would never love Killian again.

---

Chapter 2

Elena

"Elena? Elena! Wake up!"

The voice that called to me was familiar, and the sound of it made me certain I was dead. So there was an afterlife, it seemed, because my dear friend was calling to me.

But as I cracked my eyes open, I didn't find myself floating on a cloud or frolicking through a forest, but rather lying on my bedroom floor. And my friend was hovering over me with a concerned look on her face.

"Elena—"

"Maeve." I jolted upright and grabbed my friend by the arms. "Maeve, are we… Are we alive?"

My friend blinked her green eyes once, twice, three times. Then, slowly: "Honey, did you hit your head when you fainted?" She gently took my head in her hands and turned it this way and that, inspecting me for injury.

I shook my head and looked around, taking it all in. My bedroom—I was back in my bedroom at home. The four-poster bed with the dark blue velvet canopy still dominated the center of the space, my clothes still spilled out of drawers, my music box still on the vanity…

And Maeve. My dear, sweet maid who I thought would meet me in the afterlife, if there even was one.

I recalled, bitterly, how Natalie had killed her—run her right through with a sword when Maeve tried to stand up for me. She claimed Maeve had helped me commit the crime I hadn't committed.

But now…

Was it possible? Had I been reborn, like Natalie?

But… No. Maeve was still looking at me with confusion, which meant that she hadn't been reborn, but rather…

"Maeve," I said slowly, "what day is it?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "You really did hit your head, didn't you?"

"Just… Humor me," I insisted, gripping her hands. Goddess, her hands were so warm and familiar and alive. I wanted to leap for joy, except my body was aching from what had to have been a nasty fall.

Maeve stared at me for a moment, then replied carefully, "It's May fifth. The third anniversary of Natalie's death. You were supposed to go to—"

"To the gravesite," I finished for her, my eyes widening.

So somehow, I had woken up two years before Killian rejected me and killed me.

Two years before Natalie's rebirth. Two years before Maeve's death. Two years before my baby died.

Only, my baby had never existed yet. But that didn't matter right now—what mattered was that I was somehow still alive, and so was Maeve, and—

"Elena, you look really pale. Come, let's get you seated somewhere more comfortable."

Before I could protest, Maeve helped me to my feet and led me over to the bed. As we passed by the full-length mirror, I noticed my matronly black dress, my white hair neatly pulled back into a neat bun, the dark circles ringing my reddish eyes.

Goddess, did I really look so washed out and miserable even back then? My clothes looked too big for my body, my already pale skin somehow paler and my face more sallow. With my unique Albino features—having come from my mother, I assumed, although I never knew who she was—I should have looked proud and ethereal, not downtrodden and exhausted.

But then again, the clothes that he bought for me were always more suited for her. For Natalie. As if he wanted me to morph into her somehow.

While Maeve busied herself with preparing a cup of tea for me at the table in the corner, I looked down at my hands and considered everything I had just been through.

It couldn't have all been a dream. I recalled the events of the past two years far too clearly. No, this was real. Everything that had happened was real, and for some reason, I was given another chance.

Which meant that I had to follow through with my final decision. I could never let myself fall for Killian again, no matter how badly my heart wanted it. I would no longer be the meek, obedient little wife who lived to please him.

I had to get myself and Maeve out of here. And soon, before Natalie would return and accuse us of conspiring to kill her.

Suddenly, the door swung open. I jumped, but Maeve just turned and bowed her head respectfully to Killian, who stood in the doorway in his all-black suit.

"Sir," she said, curtsying slightly, "I'm glad you came. Lady Elena fainted. I think she might have hit her head."

Killian's eyes snapped to me, and he crossed the room in three strides on those long legs of his. "What happened, Elena?" His cold voice held the smallest hint of concern. Once, I would have taken that concern as a cue that he was finally starting to love me, and I would have held onto it like it was the most important thing in the universe, desperate for another drop of his affection.

Not anymore.

"Low blood sugar," I replied tersely.

"Let's get you to the doctor, just to be safe."

"No." I ignored his outstretched hand and folded my arms. "I'm fine, but I think I'll skip the memorial service today."

Killian frowned and tilted his head, his dark brown hair bobbing with the movement. He looked displeased, like he was about to scold me for skipping such an important ceremony—hardly befitting of the good Luna he expected me to be, the sort of Luna I died trying to be.

