As long as he placed his alpha mark on this parchment, our severe bond would take effect immediately.
And two nights later, under the waning moon, I would finally be able to take my small pack and walk away from him forever.
Relief softened his features. He pressed his mark seal down without hesitation.
“It’s just a small denstead,” he said lightly. “You could’ve asked for it anytime.”
His indifference cut deeper than any fang. My suffering, my fury—none of it mattered to him.
I slipped the marked scroll into my bag. My last fragile hope.
The Moonrise banquet was held in the grandest Howlcrest Hall at the center of the city territory. Moonlit marble gleamed under the enchanted chandeliers and my stomach twisted as I crossed the threshold.
Before entering, Draven leaned close, voice low and warning. “Once we’re inside, don’t speak unless spoken to. The Molthaven wolves dislike loudness.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. Before I could answer, he had already donned his charming alpha smile and strode ahead, greeting Myrielle’s parents with a raised goblet.
I lifted the hem of my gown and walked alone toward Myrielle’s private moon-lounge.
The moment I pushed open the door, the chamber fell silent. Nearly two dozen she-wolves stared at me.
Myrielle lounged lazily on a velvet couch, her moon-silk dress nearly identical to mine. Her gaze skimmed over me, lips curling in a soft, mocking smile.
“Oh my, what a coincidence,” she purred. “Your dress mirrors mine, Lunessa.”
Her friends burst into shrill laughter.
“Wearing the same gown to the Alpha’s daughter’s moon celebration? How shameful.”
“Why don’t we rip hers off? That’ll solve it.”
“Yes—can’t have her stealing the moonlight from the birthday star.”
Their laughter sliced like claws.
I clenched my fists. “I’ll change. I’ll go to the wash chamber.”
Before I could move, a sharp slap cracked across my cheek.
Heat flashed through my skin.
“Who told you to speak?” one she-wolf sneered. “Myrielle hasn’t given permission. Know your place, den-born mutt.”
Their laughter swelled again, echoing around me.
I trembled, rage shaking my bones.
Then Myrielle rose with false grace, her tone dripping honey.
“Don’t be upset, Lunessa. They’re only teasing.”
But she lifted her moon-crystal communicator, pressing record, her voice turning sweet and venomous.
“You don’t mind if I take a little record, right? Last time you nearly accused me of trying to kill you and that really harmed my standing. I think it’s only fair to clear things up.”
Her eyes gleamed coldly. “The healing ritual wasn’t my fault. But your father’s outburst—and your behavior—that’s what caused trouble for me.”
My blood turned to ice. To her, my grandmother’s life, my father’s broken leg—meant nothing. Only her reputation mattered.
Her friends stepped closer, laughter curling like smoke.
“How can a denborn wear the same gown as Myrielle? Let’s help her remove it.”
“I don’t need your help!” I screamed, clutching the fabric, but they were stronger.
The gown tore. Cold air hit my bare skin.
Then the chamber went dead silent.
“Oh gods—what’s on her back?”
“Those look like burn scars… and blade marks.”
“No wonder Draven doesn’t want her. Look at that ruined body.”
Humiliation scorched me raw. My breath shook; my blood roared in my ears.
To them, I wasn’t a wolf. Just something to mock.
I was about to snap when the door burst open. Draven strode in.
Myrielle’s eyes flickered. She hurried to me, draping a coat over my shoulders, her tone syrup-sweet.
“Lunessa, don’t hurt yourself, alright? If you want to apologize, say it properly.”
I was too shocked, too exposed, too raw to shove her away.
Draven’s brow furrowed. His voice turned sharp.
“What happened?”
Myrielle lowered her gaze, feigning innocence. “She came in crying, saying she wanted to tear off her gown to make it up to me. We all tried to stop her… but she wouldn’t listen.”
“That’s a lie!” I choked. “You forced them! Draven, check the scry-stones—there are runes in here!”
I knew there were. Every elite lounge had moon-etched recording sigils.
Draven didn’t even look at me. His lip curled.
“Lunessa, don’t sink this low. Stop framing Myrielle.”
My knees buckled. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Myrielle sighed sweetly. “She probably didn’t mean it…”
Draven cut her off coldly. “Don’t blame her. She grew up feral—it made her cunning.”
I collapsed, fingers digging so hard into my palms that blood trickled onto the marble floor.
In that moment, something worse than Myrielle’s cruelty became clear.
It was Draven’s blindness.
His devotion to her.
His betrayal of me.
