After My Mate Stole My Son, I Swore Revenge

The rain pounded against my skin like tiny daggers as I dragged the rogue wolf's corpse across the muddy ground. My broken fingers screamed in protest with each movement, but I couldn't stop. The storm had knocked out the power to the servants' quarters—my only chance.

"Almost there," I whispered to myself, my voice still raw from the wolfsbane.

Three weeks had passed since Colton had crushed my hands. Three weeks of watching Giovanna's smug smile as she paraded my son around the pack house. Three weeks of knowing that sooner or later, they would finish what they started.

I'd found the rogue wolf's body near the property edge that morning while collecting firewood. Dead less than a day, killed by silver bullets—probably a pack enforcer's work. His face was bloated, unrecognizable. Perfect.

The servants' quarters loomed ahead, dark and silent in the storm. Most of the Omegas were at the main house, serving dinner to the pack's elite. I kicked open the door with my good leg and dragged the corpse inside.

"Forgive me," I murmured, placing my father's silver locket around the dead wolf's neck. The metal gleamed in the darkness—my last connection to my past.

I pulled the lighter from my pocket—stolen from the kitchen staff. My swollen fingers fumbled with it, but finally the flame caught. I touched it to the curtains first, watching as the fire spread hungrily across the fabric.

"Goodbye, Mariah Ferguson," I whispered as I limped toward the back door.

Behind me, flames engulfed the building, consuming the evidence of my existence.

---

The forest blurred around me as I stumbled through the undergrowth. Rain soaked through my thin clothes, and blood dripped from my infected wound where they'd taken my kidney. Each step sent shards of pain through my body.

"Keep moving," I urged myself. "The border is close."

I'd studied the maps in Colton's office during my cleaning duties. The Lycan territory lay just beyond the northern ridge—three days' journey for a healthy wolf. For me, it might take weeks.

My legs finally gave out as I reached a small clearing. Snow began to fall, replacing the rain with silent white flakes that covered my trembling body.

"Just a little further," I whispered, but my vision was fading.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was a massive wolf with silver streaks in its fur, approaching from the tree line.

---

"Leave her," a gruff voice commanded. "She's Silver Moon scum."

"Stand down," another voice replied—deeper, authoritative. "I'll carry her myself."

Strong arms lifted me from the snow. Through half-lidded eyes, I glimpsed a face that seemed carved from stone—sharp jawline, intense blue eyes, silver-streaked dark hair pulled back from a broad forehead.

"Zander," someone protested. "You can't bring a Silver Moon wolf into Lycan territory."

"I can and I will," he replied, his voice resonating with power that made even his guards lower their heads. "There's something about her."

---

Pain. That was my first memory of the Lycan palace. Then warmth. Then more pain as surgeons worked on my mangled hands.

"Will she live?" A deep voice asked.

"Barely," someone replied. "The blood loss, the infection... it's remarkable she survived this long."

I forced my eyes open to see a man watching me—the same one who had carried me from the snow. Zander Lawson, the Lycan King.

"Why?" I managed to whisper.

His expression softened slightly. "Because no one deserves what was done to you."

---

Five years passed like a dream. The Lycan specialists rebuilt my hands—they would never play piano again, but they could hold books, write, even embrace someone I trusted.

"Your mind is your greatest weapon now," Zander told me as I graduated from my psychology program. "Use it wisely."

We stood on the balcony of his palace, watching the sunset paint the mountains gold. His hand found mine—gentle, respectful.

"I never wanted to replace what you lost," he said quietly. "But I hope I've helped you find something new."

I leaned against him, feeling my wolf stir within me—stronger now, her coat gleaming like moonlight where once it had been dull.

"Thank you," I whispered, "for choosing me when I thought no one would."

---

The invitation arrived on embossed card stock, bearing the Silver Moon Pack's crest.

"Official Inspection," it read. "The Lycan Council requests your presence to assess the welfare of the Silver Moon Pack."

Zander placed it on his desk, his eyes meeting mine. "Are you ready?"

I took a deep breath, feeling my wolf rise within me—no longer broken, no longer silent.

"Jase is there," I said softly. "My son."

Zander's expression darkened momentarily before he nodded. "Then we go together. Not as enemies, but as royalty."

He took my hand—my scarred, rebuilt hand—and pressed it to his lips.

"Your past ends today," he promised. "And your future begins."

I smiled, feeling the strength of our chosen bond flow between us. The Silver Moon Pack would never see me coming—until it was too late.