Chapter 2

Back in the Alpha's wing of the pack house, I set out a tray of moonberry cakes.

I made them by hand. His favorite flavor. The wolfsbane variant I folded into the batter is something no healer in any pack would recognize — because I invented it. It won't kill him. It won't even make him sick.

It'll just make sure Callum is the last pup he ever sires.

I'm arranging the tray when Tyson walks in.

"Briar." His voice is soft. Warm. "Still up? It's late."

He's carrying a cup. The steam curls up between us.

"The healer made this for you. It'll help with your sleep — you've been looking tired lately."

His eyes are gentle. That look on his face — tender, concerned, like I'm something precious.

Same look he gave me seven years ago when he got on one knee at the borderlands under a full moon and swore he'd never let me down.

I believed him then.

I let him bring the cup to my lips.

Wolfsbane. Diluted. I can taste it under the herbs — faint, but there. Enough to suppress my wolf, cut off my mindlink, make me too weak to shift or fight.

He's drugging me. To make tomorrow easier.

I drink every drop.

Then I smile up at him.

"Tyson. You're always so good to me."

Something flickers behind his eyes — guilt, maybe — and vanishes.

I pick up the tray of cakes and hold it out, eyes bright.

"You've been running this pack day and night since your father got too weak. You barely eat. I made these for you — new recipe. Try one?"

He takes one. Bites. Chews.

"These are good." He takes another. Then a third.

I watch him swallow and feel nothing.

Seven years ago, the Blood Plague swept through the borderlands. Wolves were dropping dead by the dozens. Tyson was stationed there — and he caught it.

I didn't sleep for five days. I used every scrap of healer knowledge I had, every spell my mother's bloodline gave me, and I brewed a cure no one thought was possible.

Then I ran. Three days straight in wolf form, carrying the cure in my jaws, until I reached him.

He was half-dead when I got there. Skin grey. Eyes empty.

I brought him back.

After that, his father — the old Alpha — finally looked at him. Finally saw a son worth naming heir. At our mating ceremony, the old Alpha stood before the whole pack and passed the title to Tyson.

And Tyson — he held my face in his hands that night, eyes red, voice cracking.

"Briar, being your mate is the greatest thing that ever happened to me."

"If it wasn't for you, I'd have burned with the rest of them. You gave me the cure, you gave me the title, you gave me everything."

"I'll spend the rest of my life making sure every she-wolf in this world envies you."

Now he doesn't even remember I know medicine.

He's feeding me wolfsbane with a lover's smile, planning to send me off to be destroyed tomorrow.

"Tyson." I set the cup down, empty.

He looks at me.

"These cakes," I say. "You really like them?"

"Love them." He pops the last crumb into his mouth.

I tuck myself against his chest, letting the wolfsbane drag my limbs heavy.

He carries me to bed.

He doesn't know that after tonight, Callum will be the only pup he ever sires.