But I didn't care anymore. Perhaps in my past life, I was starved for love and desperate to please my adoptive parents and Killian, and look how that turned out—in blood and pain.

I had been given another chance, and although I didn't know how or why, I knew one thing: I could not repeat my past mistakes.

Killian finally sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Elena…"

"Maeve," I said abruptly, shooting to my feet, "bring my tea to the sunroom, please. I'd rather have it there. It's…" I wrinkled my nose and leveled Killian with a hateful stare. "...Stuffy in here."

Before Killian could so much as open his mouth to retort, I brushed past him and out the door, down the corridor toward the sunroom.

Indeed, the house was exactly the same as it was two years ago, and as it had likely always been: cold, rarely a fire burning in any fireplace, the curtains shut, dusty old portraits lining the walls.

As I made my way to the one room in the house with sunlight, I passed by a portrait of Natalie hanging by the parlor; just a small one that Killian had painted before her death, and I had never asked him to take it down even though it felt insulting to have another woman's picture hanging in the house that I was supposed to be the lady of.

In a fit of indignation, I "bumped" the portrait, knocking it right off the wall as I passed.

"Oops."

A gasp behind me told me that Killian had seen that and knew it wasn't an accident. I turned slowly to find him watching me from down the hall, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. I lifted my chin, silently willing him to reject me or even strangle me like he did before.

But he didn't. He just picked it up, glared at me broodily for a moment, then stormed off, muttering something under his breath about women.

Maeve, who had watched the whole exchange, hurried up to me once he was gone. "Elena, are you sure you're alright?" she whispered. "That's so unlike you—if there's anything wrong, you know you can tell me."

Standing here now, when I thought I was dead, looking into my best friend's eyes when I had only just seen the light fade from them, was too much. And with Killian gone and the shock wearing off, all I felt was relieved and horrified and… strangely hopeful.

I wanted to cry, but I didn't. Instead, I pulled my friend close and inhaled her sweet scent. I had a chance to protect her now. Both of us.

"I'm fine, Maeve," I murmured into her curly red hair. "I've just… figured things out, that's all."

Maeve patted my back awkwardly, confused and likely thinking I was just having an episode after my fainting spell.

But I really was going to divorce Killian.

---

Chapter 3

Killian & Elena

Killian

As I stared down at the small portrait in my hands, my anger only grew in its magnitude.

How dare she? How dare Elena go to such a length as to knock Natalie's portrait off the wall on the anniversary of her death?

Natalie wasn't just my first love and late fiancee—she was Elena's sister. Adoptive, of course, but they had grown up together nonetheless, and Natalie had saved our pack from the rogues, sacrificing her own life in the process.

She was a hero. Everyone loved her.

Everyone except Elena, for some reason.

When Elena stormed out of the bedroom, I'd gone after her to make sure there wasn't something wrong with her health after the fainting spell she'd apparently had. I didn't love my mate, but that didn't mean I wanted anything bad to happen to her or to see her suffer.

But then I saw her knocking down Natalie's portrait in a fit of anger, and my concern turned into frustration.

I ran my thumb across the portrait, brushing it along the soft jawline and proud brow of the woman I once loved—the woman I still loved, even though she had been dead for three years.

Her green eyes seemed to stare back at me, her chin lifting as if to silently judge me. "Why her?" her portrait seemed to ask. "Why must my sister be your fated mate? Why must I be dead?"

Of course, I didn't know the answers to any of those questions. Fate works in strange ways, and I had no control over who I was fated to. And none of us could have known that the rogues, notorious for being scattered and without one single leader, would somehow band together and attack Waning Moon Pack.

But they had. And Elena was my mate. And despite my grief following Elena's death, I was still a man of duty—one who understood that an Alpha requires a Luna, and if I were to ignore my fated mate bond with Elena, no one would trust me enough to take my place as the leader of the pack.

So I did what I had to do, and I married her, and life went on.

I thought Elena had moved on, too; I thought she had put her dislike for her adoptive sister behind her and still missed her as much as I did at the end of the day.

But now, I wondered, was it jealousy that drove her to knock down the portrait? Or something else?

My brow furrowed as I replayed her words in my mind. Not just her words, but her entire attitude. Something seemed… different about her. She never spoke to me like that, never looked at me with so much fire in those strange, red eyes that didn't look like anyone else's in the entire pack.

Sighing, I set aside Natalie's portrait and rubbed my hands over my face. I didn't want to think about this any longer. Today was the third anniversary of Natalie's death, and I still had to lead the memorial ceremony.

