Three years ago Roman Cross stood in front of everyone and tore me apart. Rejected me. Called me weak. Snapped the bond like it meant nothing. Kicked me out with nothing but the clothes on my back. I left. Built something else. Made myself Luna of the strongest pack around. Now I’m back. Not for him. I don’t need him. I’m here for the alliance. That’s it. But the second I set foot on his land I saw it. He’s thinner. Hollowed out. His wolf barely comes to the surface. I’ve seen a dying Alpha before. I know what it looks like. Roman Cross is dying. And he won’t talk about it. Won’t ask for help. Won’t even say my name without flinching like it hurts. There’s a rogue army gathering at our borders. Three packs have to stand together or we’re all done for. We need each other. And we both hate that fact. I didn’t come back to save him. I came back to prove I never needed him in the first place. So why does every answer he won’t give me feel like the one thing I can’t afford not to know?