Chapter 5

Elara Thorne's POV:

The moonlight streaming through my window was as cold and white as bone. I sat at my small writing desk, a fresh sheet of parchment laid out before me. The ink was special, a mixture of silver dust and wolfsbane oil, a potion designed to sever, not to bind.

I dipped the quill. My hand was steady as I began to write.

*I, Elara Thorne, Luna of the Blackwood Pack...*

My hand paused. I stared at the words. *Luna of the Blackwood Pack.* It wasn't who I was anymore. It was a costume I wore, a role I played. With a decisive stroke, I drew a line through the title.

*I, Elara Thorne...*

That was better. Just my name. All that I had left, and all that I needed.

*...do hereby reject you, Ryker Blackwood, as my mate.*

Each letter I formed felt like a small, sharp cut against my own soul. This wasn't just ink on a page; it was the formal declaration of the end of a life, the unmaking of a vow made before the Goddess.

When it was done, I carefully folded the parchment. I walked to the large, cold bed we no longer shared and placed the note on the nightstand on his side. The old laws were clear: a formal rejection required the vow to be presented, giving the other party a chance to respond before the final ritual.

It was my final courtesy. A farewell to the man he once was, or the man I had once believed him to be. If he came, if he saw it, if he asked... then perhaps a conversation could be had. A final, painful, honest conversation.

I lay in my own bed, sleepless, listening to the silence of the house, waiting for a man who would never come.

Morning came, grey and cheerless. Ryker never appeared. I heard his voice in the hallway, followed by Faye's light, musical laughter. They were heading out for the morning patrol of the territory.

My heart, which had held a foolish, microscopic flicker of hope, finally went cold. I had given him his chance. He had walked right past it. I took the parchment from his nightstand and tucked it safely back within the pages of the grimoire.

Later that morning, Sabina Reed, the Pack Doctor, arrived for Cora's weekly check-up. Sabina was Lena's creature, a woman whose arrogance was matched only by her incompetence.

She performed a cursory examination of Cora, her touch impersonal, her expression bored. "Luna," she said, her tone condescending, "I've told you. Miss Cora's condition is congenital. My tonics can help with her strength, but you mustn't harbor any unrealistic expectations."

I looked at her, my patience worn down to a single, frayed thread. "Your tonics do nothing," I said, my voice flat. "She's been more lethargic since she started taking them. As of today, your services are no longer required."

Sabina's perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. "You can't fire me! I was appointed by the Alpha!"

"And I am Cora's mother," I replied, my voice unwavering. "When it comes to her health, my authority is final."

She stared at me, speechless for a moment, before turning on her heel and storming out, no doubt running straight to her master.

It didn't take long.

The door to my suite flew open, and Ryker strode in, his face a thundercloud of fury. It was the first time he had set foot in this room in days. His eyes, burning with anger, were fixed on me. He didn't even glance at the nightstand, at the empty space where his entire world could have changed.

"What is this I hear?" he demanded. "You fired Sabina? What game are you playing now, Elara?"

"It's not a game," I said calmly, standing my ground. "She is not helping my daughter, so I am finding someone who will. It's quite simple."

"You will do nothing without my permission!" he roared. "Sabina is the best doctor in three territories!"

"She may be the best for your mother's imagined ailments," I retorted, my own anger beginning to rise. "But she is not the best for Cora."

Our raised voices woke Cora. She sat up in bed, her eyes wide with fear, and began to cry.

I immediately turned away from him, my anger dissolving into concern as I went to my daughter, murmuring soothing words and stroking her hair.

Ryker saw her tears, and it only seemed to fuel his frustration. "Look what you've done," he snarled, blaming me for the distress he had caused.

I held Cora close, my back to him. My voice was tired, stripped of all emotion but a grim resolve. "If you are here to fight for your doctor instead of your daughter, then you can leave."

He was so enraged by my dismissal that he was momentarily speechless. He took a half-step forward, his hands clenched into fists, but Cora's frightened sobs seemed to penetrate even his thick skull. He stopped, a muscle working in his jaw.

He spun around and stalked towards the door, yanking it open. "You are going to regret this, Elara," he bit out.

The door slammed shut, shaking the frame. I held my daughter, rocking her gently, my body trembling slightly not from fear, but from the sheer, draining effort of it all.

He was wrong. I wouldn't regret it.

I would simply have to find a way to save her myself.