Selene hired a carriage and fled to the one place that had once felt like refuge—the small cottage on the edge of the Blackthorn lands where she and Adrian had shared quiet mornings.Now every room felt sharpened into torture.
“Stop it.Please—stop.”She pressed her palms over her ears as the memory of those moans kept folding back into her skull.Her legs wavered;she staggered to the privy and heaved,but nothing came.She had not eaten all day—Adrian had insisted she must not disgrace him by arriving late to Cassandra’s welcome—and the shock had hollowed her out.For the sake of the two lives beneath her ribs,she forced food down like medicine,tears tracking her face.
By dawn a crisp set of divorce writs lay at Selene’s door,stamped and prepared.
At midday Adrian returned with a bouquet of white lilies and found her eating alone.He set the flowers down,baffled when she did not look up.
“You made a spectacle of me yesterday,”he said.“You humiliated me in front of the pack.Next time,you will apologize to each of them.”For a heartbeat something like regret flickered across his face;then the mask fell back.Selene surprised him by answering,“I apologize that I forgot my place.”
The scraping of her chair sounded like a verdict.Selene rose and set a plate before him—stews and simple breads she had learned from an old healer,dishes meant to soothe and strengthen.Years ago,at the Moon Temple,she had given of herself so Adrian might survive the blood rites;she had bled,labored,and learned these recipes while he recovered.Even while feverish and near collapse,she had cooked for him in silence.
Adrian watched her limp and set the food with a flicker of shame.They sat for what neither of them would call a last meal,and he spoke as if ordering a subordinate.
“Apologize to Cassandra,and this will all pass,”he said.“You were raised rough;those habits cling.I do this for your own good.”
His patronizing tone was a brand.For years she had taken his reprimands as instruction—proof she needed to be better,softer,fitter for the lodge.Now she recognized those words for what they were:control.
A small,determined movement beneath her palm steadied her more than any vow.The twins’gentle kicks were more real to her than anything Adrian offered.She had given him everything—blood,labor,loyalty—and received only scorn.When he rose and left,the cottage did not regain peace so much as become a place where a choice had been forced upon her.
Selene folded that slender resolve around the two heartbeats within her.She would not beg.For their sake she would gather what remained of her pride and find a path away from the Blackthorn lodge,however cold and lonely the road might be.
