Chapter 1

To spare his omega mistress the agony of delivering pups, my alpha father had bound a witch's curse to my mother — a pain-transfer spell.

The ninety-seventh transfer had just completed, and all of it had been dumped onto Mom.

Inside the hospital room, she lay barely conscious, crumpled like a rag doll someone had wrung out and tossed aside.

Out in the hallway, my father and his mistress were laughing — full-throated, shameless laughter — celebrating the birth of their child.

My eyes burned red. Despair settled over me like a second skin.

His mistress, Serena, looked down at me with pure contempt.

"Save the pitiful act. Your mother owes me this."

"She's just taking on a little pain. It's not going to kill her."

My father's voice was ice-cold, each word landing like a blade.

"Your mother brought this on herself. She's the one who pushed Serena down the stairs and nearly caused a stillbirth. A little pain is getting off easy."

I thought of every time Mom had screamed and writhed alone in a room while they celebrated outside.

I curled my fists until my knuckles went white. I wanted to burn everything down with them still inside.

And then — I heard it.

A voice, crystalline and otherworldly, rising inside my mother's mind.

"My child. I offer you the gift of rebirth, and the power to return every wound to those who gave it."

"From this moment forward, when the one hundredth pain transfer is complete —"

"All harm will be returned to its source, doubled."

"The witch's curse will shatter. Every fortune, every title, every glory belonging to those who hurt you — all of it will be surrendered to you."

Silence.

Then, slowly, color crept back into Mom's pale cheeks. The despair that had clouded her eyes dissolved.

Serena noticed. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Damien, what did I tell you? She's faking. Look at her — color in her face already. She's been performing this whole time."

My father stared at the woman in the bed. Whatever flicker of guilt had been in his eyes went out entirely.

"Elara Voss, you disgust me. Pulling a stunt like this just to make me feel sorry for you?"

"Since your body's so fine, drag yourself out there and kneel in front of Serena. You stay on your knees until she forgives you."

My face went cold.

A year ago, Serena had heard that winter swimming could help with weight loss. She had waded into a frozen lake, pushed herself too hard, and spiked a fever of a hundred and four. She could barely stand.

My father had coaxed my mother with honeyed words, transferred Serena's fever and pain directly into her.

Mom had spent three days and three nights unable to sleep, rolling across the bed in agony. She never fully recovered. Her joints ached every time the temperature dropped.

And now he wanted her to kneel on cold stone floors with those ruined knees.

He knew. He knew exactly what that would do to her — and he was asking for it anyway.

There had been a time he was gentle with her.

All of that gentleness now belonged to Serena.

Over the years, he had transferred pain into Mom for everything — Serena's surgery recoveries, Serena's gym injuries, even once when Serena clipped her fingernail too short and nicked the skin. Every ache, every inconvenience, tunneled straight into my mother.

Mom, who had once had bright, clear eyes — she had grown dim under the weight of it all.

I was about to step forward and say something. Mom caught my arm and shook her head, once, quiet and firm.

She looked directly at my father, her voice low and hoarse.

"Damien Ashford. Sever the bond."

He blinked, startled. Then his hand shot out and he yanked her upright from the bed, his grip vicious.

"Is that a threat, Elara?"

Her face went paler. He saw it. His grip loosened just slightly, his voice dropping half a degree.

"You are and will always be my luna. But the fact remains — you put Serena in danger. You nearly cost her and the baby their lives."

"Kneel before her and mean it, and I'll have ginger broth and a heating salve sent up. I'll protect your legs."

When she heard that, Mom let out a smile — hollow, heartbroken — as though she had just remembered the punchline to a very old joke.

The rage I'd barely tamped down flared back to life.

Even now, after everything, he was still dangling the title of luna over her head like bait on a hook.

Hadn't that title already taken enough?

Because of it, she had run every ceremony in Ashford Pack — every coming-of-age ritual, every pack feast, every full moon gathering — organized by her hands alone, while he stood at the front and took the credit.

Because of it, she had taught herself to cook from scratch, never having set foot in a kitchen before the bond. Her hands were maps of old scars from burns and cuts.

And Serena — Serena had everything except the title. Money. Devotion. His time. His protection.

And when it came to bearing his children, he wouldn't even let her feel the pain of it.

I had begged him. On my knees, I had begged him not to put Mom through it again. She was a werewolf — she could heal — but there were limits. Do it enough times and it would kill her.

He had told me Mom had already been through childbirth. She could handle it.

Serena, he said, was too delicate.

Too delicate.

Serena was a full year older than my mother. She only looked younger because she had spent years wrapped in his affection like a hothouse flower, while Mom had aged in his shadow.

I tightened my fists. Every nerve in me screamed to go at him. Mom held me back again.

Then she reached for the fruit knife on the bedside table and pressed it to her own throat.