Three days. I count them like stones sinking in my chest. I avoid the prison hut, throw myself into Luna duties with desperate focus. Council meetings where I sit silent and attentive, nodding at the right moments. Pack meals where I oversee every detail, from the arrangement of dishes to the seating of elders. Training sessions where I watch warriors drill until my legs ache from standing.
Anything to ignore the pull dragging me toward the wooden building where he sits chained and waiting for death.
But my body betrays me.
The scar burns constantly now. Headaches split my skull in half. Nausea twists my stomach into knots. My hands shake during ceremonies, trembling so badly I have to clasp them behind my back. The mate bond kills me slowly, cell by cell.
Rhys finds me bent over the washbasin in our chambers late in the second day, dry-heaving. Sweat beads my forehead, soaking the hair at my temples. My entire body shakes.
He's beside me instantly. "Ardena, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." I gasp between heaves, wiping my mouth with trembling fingers.
"Should I call the healer?"
"No. I'm fine."
"You're not fine." His hand presses against my forehead. "You've barely eaten in three days."
I force myself upright. "It's just stress. The wedding, the ceremony, all these new responsibilities. I'm still adjusting."
"You'd tell me if something was wrong." His voice drops lower, taking on that edge that means he's testing me. "Wouldn't you?"
"Of course I would."
He studies my face for another long moment, then kisses my temple. His lips linger against my skin, warm and possessive. "Stay in bed today. The pack can survive without their Luna for one afternoon."
"I should attend the council meeting. There's discussion about the winter preparations."
"I'll take notes for you." He guides me toward the bed, pulling back the covers. "Rest. That's an order from your Alpha."
The tenderness in his voice makes guilt claw at my throat until I can barely breathe. After he leaves, closing the door softly behind him, I curl onto my side. I press a hand over my heart where the bond aches like an open wound that refuses to close, pulsing with every beat.
***
By afternoon of the third day, I can't stay still anymore. The walls close in, pressing tighter with each breath. My wolf claws and snarls inside me, demanding I move. I slip outside while Rhys meets with his advisors, walking without conscious direction until my feet carry me to the old training grounds on the village's northern edge.
This place stands abandoned now, left to rot and weather. The pack built newer facilities closer to the main hall five years ago. Modern structures with proper roofing and stone foundations. But the old posts remain here, scarred from decades of warriors sharpening their claws. I walk through them slowly, my fingers trailing over deep gouges carved into the wood by wolves long dead.
Something catches my eye.
A symbol carved into one post, half-hidden by moss. I kneel, brushing away the growth. My breath catches.
It's a crescent moon with three lines beneath it. The mark from the archive file. The Bloodfang crest.
I trace it with trembling fingers. The world tilts.
A flash erupts behind my eyes. A woman's voice, singing soft and low. Warm arms holding me close. The smell of pine smoke and wild sage. Laughter, deep and loving, and I'm small, tucked against someone's chest.
"My little moon," the voice whispers. "My Aria."
I gasp, jerking back. The memory vanishes, but the echo remains. That voice. That name.
Aria. Not Ardena.
I collapse onto my knees, hands pressed over my face. Sobs break free, raw and violent. I'm not who I thought I was. Everything is built on graves. My name, my family, my entire life constructed on the bones of my real people.
"I wondered when you'd find this place."
My head snaps up. Isla stands at the training ground's edge, arms crossed.
"You knew." My voice comes out hoarse. "You've always known."
She nods once, then sits beside me. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Isla exhales, the sound heavy with years of secrets.
"I knew your mother. Before the massacre. Her name was Kara. She was Bloodfang's best warrior, their chieftain's mate."
The words land like blows.
"When the attack came, she made me promise." Isla's voice cracks. "If anything happened to her, I'd protect you. Even if it meant lying to you forever."
"You let me believe I was one of them. One of the people who killed my family." My voice breaks on the last word.
"To keep you alive!" Isla turns to me, fierce and desperate. Her grip on my arms tightens. "Do you think Rhys's father would've let you stay if you knew who you really were? You were leverage, Ardena. Aria. Insurance that Bloodfang's bloodline was under Ironvale's control. If you'd ever questioned..." She shakes her head violently. "They would've killed you. Quietly. Made it look like an accident or illness. You'd have disappeared just like your people did."
Horror and understanding crash together in my chest. "The prisoner. He's Bloodfang too."
"Yes." Isla grabs my shoulders. "And if Rhys discovers you share blood with the man who attacked your wedding, you're both dead. The execution is at dawn tomorrow. Whatever plan is forming in that stubborn head of yours, don't. You can't save him."
"I have to try."
"You'll die." She shakes me once, hard. "They'll drag you to that platform and execute you beside him. Is that what you want?"
"He's my mate."
Isla's face drains of color. "What did you say?"
"The bond formed at the wedding. My wolf knew him."
"Gods." Isla releases me, standing abruptly. She paces, hands raking through her hair. "You're already dead then. If the bond exists, if Rhys suspects even for a moment..."
"We have to do something."
"No, I can't help you with this. I won't watch you throw your life away."
"Isla, please—"
"I'm sorry. But I made a promise to protect you. Even from yourself."
She walks away, her footsteps crunching on dead leaves.
I sit alone in the dying light among the old posts, the Bloodfang crest carved into wood at my back. The mate bond pulses in my chest, weak now. Fading.
Dying.