I shouldn't be wasting my thoughts on Elena.

Elena

Maeve didn't understand what had come over me, but when I told her in private that I intended to divorce Killian, she supported me wholeheartedly.

"Elena, I knew you were unhappy with him," she said, taking my hands in hers and giving them a squeeze. "Being Luna isn't worth being miserable, in my opinion."

I laughed wryly as I stroked my thumbs across the back of her hands, almost afraid that if I let go, my friend might die again. Being miserable was putting it lightly. If only she knew that, in another life, we both died because of him and Natalie.

But for now, I pushed those thoughts aside and forced a tight smile. "It's going to be a big change," I said softly. "And I can't promise I'll be able to hire you if I leave here. But wherever I go after this—"

"I'll go with you," Maeve said, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and I knew she meant it. She wasn't just a maid. Maeve had been my steadfast friend for years, sometimes to a fault, and I knew she would follow me to the ends of the earth.

Holding back tears of my own, I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and then stood. "I'm going to go to the bedroom by myself for a while so I can pack my things and start planning."

Maeve nodded, and I hurried to my bedroom, grateful that Killian would be leaving soon for his precious memorial service. It would give me time to pack without him hovering over me, judging me for everything.

The very first thing I did was strip off that awful black dress and put on something more comfortable: a simple sweater and pants. Not that anything I had in my closet looked halfway decent or even fit me, I quickly realized.

I hadn't noticed in my past life, maybe because I was too busy fawning over Killian during every waking moment. But the clothes I had—all clothes he bought me, since I had no money of my own, an orphan taken in by my father's friend—were really more suited for Natalie than I.

My jaw clenched of its own accord as I rifled through the closet, pulling things out and tossing them in a pile on the floor. Goddess, half of the garments weren't even my size, but rather Natalie's size; Killian had gone off of the sizing on the clothes that were left behind by her when she passed and had never bothered to ask for my measurements, and I was too damn meek to tell him the truth.

Dress after dress was discarded on the floor—some in drab colors and cuts, others too big for my narrow frame or too tight across my ample bosom, and some too old and worn to be of much use.

And then came the lingerie.

Goddess, the lingerie.

Lacy negligees. Silky little numbers that barely covered anything and weren't even comfortable to sleep in. Bras that just hurt my back instead of providing support. Thongs that were nothing more than a string.

I wrinkled my nose as I held one such pair of panties up, then tossed it in the pile to be donated. I wouldn't need any of this stuff when I left, and I didn't want to leave a trace of myself in this house. I had only worn these things out of desperation, anyway, as if Killian would ever love me half as much as he loved Natalie. It was laughable how badly I wanted his attention in my past life.

Well, he could have her and buy her all the pretty lingerie she wanted once she came back. By then, I'd be long gone.

Just as I was holding up another bra and panty set, the door swung open again. I turned to see Killian entering, and his eyes went straight to the lingerie in my hands. My face reddened no matter how little I was attracted to him right now, and for a moment, he just stared, jaw clenching and unclenching.

For a split second, the small part of me that secretly still wanted his affection felt a twinge of excitement as he stared at me holding that lingerie. For a moment, I thought he might finally cross the space between us and kiss me and make love to me.

But he just reacted with anger. In typical Killian fashion, he stormed over and ripped the lingerie out of my hands, then waved it in my face.

"First you knock her picture down, and now you're trying to seduce me?" he huffed, throwing the lingerie on the floor. "On her death anniversary, no less? You know, if the roles were switched, she would have understood the importance of today and wouldn't have trod all over your grave like you're doing right now."

That was utter bullshit, of course. Natalie always hated me because I ruined her perfect little family by being taken in by her father as a child.

But I didn't say that. Instead, I ignored Killian and picked up the lingerie, then calmly walked over to the trash bin. I held his gaze as I dropped it into the basket.

Killian just stared at me some more with his mouth hanging open.

---

Chapter 4

Elena

For a split second, Killian's face morphed into what I would have sworn was a look of concern—but I knew better, of course—before it quickly turned back into anger.

"What is wrong with you today, Elena?" He planted his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. "Is this a tantrum of some kind?"

I almost laughed out loud at that. A tantrum. Killian loved to use that word whenever I got the least bit emotional. Even if I had a bad day on my period, he would accuse me of having a tantrum.

