Rhea's POV
“What madness are you speaking?” Malachi thundered.
I watched as his face tightened with Alpha rage. The air in the room became heavy, the pressure of his power trying to force me to submit, but I stood my ground. I did not flicker.
“The eight years are finished, Malachi. I am leaving this pack,” I stated firmly.
Malachi scowled, his eyes flashing gold. “What is your problem? Why are you acting like a pup? I told you, Marc is just a child. Do not take his temper to heart. Today is his birth-feast. Come. I will punish him when the moon is high.”
Malachi grabbed my hand, his grip like iron, and tried to pull me toward the Great Hall. I yanked my arm back, breaking his hold.
“You gave your word. You said when he reached his eighth year, I could go. Why are you surprised?” I asked.
Before he could growl an answer, a sharp, hateful voice came from the shadows behind us.
“Rhea, have you no shame? Always trying to steal the light, even on the boy’s special day!”
I didn’t need to turn to know that voice. It was Hestia, my step-mother and Marc’s grandmother. She was the one who had made the pact with Malachi. She promised that once Marc’s wolf began to stir at eight years old, I would be free. Why was she acting as if she had forgotten?
“I am not stealing anything, Hestia. You are the one who set the time. Eight years. I have served them,” I said.
Hestia scoffed, crossing her arms over her furs. “Must you howl about this now? On my grandson’s birthday?”
“It is fine. I am sure Rhea is just tired,” Malachi intervened.
Years ago, my heart would have softened at his protection. Now, I saw it for what it was—a pathetic trap to keep me in my place.
“Come. Let us go to the feast,” Malachi said.
I stayed quiet and let him lead me to the hall. The fire was roaring, and the pack was already eating. Marc and the other pups were playing near the hearth, but his face turned sour the moment he scented me.
“Look, Marc! Your mother is here!” one of the pack members called out.
Marc sneered, his lip curling. “She is not my mother!”
I stood frozen as Malachi sighed and grabbed Marc by the shoulder.
“We do not speak such words, Marc. Rhea is your mother. She has raised you since you were a cub,” Malachi stated.
Marc’s face twisted with a dark look. “No! She can never be my Luna mother. Everyone, look at her! This is the woman who killed my real mother!”
Whispers moved through the hall like a cold wind. The guests stared at me, their eyes judgmental.
“She is only the boy’s aunt.” “Why does the pup hate her so much?” “It is clear she has not cared for him well.”
“Apologize to her now,” Malachi commanded Marc.
I stepped forward and stopped him. “It is alright. It does not matter anymore.”
I walked out of the hall, my face calm. In the past, those words would have felt like a silver blade to my heart. But I had finally accepted the truth: Malachi’s heart would always be buried in the ground with Via, and Marc would always see me as the shadow that stole her place.
“Why must you cause a scene today?”
I heard Hestia’s sharp voice as she stepped into my path outside.
“What do you want, Hestia? I have played my part for eight years. I am done,” I said.
“You should love Marc like your own blood! You should bear his anger and care for him. If my daughter were still alive, he would be a happy prince,” she snapped.
I shrugged, too tired to argue. “A pity your daughter is dead.”
Hestia raised her hand to strike my face, but I caught her wrist mid-air.
“Do not try it, Hestia. I am not the weak girl you bullied eight years ago. The contract is over. Marc is eight, and I have every right to go.”
Hestia yanked her hand away, rubbing her sore arm and glaring at me.
“Go then, Rhea. This is why no one will ever love you. Not even your father wants to see your face!” she hissed before vanishing into the dark.
A sad smile touched my lips. It had been eight years since my father looked at me. Since his favorite daughter died, he had treated me like an outcast.
“I am sorry... I got you a gift.”
A small, quiet voice spoke behind me. I turned to see Marc standing there with an innocent smile. He was holding a small wooden box tied with a string.
I felt a spark of hope. “Oh, Marc... you didn't have to.”
He giggled, a sound that seemed too sweet for this night. “I wanted to. Please, open it.”
I took the box and pulled the string. As the lid opened, a terrible smell hit me. Inside the box lay the small, lifeless body of my pet cat. It had been pierced by a hunter’s arrow.
“That will be you soon,” Marc whispered, his smile never fading, “if you don't leave me and my father alone.”
