Lucan paused at the door, one hand resting against the carved oak frame, claws catching faintly in the grain. "What did you throw away?"
I didn't even look at him.
"Just some garbage I should've gotten rid of long ago."
He didn't seem to care. As if suddenly remembering something, he added casually, "I heard Mirella accidentally damaged the ceremonial robe. But don't worry. I've had the den-weavers rush a new one. It'll be ready in time for the bonding."
He slung his jacket over one shoulder, the silk lining catching the dim light. The faint sour note of ash gone cold drifted off him, scorched oak and copper, and not once did it carry anything of mine.
"Remember, tomorrow night's the gathering at the ancestral den. Don't be late. I've got pack business, so I'm not running home tonight."
He took his keys and left. Not once did he glance at the overflowing bin behind me, the one filled with everything he'd ever given me.
The next night, eight bells past dusk.
I arrived at the Bloodfang Pack's grand hall alone.
The moment I stepped into the moonlit garden, I saw them.
Lucan and Mirella.
Dressed in matching ceremonial finery, bathed in the warm lantern-light like a pair holding court before the Council. The cream of the great packs milled around them, goblets of moonwine glinting like scattered ice in the evening air.
Vesper Bloodfang's face twisted the moment she scented me. Her smile dropped like a cracked mask. Cold bergamot and polished iron rolled off her, frostbitten lily sharpening as her gaze ran over me with undisguised disdain, cataloguing every flaw, every perceived slight against her precious bloodline. She wore a collar of pale stones Mirella had gifted her, a gaudy thing that screamed of new blood trying to buy the honor of old.
"You're an hour late. No surprise. No manners at all, just like your mother the thief."
But Lucan told me the gathering started at eight.
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms, my own wolf going taut and silent beneath my skin.
A long time ago, I'd mentioned in passing that Mirella's mother had been a kept she-wolf, one who'd bared her throat for a mated male. The next day, Vesper Bloodfang's missing jewels had "miraculously" surfaced beneath my mother's pillow.
Lucan knew my mother had been framed.
He never defended me. Not once.
But now, I didn't grovel. I didn't lower my gaze or drop my shoulders the way a good little Omega servant's daughter should. I looked straight into Vesper Bloodfang's cold eyes, then right at Mirella's smug little face.
"I'm not here to be insulted," I said, my voice cutting through the garden's polite murmur like a blade through silk. Then I looked Mirella dead in the eye. "My mother was not a thief. She didn't raise me to seduce males like some she-wolves raise their daughters."
The words had barely left my mouth when a vicious slap exploded across my cheek.
My ears rang. My body hit the ground hard, the trimmed grass cold and damp beneath my palms.
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
Lucan stood over me, expression cold and condescending, the face of a male raised to believe his word was law, his judgment absolute. For one breath his eyes flashed amber, and the weight of his Alpha aura pressed down over the garden like a sudden drop in temperature.
"You spread rumors about her! Don't you know it makes her suffer? How long are you gonna keep this going? Do you want her to kill herself?"
I pushed myself up, my face burning with rage.
"She suffered? She?!" I barked out a laugh, bitter and broken, the sound of something inside me finally snapping. "She suffered from her own stupid choices! And you, you know exactly what she did. My mother is dead! I lost everything and you're just going to stand there and let her play the victim?!"
The whispers started, quiet at first, like a ripple across still water, then louder as the gathered wolves leaned in, ears pricking toward the scent of fresh scandal. In this world, gossip was currency, and I'd just handed them a fortune.
Lucan's jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking beneath his skin, a low growl threading under the words.
"Leave," he growled, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of a threat. "Go calm yourself down. You've embarrassed yourself enough in front of the guests."
The garden buzzed with the chatter of the great packs, every connected wolf of the bloodlines watching the spectacle with barely concealed delight.
Mordecai and Vesper Bloodfang quickly stepped in with goblets of moonwine, smiling stiffly, smoothing over the disruption like masters covering a crack in the den wall.
"Let's not ruin the evening. Come, everyone, drink up!"
Wolves swarmed Lucan and Mirella with congratulations.
"To the bonded pair!"
"Blessings on the future Alpha and his Luna, such a perfect match!"
Lucan had always said he wanted our betrothal to be a "surprise."
He never told a single soul about us.
And now?
He smiled like a gentleman, standing beside Mirella as if she'd always been the intended mate, as if the blood debt his pack owed my mother before the Moon Goddess had never existed.
He didn't even try to explain.
She clung to his arm like she belonged there, her fingers curled possessively around his sleeve, her overripe jasmine and that sweet rot beneath it twining through his scorched-oak scent until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
Under the glittering lanterns, they looked like a picture-perfect pair, the Alpha-heir and his beautiful Luna-to-be, a bond that would strengthen the Bloodfang name for generations.
While I stood there like a wet stain on a white pelt.
I let out a breathless, bitter laugh and turned to go, but a hand blocked my way.
Mirella.
She smiled like she'd already won, like she'd been winning since the day she first bared her throat for my intended.
"Leaving so soon?" she cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "But I haven't told you how that old woman died."
My heart stopped.
The garden noise faded to a dull roar, replaced by the thundering of my own pulse. Somewhere deep beneath my ribs, my wolf went utterly still, the way prey goes still before a snare closes.
"What did you just say?"
She leaned in close, her perfume cloying and thick, sweet rot crawling up the back of my throat, her voice low enough that only I could hear, a whisper meant for the damned.
"I told her if she wanted the money back, she'd have to film herself doing something… special. You know, the kind males pay for." She grinned, her teeth white and sharp in the lantern-light. "But she got all high and mighty. She refused and even had the nerve to insult me and my mom."
A twisted laugh escaped her painted lips.
"So I gave her what she deserved."
She sighed dramatically, as if recounting a minor inconvenience rather than a murder.
"Did you know? She barely made it through fifty males before she collapsed. Still had the nerve to clutch my leg and beg, beg me to return the money to her 'sweet daughter.'"
She made a clicking sound with her tongue, savoring the memory like fine moonwine.
"Pathetic, really."