But I kept my voice calm and controlled as I said, "No. I'm just packing and sorting out things I don't need for donation. You're the one who saw the lingerie and got all upset like I'm some kind of seductress."

Killian didn't look convinced. His dark eyes scanned the piles of clothes around the room and lingered the longest on the pile by the closet, which was meant for donation. "Those are clothes I bought you," he pointed out dryly.

I shrugged. "They're not my taste. Never were. So I think it's better if I donate them to someone who would actually like them."

His gaze snapped back to me, face hardening into a mask of icy cold steel. "You never told me you didn't like them."

"Yes, well, I'm telling you now. Most of them never fit my body, either."

I could tell that Killian was trying to decide if it was worth it to argue with me about clothes. I hoped he would decide it was easier to just leave me be so I could finish packing in peace; the ceremony always ran for a couple of hours, and then he'd likely be joining the other pack members at the feast hall to mingle afterwards, which would give me plenty of time to get my things situated and leave before he was back.

Maybe, if I worked quickly, Maeve and I could be holed up somewhere in a hotel across the border by the time he got home. I had enough money stashed away to get by until the divorce went through.

Finally, he gestured to the piles and the half-filled suitcase sitting on the bed and said, "What are you packing for? You didn't tell me you had a trip coming up."

I folded my arms and sneered, glad he finally noticed. "I know you don't love me, Killian. So I think we should separate."

Killian's face dropped. He looked at me for a moment as if expecting me to admit I was joking, but I didn't crack, not even for a second. My heart pounded. Deep down, that tiny part of me, the part that was still bound to him as mates, didn't want to go.

But I knew I had to. I couldn't repeat my past mistakes, because Maeve and I might not be given a third chance at life if I did.

Suddenly, he laughed.

Laughed.

The sound was harsh and cold, and his smile didn't reach his eyes as he said, "You mean to have a divorce? No, we're not getting a divorce."

"Why not?" I lifted my chin.

"Because," he said slowly, as if speaking to a child, "if the news spread, it would not only affect the stability of the pack, but would also affect my upcoming campaign for Alpha Council leader. I can't afford a scandal."

I scoffed. Right; of course his main reason was for his own gain. He'd been intending to run in the Alpha Council election for months now, and Alphas were expected to have stable family lives if they wanted to win such things.

"Well, that's too bad," I said calmly. "I want a div—"

"We're not getting divorced, Elena."

Suddenly, Killian was moving toward me. I gasped and stumbled back, my spine hitting the wall behind me. My eyes searched for something to use as a weapon if I needed it.

But Killian wasn't coming to hurt me. He was trying to kiss me.

The realization caught me so off guard that I didn't have time to get away. Killian wrapped his arms around me and pulled me flush against his chest, our bodies pressed so close I could feel his steady heartbeat through my sweater.

My eyes widened, palms pressing flat into his broad, muscular chest. I tried to push away, but it was no use; Killian had always been a large, muscle bound man, and I stood over a foot shorter than him and just barely half his size.

And weight and height differences aside, I couldn't help it. His closeness made the wolf that existed deep inside of me howl with excitement.

"Is this what you wanted, Elena?" Killian dipped his head so his lips were brushing mine. He smelled like pine and whiskey, a combination that always left me feeling intoxicated. Against my better judgment, my fingers instinctively curled into his sweater as if trying to pull him closer. "You want me to pretend I love you?"

He laughed again, lips curling to reveal a sneer. "Your heart is pounding, dove," he whispered, using the nickname that never failed to make my knees weak, even now. I knew he only ever called me that because of my hair, not out of affection, but it still worked.

He lifted a strand of my white hair and curled it around his finger. "Maybe you're in no position to talk about divorce if I still have such an effect on you."

Indignation quickly blotted out my arousal. I swatted his hand away and bared my fangs. "Let go of me."

My fury seemed to take Killian by surprise, but he didn't release me. If anything, he held me tighter. And… did I sense a skip in his heartbeat that time?

No, surely not. Killian never really wanted me; maybe we had sex out of lust and the bond pulling our bodies together, but he never really wanted to make love to me.

"Behave," he rumbled then, as if sensing my thoughts. "I never wanted to marry you in the first place, but the pack needs a Luna if the Alpha is to retain control. You just happened to be there at the right time."

I rolled my eyes.

"Roll your eyes all you want in private," he said, "but in public, I expect you to remain by my side. And if you're good, maybe I'll give you the child you've always wanted."

