After His Luna Killed My Son, I Ran

The heat radiating from Lennox’s small body was enough to blister my skin. My seven-year-old son lay thrashing on the narrow cot, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps that rattled in his chest. The shifting fever had come too early, and it was burning him alive.

“Momma,” he whimpered, his eyes rolling back. “It… hurts.”

“I know, baby, I know.” I pressed a cool, damp cloth to his forehead, my hands trembling. I turned to the heavy oak door, the only barrier between my prison and the rest of the Obsidian Shadow Pack house. I pounded on it with my fist. “Elias! Open the door! He’s crashing!”

The lock clicked. My breath hitched, a desperate hope flaring in my chest. Alpha Elias Wilson stepped into the dim room, his tall frame filling the doorway. He looked impeccable in his suit, a stark contrast to the sweat and terror soaking the air of the annex. But he wasn’t alone.

Giselle Perry, the woman wearing the title that should have been mine, stepped out from behind him. She held a silver tray. On it sat a syringe filled with a glowing blue liquid—my liquid. The wolfsbane serum I had been developing for months, the one that was only half-finished.

“No,” I breathed, stepping between them and my son. “It’s not stable, Elias. The dosage is tricky. If you give him that, you’ll kill him.”

Elias didn’t look at me. He looked at the wall, his jaw clenched tight. “The Elders are waiting outside, Maeve. They need to see their Luna perform a miracle. Giselle must do this.”

“She’s not a healer!” I screamed, panic clawing at my throat. “She’s a fraud! Elias, please, he’s your son!”

“Guards,” Elias said, his voice void of emotion.

Two massive Delta wolves grabbed my arms, dragging me back. I fought, kicking and screaming, but I was weak from ten years of confinement and limited food. I was forced to my knees, helpless, as Giselle approached the cot.

She looked at the syringe with a sneer, then at Lennox. There was no compassion in her eyes, only annoyance. “Hold still, brat,” she muttered.

“Check the concentration!” I begged, tears blurring my vision. “Giselle, listen to me! It’s too potent! You need to dilute it!”

She didn’t listen. She didn’t even hesitate. She jammed the needle into my son’s small arm and depressed the plunger all the way down.

My world stopped.

Lennox’s back arched violently off the mattress. A choked, gurgling sound erupted from his throat as the unfinished serum tore through his veins like acid. He seized once, twice—and then he went limp. The rattle in his chest stopped. The heat faded.

Silence crashed into the room, louder than any scream.

Giselle pulled the needle out and frowned. “He was too weak,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel as if she had just spilled a drink. “An Alpha’s son wouldn’t have died from a simple cure.”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. My