RayneThe word divorce hit harder than a punch.I stood there, frozen, my breath caught somewhere between disbelief and panic. It echoed in my head like a gunshot in an empty room.“I want a divorce.”No warning. No pause. Just the nuclear option.And then he was gone—walking away like I hadn’t just fought the entire world for him.“Reed!” I called, voice hoarse. “Don’t walk away from me!”He didn’t even flinch.He stormed up the stairs, every step a thunderclap, every movement filled with finality. A door slammed seconds later, loud and cruel.I didn’t move.Couldn’t.Divorce.That word didn’t belong in our story. Not after everything we’d survived. Five years of marriage. Longer than that if you counted all the stolen years before. The sneaking around. The lies we told just to be together. The sacrifices.The hate. The opposition. The nights we clung to each other because no one else would understand.I’d gone to war with my own Pack for him. I changed laws for him. I turned my back
RayneThe road stretched ahead like a vein through the forest, dim and endless. The Packlands were mostly quiet this time of night, just a few scattered lights in the distance and the whisper of wind slithering through the trees.I rolled the windows down.Maybe the cold air would sober me up.Maybe it wouldn’t.Didn’t matter.My foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. The trees blurred at the edges of my vision, headlights carving two sharp lines through the dark. I wasn’t aiming for a destination. Just away.Away from the house.Away from Reed.Away from my mother’s voice, still ringing in my skull like a curse.“You let your dick make your decisions.”“You’re the Alpha with Beta-sized balls.”“Your father would be ashamed.”I gritted my teeth, trying to push it all out.But her voice twisted with Reed’s.“You still love her.”“You held back with me.”“You’ll never be free of her.”Amber.Always Amber.I slammed my palm against the steering wheel, letting out a harsh growl.I hated ho
AmberIt had been exactly one week since Ian and I started working at Hunter Valley Hospital.Seven days.And somehow, despite everything I expected—despite every instinct that told me I’d crumble the second I stepped foot back into this territory—I hadn’t.In fact, I was settling in.The hospital itself was nothing like the sterile, cold boxes I had imagined growing up. It was sleek, modern, alive with activity. Sunlight streamed through its wide glass windows in the mornings, and in the evenings, the place glowed softly under warm LED lighting that somehow made even the emergency room feel less terrifying.More importantly, the people were… kind.Not just fake-nice, not polite out of protocol. Genuinely kind.It shocked me.I hadn’t expected kindness—not in Hunter Valley, not as an Omega, and certainly not as someone with a scent still delicate enough that some wolves could pick up the remnants of trauma on it.But the nurses greeted me with smiles. The residents helped when I asked
AmberThe night shift had always been my favorite.Fewer people. Less noise. More space to think.But tonight wasn’t like the others.Today had already been long—I was working a double shift, which included the current night rotation. I’d been on my feet for most of the day, moving from ward to ward, checking in on post-ops, reviewing charts, helping consults.Dr. McQuoid, our Head Surgeon, was away in London for a medical conference, and many of the others had already gone home after their shifts. Ian included. He’d passed me in the hallway a few hours ago, yawning into the crook of his elbow, and tossed a lazy “Good luck surviving the night shift alone,” with that usual boyish grin before heading out.The only other doctor who was supposed to be on call had to rush out last-minute—something about a family emergency—and so, just like that, I was the only surgeon left in the entire building.Technically, I wasn’t alone. A few nurses floated through the halls, checking charts, organizin
AmberThe silence after the nurse’s final words was louder than her shouting.Do you really want his death on your conscience, Dr. Queen?I gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles bone-white, my pulse thudding in my throat like a warning bell. My entire body still felt like it was vibrating—nerves, anger, disgust, fear… it all crashed into me at once, a tidal wave I couldn’t outrun.I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.Olivia stood there, arms folded, jaw tight, waiting.I closed my eyes.Images flickered behind my eyelids. His blood. His body. His scent. The mark on my neck that I scrubbed so raw it bled when I was eighteen. The heat. The rut. The rejection. The shame.Rayne Hunter was the worst thing that ever happened to me.And now he was on my table.Dying.And I was the only one who could stop it.I wanted to say no.Goddess, every part of me wanted to say no. Wanted to scream that he deserved it. That this was karma, destiny, justice. That whatever was happening to him now was only a fr
RayneWaking up felt like drowning in molasses.Everything was thick. Slow. Heavy. Like my body was underwater and my brain was a full ten seconds behind every breath I took.The first thing I noticed was the sound.Beeping.Soft. Steady. Mechanical.The next thing was the pain.Not sharp, not screaming—but everywhere. Deep, aching pressure that pulsed through my body like a warning siren. My skull throbbed as if a drumline had set up camp inside. My abdomen felt tight, bandaged, heavy. And my leg—when I shifted slightly—shot a bolt of pain so intense I almost passed out again.I hissed, biting down a groan.Machines were attached to me. I could see the IV in my arm, feel the leads taped to my chest. The sheets smelled like bleach and latex. Cold. Clean.Hospital.What the hell happened?I tried to sit up, but my muscles screamed in protest. A sharp sting tore through my midsection. I looked down—thick white gauze wrapped around my lower abdomen, stained faintly pink at the edges. My