My jaw clenched as I recalled the miscarriage I suffered as I died. The thought made me hate him even more, and I didn't hold back my anger as I leaned forward and hissed, "I don't want to have a child with you. My child wouldn't even want a father like you, a miserable brute who uses physical force and insults to get his way. You're no better than a child yourself."

Killian growled low in his chest, pinning me back against the wall with his body. His chest heaved, and a sense of satisfaction lanced through me as I realized my words had struck a chord.

"Trying to provoke me?" he grumbled. "It won't work."

I simply laughed. "What's the worst you can do? Reject me?" I held my arms out to the sides. "Go ahead."

---

Chapter 5

Elena & Killian

Elena

"By the Moon Goddess's fangs, Elena," Killian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maeve was right when she said you hit your head. You've gone insane."

I didn't bother answering that, because I knew Killian wouldn't believe me if I said I wasn't crazy—just angry and horrified. It didn't matter, anyway. Even if he refused to divorce me, I would still leave and send him the papers as soon as I could.

But I didn't expect Killian to turn on his heel and hiss, "I'm locking you in here so you don't, I don't know, try to kill yourself or maybe burn the house down."

My eyes widened. "What? You can't lock me in here!"

"Watch me," Killian said, already fishing the house's skeleton key from his pocket. Before I could reach him, he had swung the door shut and locked it with a decisive click.

"Let me out!" I yelled, pounding my fists against the door. "You can't just leave me here!"

"I'll be back in a while," Killian's muffled voice came back through the wood. "I'll have another servant bring you your dinner, since Maeve will probably try to set you free."

And just like that, he was gone. His footsteps echoed through the cavernous house as he strode down the hallway, ignoring my cries.

Once I heard the front door close, I knew I really was trapped in here for the next few hours; and Maeve was out at the moment and likely wouldn't be back before Killian was.

It hit me, then, that based on what I could recall from my previous life, it was tomorrow that someone would come in the night and dig up Natalie's grave. And once that dug-up grave was found, a necklace would be found beside it.

My necklace.

In my past life, Killian believed that I was the one who killed Natalie. He believed that I orchestrated the attack by the rogues, that I paid them to kill her so I could keep my position as his Luna.

None of it was true, of course, but that didn't matter to him; all that mattered was what he thought and where the clues pointed.

And that necklace was the first step that led to my ruin. Someone had planted it there to frame me, and I had to either get out of here before that happened or find a way to prevent it.

But how?

My mind raced as I scrambled to think of something. Suddenly, it hit me: Maeve wasn't the only ally I had around here.

It was risky, but it was the only thing I could think of. Killian's Beta, Lucas, always believed that I wasn't the real culprit of Natalie's death. If I went to him, maybe he would help me.

Shutting my eyes, I reached out to Lucas through the mind link we shared. There was a brief moment of silence, and I grew worried that I couldn't reach him from here or perhaps that Killian had told him to ignore me if I tried.

But then, finally, I heard his voice echo in my skull. "Yes, Luna?"

I let out a sigh of relief. "Lucas, I need your help."

Killian

The ceremony came to an end, the throng of people starting to shuffle toward the feast hall that wasn't far. But I lingered, needing a few minutes to myself before I went home.

Natalie's grave was quiet and peaceful; the tombstone had a photo I personally selected, a memory of her before everything changed, as if the tragic event had never happened.

She had saved our pack by luring away those rogues, and she had given her life for it.

For a little while, I lowered my head, looking at Natalie's photo with my hands stuffed into my pockets. But no matter how much I tried to focus on this quiet moment with her, or rather what was left of her, I couldn't stop thinking about Elena.

Her behavior today was extremely unlike her. She was usually meek and obedient, always bending over backwards to do what I wanted her to do. She rarely spoke back to me, and never complained.

And now, in the span of one day, it was as if she were a completely different person. Hell, she was trying to divorce me!

Either she truly had gone insane from a single fainting spell and I was a fool for not taking her to the hospital sooner, or it was a ploy for attention. The latter seemed more likely.

After all, Elena had always loved me—I had seen her stolen glances and blushing cheeks many times over the years, even when Natalie was still around. And if there was one thing I knew about love, it was that no one who truly felt it could let go of it so easily.

Not unless something happened to make them hate the other person.

But Elena couldn't hate me, especially not so suddenly. Nothing had happened lately, not that I could think of. We followed our usual routines, distant but dutiful as always. It wasn't like we were happy, but it wasn't like… this.

