He threw himself without hesitation beneath the old woman's silver-tipped cane, shielding Lyra Ashvale behind him with a protectiveness that made every comforting word he'd spoken to me moments ago seem like a cruel joke.
"Grandmother! The plan was my idea—I did it for the Hawthorne Pack! Don't hurt someone innocent!"
Matriarch Morwen Hawthorne froze, her sharp gaze instinctively cutting toward me.
When she saw the white sheets soaking through with blood, she brought the cane down hard across Fenris Hawthorne's back.
"You beast! Her wounds haven't healed—how could you let her hold the pup!"
Panic and regret flashed through Fenris's eyes. He moved to rush toward me.
But behind him, Lyra Ashvale crumpled to the ground.
He faltered, then gathered her into his arms, ready to leave.
The Matriarch planted herself firmly in his path.
"You will not leave! Your mate is still in there! Do you even want this pack anymore!"
Fenris's eyes swam with conflict.
"I do! But you struck her—she's injured! I can't just abandon her! Selene... she has you. She'll be fine!"
Once, he had sheltered me from every storm just like this.
Once, I would never have been the one left behind.
I swallowed the pain and looked at him with empty calm.
"Grandmother, let him go."
He seemed stunned that I would be so generous.
After all, in the past, I had thrown tantrums, begged on my knees, cast away every shred of dignity just to keep him from walking away.
His expression grew complicated. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end, he strode out without another word.
The healer's assistant and the pup-nurse helped me tend to my wounds again.
The pup was soothed back to sleep.
My communication crystal suddenly pulsed with his message.
[I forgot about your wounds. I'm sorry. I just didn't want a scene at the Healer's Ward—it would damage the Hawthorne Pack's reputation.]
[Lyra hasn't woken yet. She needs someone with her, so I won't come back tonight. Rest well.]
I stared at the glowing words for a long time.
I remembered how he used to be. When he learned I'd been hurt while he was in distant territory, he'd traveled eleven hours by skyship, canceled every alliance meeting, just to accompany me to a simple examination. He hadn't left my side for even a moment.
Seeing me sigh, the Matriarch snatched the crystal away.
She read those cold words and let out a harsh scoff.
"That wretched pup! When he returns, I'll deal with him myself. Selene, don't worry, Grandmother will—"
I laughed suddenly, cutting her off. My gaze was steady as I met her eyes.
"You allowed all of this, didn't you?"
"I don't care what happens to him anymore. You promised me—once I bore this pup, you would help me sever the bond. I hope you keep your word."
Her expression faltered. Deep guilt pooled in her eyes.
"Grandmother has wronged you."
"I already tricked him into marking the rejection documents. Complete your thirty days of recovery, and then you may leave."
The Matriarch took the pup into her own care, personally arranging for attendants.
I stayed at the recovery den under the guise of post-birth healing, avoiding the worst of the gossip.
But that very night, word spread through every pack circle: the Hawthorne Alpha Heir had abandoned his mate right after she whelped, defying the Matriarch Regent herself to protect his Omega mistress—his mate's own half-sister.
Hawthorne territory tributes began to dwindle. Pack allies grew hesitant. Fenris was drowning in damage control.
Lyra Ashvale's Howl-Channel—her carefully cultivated platform as a courtship influencer—was overrun by furious wolves. The scandal I had once exposed myself, about her seducing her sister's mate, resurfaced from where Fenris had buried it.
The pack networks howled with condemnation. If Fenris hadn't intervened, her channel would have been stripped and she'd owe breach-penalties to every sponsor.
Seven days passed before I saw him again.
The moment he laid eyes on me, disappointment twisted his features.
"Selene Ashvale. Does destroying us like this really make you happy?"
I blinked, then understood. He had pinned the spreading rumors on me.
Of course he had. After all, I'd once served as a Pack Scribe—shaping narratives and fanning flames was what I did best.