AmberI stood outside the hospital room door, my hand hovering just above the handle, willing my pulse to slow.The hall was quiet.Too quiet.It gave me too much time to think.To remember.To feel.Don’t do that, I told myself. Don’t feel anything. Not now.This wasn’t personal. This was procedure. Post-operative follow-up. One of a dozen I’d done that week. He was just another patient on my list.I took a breath. Straightened my spine.And walked in.He looked exactly how I left him—only now his eyes were open. Alert. Wild with disbelief.I didn’t flinch when I saw his expression.Didn’t react when his gaze snapped to me like I was a ghost he thought he’d buried seven years ago.He looked pale, bandaged, exhausted. But underneath the bruises and the haze, his shock was unmistakable. It poured off him like heat.And it filled me with something I hadn’t expected—pride.Not the vain kind. The quiet kind. The kind that whispered, You never thought I’d become this, did you?He had writt
RayneMorning crept in through the blinds like a soft ache behind my eyes. The light wasn’t harsh—more like a warm haze—but it still made my head pound a little harder.I blinked against it, letting my eyes adjust, waiting for the room to settle back into focus.And when it did, I saw him.Reed.Curled up in the plastic chair beside my bed like he’d been there all night. Elbows propped on the edge of the mattress, chin resting on his arms, staring at me with wide, worried eyes.There was no anger in his expression.No hurt. No distance.Just relief.And love.Like the night before had never happened. Like he hadn’t stood in the hallway with fire in his eyes and divorce in his mouth.“Hey,” he said softly, sitting up straighter when he saw my eyes open. “You’re awake.”“Yeah,” I croaked, my voice still raw. “Barely.”His face lit up. “Thank the goddess.”Before I could say anything else, he was fussing—reaching for the cup of water by the bed, checking the blanket, fluffing my pillow l
RayneHer words stung.Not just because they were loud or furious, but because they were true.I stood frozen, every syllable she threw at me carving straight through the fog of my anger, slicing deeper than anything had in years.She’d gone through all of it alone.The pregnancy. The birth. The newborn stage.And where had I been?Not even aware it was happening.And that fact—the brutal, ugly reality—made something inside me buckle.Because everyone knew how dangerous and agonizing pregnancy could be for lone Omegas. Their bodies weren’t designed to handle the full term without an Alpha’s support. Without that steady stream of pheromones to ease the symptoms, reduce the pain, and protect both mother and child.Amber had survived it without me.Without the safety net I should have provided. Without the warmth of our bond. Without the chemical anchor that would’ve soothed her nerves and her body. I hadn't been there to calm her when the hormones hit like waves, when her skin hurt from
RayneI had the whole thing memorized.Every single word I planned to say to her.I even practiced my tone— respectful, measured. Not too soft, not too proud. I wasn’t here to dredge up the past. I wasn’t here to ask questions or start a conversation that would lead nowhere. I was here to do one thing.Say thank you.I owed her that.So here I was in front of her office door with a bouquet of lilies and soft pink tulips, buzzing with the kind of nervous energy I hadn’t felt since I was a kid. I didn’t even know if she’d accept the flowers. I just remembered she hated money being thrown at her—Goddess, that memory still made my gut twist—and I thought maybe something small and human would carry more weight.The words were ready.Thank you for saving my life. I’ll never forget it. You didn’t owe me anything, and you still chose to help.That was it. Nothing else. I even practiced how to hold the bouquet—softly, humbly, like it was a peace offering, not a bribe.But none of that mattered
AmberFor the most part, I’d done a pretty good job pretending Rayne Hunter didn’t exist.Which was ironic, considering he was recovering in the same hospital where I worked five days a week, twelve hours a day. But I guess that was the trick—if I kept moving, kept busy, kept my head buried in charts and scalpel reports and pre-op consults, I didn’t have time to remember that he was here too.And on the rare occasions when the thought of him did try to creep in—like during a lull between surgeries, or when I passed the room he used to occupy—I shoved it away. Mentally. Emotionally. I threw up a wall and walked the other direction.It wasn’t denial. Not really.It was survival.Eight weeks.That’s how long it had been since I stood over his body on the operating table and chose to save him. Since I stitched him back together, closed his wound, and handed him back to the man he loved.Eight weeks of silence. Of distance.And in those eight weeks, I hadn’t seen his face once.Partly beca
RayneReed busied himself tucking my discharge folder into his messenger bag, still humming to himself with uncontainable excitement. He was already planning which takeout we’d order tonight, how he’d light candles in the bedroom and sprinkle rose petals on the floor and bed, make it “romantic but relaxing,” his words.But even as I smiled and nodded, there was something clawing at me from the inside.I couldn’t leave without saying thank you.To her.Amber.It didn’t make sense. She’d made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing to do with me—and I respected that. But I couldn’t walk out of this hospital and pretend like she hadn’t saved my life. Like she hadn’t stitched me back together with those tiny, fierce hands of hers.I owed her something. A thank you. That’s all.Just closure.A gesture.Nothing more.“Hey,” I said, interrupting Reed mid-sentence. “Can you do me a favor and go pull the car around? I don’t want to be limping through the parking lot for an hour.”Reed looked up.