By now, I was feeling irritated. I left without going to the feast hall, something that would likely not go unnoticed, but I had to get home. When I arrived back at the large, sprawling manor, I noticed Elena's bedroom light was on.

Good. So she hadn't climbed out the window.

I took the steps two at a time toward her room, preparing myself for what I might say to her as I went. But as I reached the top, I froze, seeing my Beta—Lucas—emerging.

He glanced at me as he passed. "Alpha," he said, bowing his head respectfully.

"What were you doing in there?" I barked.

Lucas froze, his mouth opening and closing a few times. I growled under my breath, suddenly hit by a wave of jealousy. If he and Elena had been…

Was that why she was trying to divorce me in the span of a day? Over an affair?

Bristling with righteous anger, I stormed down the hall and burst into her room. Elena was still wearing the same sweater and pants from earlier, but that didn't necessarily mean that she hadn't been fully nude mere minutes before.

Before Elena could speak, I crossed the room and grabbed her wrist. "What the hell are you doing, Elena?"

---

Chapter 6

Elena & Killian

Elena

I stared down at where Killian's hand was gripping my arm and felt nothing but cold resentment. Coolly, I met his gaze and replied, "I have a stomachache and wanted something to eat, so I had Lucas unlock the door for me."

Killian frowned, clearly not buying my excuse. "One of the maids could have let you out."

I scoffed. "None of them would dare disobey your orders. You know as well as I do that no one in this house sees me as the real Luna."

"What about Maeve?"

"Even Maeve wouldn't disobey your orders."

And that part, at least, was true; Maeve, for all of her loyalty and love for me, was terrified of Killian. He was the Alpha, after all. Until we got out of here, she wouldn't openly go against him, even if he locked me in my room like some kind of prisoner.

If I didn't know any better, I would have said that Killian's face softened ever so slightly at that. But only slightly.

Without a word, he released me and crossed to the door, poking his head out into the hallway. I heard him say something to someone outside, and a moment later, he turned to me.

"One of the maids will bring you dinner," he said.

My lip curled. I wasn't actually hungry—I had lost my appetite. Being killed, miscarrying your baby, and coming back to life years before those events will do that to a person. But I wasn't about to admit any of that to Killian.

"Good," I said instead, then gestured to the door behin d Killian. "Leave me alone now."

Killian's black eyes flashed. "Whatever is going on with you today, it stops now," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't know if you're acting out of character because it's Natalie's death anniversary, or if it is something else, but I won't stand for it."

I pursed my lips. Killian went on, "Furthermore, if you expect the staff to see you as the real Luna, then maybe you should start acting like it. Behave, be an obedient wife, and maybe take on your responsibilities for once."

I would have laughed out loud at that had I not been so angry. I had always obeyed Killian in my past life, and it had only led to my misery and eventually my death.

As for my responsibilities as Luna, those were stripped from me long ago. Hardly two weeks after our wedding, Killian had suddenly decided that I couldn't handle my duties. So he gave the responsibility to a woman named Tiffany Lovelace instead, naming her his female Beta—a title only used by an Alpha who lost his Luna or whose Luna was too incapacitated to work.

That was yet another reason for my humiliation. If my own husband couldn't trust me to be a decent Luna, then who would? And Killian hadn't even given me a chance to prove myself. I didn't have a say in the matter.

Goddess, how badly I wanted to throttle that bastard right now. Each moment alone with him made me hate him even more.

But I restrained myself, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before I left this place. I would never have to look into those black eyes or see that sullen, handsome face ever again. I could finally be at peace.

Instead, I said bitterly, "What else would you ask of me, Alpha? To die for you, perhaps?"

Killian

"Die for me?"

I couldn't believe the words that had just come out of Elena's mouth. Was she seriously implying that I expected her to die just to make me happy?

Whatever was happening to her today wasn't natural. Maybe it was because it was the anniversary of Natalie's death—a day that impacted everyone in this pack—but I'd have to contact the doctor soon to have her head checked if this kept going on.

Elena just stared at me with a look of defiance and complete resentment masking her face.

I sighed. "You're being unreasonable. Again," I muttered. "No one is asking you to die, Elena. Don't be ridiculous."

Elena's nostrils flared as she lifted her chin. "Whatever you say, Alpha. Now are you going to leave me alone like I asked, or will you keep pestering me?"

