After My Mate Stole My Wolfsbane Formula

Over the next three days, Lakelyn came to my room every morning like a force of nature.

She wore tailored suits, carried thick leather files, and moved with a restless, military energy. She gave me updates while Dr. Finch changed my IV fluids.

"Father is beyond furious," Lakelyn said, pacing beside the tall windows. "King Alistair wanted to march two royal battalions directly into Ironmaw territory and flatten their pack house to dust. The Lycan Council barely talked him down. They insist on a formal tribunal. We are going to strip Matthew of his title, his land, and his pride in front of every pack Alpha on the continent."

She was brilliant at handling the logistics. She set up three armed Lycan guards outside my door, reviewed Dr. Finch's medical reports twice a day, and gathered every shred of border defense records she could pull from Ironmaw's intercepted comms.

She was taking care of everything. But she was also taking over.

On the fourth morning, Lakelyn closed her folder with a crisp slap. "I’ve set your formal presentation to the Lycan royal court for next Thursday. It will establish your bloodline officially and cement our credibility before the judges seat the tribunal."

I paused with my teacup halfway to my lips.

For four years, Matthew had decided when I spoke, where I stood, and what I was allowed to eat. I had spent four years being managed like property.

I set the cup down carefully. I pressed two fingers against my inner wrist, feeling the calm, steady thrum of my own pulse.

"No," I said.

Lakelyn stopped mid-stride. She blinked at me, clearly not used to hearing that word. "Rayna, it’s protocol. The court needs to see you whole before the trial begins."

"I am not a piece of evidence, Lakelyn," I said. My voice was quiet, but it didn't wobble. "And I am not a weapon for you to aim at the Council. You don't schedule me without asking. I will decide when I am ready to walk into that room."

The bedroom went dead silent.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Pushing back went against every instinct I had developed to survive as an Omega. My learned fear whispered that I would be punished, struck, or locked in a cellar.

Lakelyn stared at me. Her golden eyes narrowed slightly, processing the resistance. Then, her shoulders dropped an inch. The sharp, commanding royal mask softened into something real.

"You're right," Lakelyn said quietly. She gave me a slow, respectful nod. "I'm sorry. I'm used to fighting wars. I forgot you just escaped one."

The knot in my chest loosened. She wasn't Matthew. She wasn't trying to own me; she just didn't know how to stop fighting.

That afternoon, Lakelyn took me down to the compound's private training yard. High limestone walls kept out the wind, and the gravel crunching beneath our boots felt crisp in the autumn air.

*Time to stretch,* Luna whispered in my mind, her presence warm and steady behind my eyes.

"Start small," Lakelyn instructed, standing a few paces back with her arms crossed. "Just reach inside and tap into the pressure. Don't push too hard. Your body is still mending."

I closed my eyes and drew a breath.

With Matthew, Alpha power had always felt like a heavy stone dropped on my chest—suffocating, bruising, meant to crush. But when I reached inward toward Luna, what answered wasn't heavy at all. It felt like silver lightning. It felt like ocean tide.

I pushed just a fraction of it outward.

A soft rush of air swept across the yard.

Twenty meters away, a fully armored Lycan royal guard suddenly stumbled. His boots slid in the gravel, and his left knee hit the stone floor with a sharp crack before he could catch himself. He looked up, his jaw slack and his eyes wide with absolute shock.

I stared at my open hands in disbelief. The skin was still rough from years of handling toxic roots.

*You have been doing this your whole life,* Luna remarked with dry amusement. *You simply had no one to aim it at.*

A faint smile touched my lips, but it vanished instantly.

A brutal, fiery spasm ripped through the center of my chest. I doubled over, clutching my ribs as a harsh cough tore out of my throat. The metallic taste of blood hit my tongue.

"That's enough!" Dr. Finch's voice cut across the yard. The head healer hurried over, pressing a cold, medicinal cloth to my lips and scanning my chest with her tablet. "Your lung tissue is still inflamed from chronic wolfsbane exposure. One trick is enough for today. Back to bed. Now."

They helped me back to my room, but as I lay against the pillows, I didn't feel weak. I closed my eyes and catalogued the feeling of my aura the exact same way I used to study rare herbs: *sharp, pure, undeniable.*

Sleep didn't come that night.

The left side of my collarbone throbbed with a hollow, freezing ache. Even though the mate bond was gone, the phantom coldness lingered in my flesh like an open wound.

*You miss the routine of him,* Luna said gently in the quiet room. *Not the male himself.*

"I loved him," I whispered into the dark ceiling. "I gave him four years of my life. The mate bond was supposed to be sacred. The Moon Goddess gave him to me."

*The bond was a cage, Rayna,* Luna replied.

"It wasn't a cage," I argued back, frustration stinging my eyes. "I chose to serve him! I wanted him to see me!"

*And that is why I stayed dormant,* Luna said, her tone unyielding yet full of sorrow. *You poured every drop of your soul into feeding a male who gave you nothing in return. You shrank yourself every single day just to fit beneath his boot. A royal Lycan wolf cannot breathe in a cage built of scraps. The bond was strangling us both.*

"That's not true," I choked out, turning on my side and pulling the blankets tight.

*It is true,* she answered softly. *His rejection was cruel. But it was the only thing that broke the lock.*

I wanted to keep fighting her. I wanted to defend the girl who had burned her lungs in the trenches, clinging to the pathetic hope that Matthew would one day call her worthy. I argued in the dark until my chest ached and my throat went dry.

Luna didn't snap. She didn't leave. She just stayed with me, absorbing every bitter word with infinite patience.

By the time pale gray dawn began to filter through the arched windows, I had run out of words.

I lay staring at the morning light, hot tears finally spilling silently down my cheeks. Luna was right.

I wasn't crying because I missed Matthew. I didn't want him back.

I was grieving for the four years I had spent tearing myself apart, trying to earn love from a man who was never big enough to hold it.