RayneOne, two, three, four… Eight weeks.It took just over eight painful, frustrating, mind-numbing weeks to feel human again.Which was ridiculous considering how fast wolves were supposed to heal.But even with accelerated recovery, nothing about this process had been easy. The surgery had left me weak and sore for weeks. My abdomen still pulled uncomfortably when I bent the wrong way. The cast on my leg had only come off a few days ago, but the real hell was physical therapy.The fracture itself had healed—technically. But regaining full function, learning to walk without stiffness, without pain, without limping? That was the real battle.I’d had to use crutches for the first three weeks post-op, even as my wolf protested the entire time. Eden hated the helplessness. Hated the weakness. Hated the slow, humiliating pace of everything.But I did it.Because I had to.Because Reed showed up to every session. Pushed me through the frustration. Carried the parts of me that couldn’t car
AmberIt’s official.The Moon Goddess is a sadistic bitch. There’s absolutely no changing my mind about that.I don’t care how sacred she’s supposed to be. Or how many songs were written about her “divine will.” Screw all of it.It’s the only explanation for why I keep getting dealt such a shitty hand. Again. And again. And again.I had just finished my rounds, clipboard tucked under one arm, my head pounding faintly from hours on my feet. All I wanted was to return to my office, throw back the last of the cold coffee waiting on my desk, and finally breathe.But no.Apparently, peace wasn’t part of the divine plan for me.Because just as I turned the corner past the nurses’ station, I froze.Dead in my tracks.There they were.Rayne and Reed.Reed was pushing Rayne’s wheelchair down the hallway slowly, talking animatedly about something I couldn’t hear. His hands were light on the handles, careful and gentle. Rayne sat back, bandaged and pale, but with that same stupid soft look he alw
Rayne I looked at him.He smiled.He meant it. That was the worst part.It wasn’t a figure of speech.It wasn’t even romantic.It was... unsettling.But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to turn the moment into another fight. Not when we were just starting to breathe again.Reed seemed to sense my unease because he shifted, his tone softer now.“I’ve been struggling, Rayne. A lot more than I wanted to admit. Being Luna isn’t easy. People expect perfection. Strength. Confidence. And I—I’ve been so damn insecure lately. Every time I see you drift or pull back, it feels like I’m losing you.”I stayed quiet, letting him speak.“That’s why I said what I said. I was overwhelmed. But I shouldn’t have dumped it all on you. I shouldn’t have scared you with the divorce threat. That was... extreme. And manipulative. I know that now.”He took a deep breath.“I’m sorry. Truly.”I nodded slowly.“I swear, if I ever feel that way again, I’ll talk to you. We’ll figure it out together. No more thr
RayneMorning crept in through the blinds like a soft ache behind my eyes. The light wasn’t harsh—more like a warm haze—but it still made my head pound a little harder.I blinked against it, letting my eyes adjust, waiting for the room to settle back into focus.And when it did, I saw him.Reed.Curled up in the plastic chair beside my bed like he’d been there all night. Elbows propped on the edge of the mattress, chin resting on his arms, staring at me with wide, worried eyes.There was no anger in his expression.No hurt. No distance.Just relief.And love.Like the night before had never happened. Like he hadn’t stood in the hallway with fire in his eyes and divorce in his mouth.“Hey,” he said softly, sitting up straighter when he saw my eyes open. “You’re awake.”“Yeah,” I croaked, my voice still raw. “Barely.”His face lit up. “Thank the goddess.”Before I could say anything else, he was fussing—reaching for the cup of water by the bed, checking the blanket, fluffing my pillow l
AmberI stood outside the hospital room door, my hand hovering just above the handle, willing my pulse to slow.The hall was quiet.Too quiet.It gave me too much time to think.To remember.To feel.Don’t do that, I told myself. Don’t feel anything. Not now.This wasn’t personal. This was procedure. Post-operative follow-up. One of a dozen I’d done that week. He was just another patient on my list.I took a breath. Straightened my spine.And walked in.He looked exactly how I left him—only now his eyes were open. Alert. Wild with disbelief.I didn’t flinch when I saw his expression.Didn’t react when his gaze snapped to me like I was a ghost he thought he’d buried seven years ago.He looked pale, bandaged, exhausted. But underneath the bruises and the haze, his shock was unmistakable. It poured off him like heat.And it filled me with something I hadn’t expected—pride.Not the vain kind. The quiet kind. The kind that whispered, You never thought I’d become this, did you?He had writt