Goddess above, this woman…

I wanted to argue, but I decided against it. If it was alone time and a meal she needed to get her head screwed back on straight, then so be it. And today, on the anniversary of my first love's death, I didn't need this nonsense.

"Fine," I said with a huff. Without another word, I turned on my heel and stormed out.

I didn't lock the door that time, but I wasn't even halfway down the hall before I heard the lock click—from the inside of the room.

A little while later, I found myself in the parlor, sitting in front of the dark, empty fireplace. I hated lighting fires these days. It reminded me too much of the night Natalie was taken from me. The rogues had set fire to several buildings in the village, and even now, I could still smell the ash and smoke.

I often wondered if Natalie had perished in a fire somewhere in the forest. It was strangely more comforting to picture that rather than her being eaten by rogues, leaving nothing but a few scraps of clothing behind.

But after that night, I couldn't bear to light a fire unless absolutely necessary. It left the house cold and dreary, but no one dared to complain. Not even Elena.

Not until today.

Today, apparently, she hated everything I did.

What had come over her, truly? She was normally so meek and mild, but this… This was a far cry from her usual self.

Maybe, if she weren't being so belligerent, I would have admired this sudden confident streak of hers. It was the exact sort of trait a Luna should possess, but she shouldn't have turned it on me, trying to anger me instead of putting it to good use.

No, all she accomplished now was pissing me off.

"Sir? I have Lady Elena's dinner, as you requested."

I looked up at the sound of the voice and saw a servant standing in the doorway, holding a tray of food. Strangely, seeing that food made me soften just a little. Elena had mentioned feeling ill, and I wondered if that was partially to blame for her bad attitude.

"Leave it here," I said, standing. "I'll have her come out of her room to eat."

"Yes, Sir." The servant set the tray down on the coffee table and left.

I took a moment to smooth down my shirt and my mussed hair, as if it mattered what Elena thought of my appearance, and made my way back upstairs. There was no light spilling from beneath her door, and her room was quiet.

"Elena?" I called out, knocking. "Come downstairs and eat."

There was no response, no movement from inside. I knocked again, then another time, and still she didn't answer.

At that point, I couldn't decide if I was more angry or concerned. If she was sick like she said, especially after that fainting episode earlier, then it was only right for me to check on her. But when I slipped the skeleton key into the lock and tried to open the door, I found that she had actually slid the deadbolt across, prohibiting the door from opening.

A surge of frustration coursed through me, and without hesitation, I stormed down the hall, back downstairs, and outside.

"This damn woman…" I muttered under my breath as I strode around the side of the house toward where her room was located. The evening air was cool against my skin but did nothing to soothe the angry heat that flushed my face.

I found the trellis beneath her window and climbed it.

For a moment, as I reached the top of the trellis, I hesitated, feeling like a foolish young wolf trying to sneak into his girlfriend's bedroom at night. What was I doing, really? I wondered if I should go back down and let Elena starve in there, but decided against it. If she had fainted again…

With a sigh, I shoved the window open and climbed inside. "Elena—"

"Killian…"

Her soft voice was muffled, and when I turned, I found that she was fast asleep in bed, her long white hair spilled across the pillow. My breath hitched at the sound of my name. Was she dreaming about me?

"You were too harsh on her," a familiar voice growled in my mind—my wolf. "See how much she loves you? She's acting out because you don't return her love."

I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched her sleep, still whispering my name. My anger faded a little, and something buried deep inside my heart softened just a little.

That was, until I heard her whisper, "Killian… I hate you so much."

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The floorboards creak beneath me as I wake, gasping like I’ve surfaced from drowning. My hands fly to my stomach—flat, unscarred. No blood. No death rattle in my throat. Just the faint scent of lavender from the old music box on my vanity.

Maeve’s voice cuts through the haze. "Elena? Wake up!"

She’s alive. Whole. Not impaled on Natalie’s sword, not silenced forever. I grab her arms, trembling. "Are we… alive?"

She thinks I hit my head. Maybe I did. Or maybe the gods heard my dying curse.

May 5th. Two years before the rejection. Two years before my baby bled out inside me. Two years before Killian held my corpse and finally believed I was telling the truth.

A knock echoes at the door. Heavy. Familiar.

Killian.

He hasn’t seen me yet. Doesn’t know I remember how his hands felt around my throat, how cold his eyes were when he said, I reject you.

The knob turns.

This time, I won’t kneel. This time, I won’t beg.

But if I run now, will I even make it past the gates?