My husband moved his dead brother's widow into our house.Said it was "the right thing to do."Gave her the guest room with the bay window.The one I asked for.Fine. Fine. I can be the bigger wolf.I'm Luna of the Veltharr Pack. I've survived rogue attacks, a mother-in-law who communicates exclusively through sighs, and my mate's obsession with his dead brother's legacy.I can survive one grieving woman in my house.Except.Except Seren Ashveil doesn't act like a grieving woman.She acts like she belongs here.She laughs at his jokes — the ones he stopped telling me.She sits in his chair. Wears his brother's cologne like perfume.And my wolf?My wolf is going insane.Not with jealousy.With recognition.Because Seren Ashveil smells like my mate.Not like his. Like mine.And the Moon Goddess, who clearly has zero respect for my schedule, has just decided —right now, in the middle of my already collapsing marriage —that I have a second fated bond.To a woman.Who is living in my house.Who my husband is falling for.Who doesn't know what she is.I have three options:Tell my mate-husband what the Goddess just dropped in our laps.Pretend I smell nothing and quietly combust.Or figure out why a dead man's widow carries the scent of a fated bond she was never supposed to have.There's a fourth option.Run.I've never been good at running.