Seraphina POV:
Sleep was a fever dream. The silver was a ring of fire, constantly reopening the wound as my immune system tried and failed to heal it.
But the physical pain was a distraction from the psychic noise.
The wall wasn't soundproof against the Mind-Link.
Even rejected, the biological wire remained.
I lay on the bare floor.
I heard the bed creak next door. Isabella's laughter.
Then, the wave hit me.
A psychic backlash of pleasure. His arousal, his release, washing over my mind like hot grease.
I scrambled to the bathroom and dry-heaved.
He was with her. And the Bond was forcing me to watch.
Get out, I prayed. Get out of my head.
The next morning, I was a ghost. My skin was grey, my eyes sunk deep in bruised sockets. I wore a turtleneck to hide the burns, the fabric scraping the raw skin with every breath.
I went to the kitchen. Isabella was drinking espresso.
"Sleep well?" she asked. "We were... active."
"Like the dead," I croaked. My vocal cords were swollen from the silver exposure.
Dante walked in. He looked energized, practically vibrating with Alpha power. He saw me and frowned. He smelled the burnt flesh-he had to. But he chose to ignore it.
"Passport," he said. "And ID."
"Why?"
"Updating the Pack registry. Since you're... transitioning to the guest quarters."
Evicted.
"Fine," I said. "I'm going to the city to renew my papers anyway."
Dante's eyes narrowed. Possessiveness flared. "Why? Who are you meeting?"
"No one."
"If I smell another male on you," Dante growled, crowding my space, "I will tear his throat out. You are Pack Property."
"I'm not property!"
"You are what I say you are!" He slammed his hand on the counter. Granite cracked.
He pulled out his phone. "Look."
Instagram. A photo from last night. Him and Isabella. Caption: My strength. My future. My Luna.
Thousands of likes. The werewolf world applauding my funeral.
I looked at him. The man who held my heart and squeezed until it popped.
I pulled out my phone. Hands shaking, I opened the comments.
I typed one sentence.
Sic transit gloria mundi.
Thus passes the glory of the world. He taught me that phrase when I was twelve. He said it meant power is fleeting.
I hit send.
Then, I did the unthinkable.
I focused on the golden thread in my mind. The Mate Bond.
No, my wolf screamed. Suicide!
Better dead than this.
I visualized a pair of shears.
I clamped down.
SNAP.
It felt like an aneurysm. White-hot agony exploded behind my eyes. I gasped, blood gushing from my nose.
Dante stumbled back, clutching his chest. The color drained from his face. He felt the void. The sudden silence where I used to be.
"What did you do?" he whispered.
I wiped the blood from my lip. The constant hum of his presence was gone. It was quiet.
"I set you free, Alpha," I said. Dead voice.
I walked out.
I went straight to the garden shed. I found the jar of Wolfsbane paste. Poisonous to wolves. In small doses, it masks a scent. In large doses, it kills.
I needed to disappear.
His birthday party was in two days.
That was when I would run.
The nightmares were getting creative. Dante as a wolf, licking my hand, his tongue stripping the flesh from my bones.
I woke up silent screaming. The collar was choking me, the infection spreading.
Two days left. I had to sanitize my existence.
Wolves nest. We hoard things that smell like our loved ones. My room was a shrine to Dante. Old sweaters, books, dried flowers. Anchors.
I had to cut the rope.
I dragged a black trash bag down the stairs. Thump. Thump.
"Going somewhere?"
Dante stood by the door, whiskey in hand. He looked diminished. Since I cut the link, he was bleeding energy.
"Taking out the trash."
"Smells like... me." He stepped closer. "Stealing my things? Building a nest somewhere else?"
His arrogance was a disease. He thought I was stealing his clothes to sniff them in secret.
"Check it."
He hesitated. He didn't want to see my desperation.
"Burn it," he told the guards.
"What?"
"You want it gone? Let's do it right." He opened the door. "Leo! Torch it."
Leo dragged the bag to the fire pit.
Dante raised his hand. A ball of Alpha Fire flickered in his palm. He threw it.
Whoosh.
I watched my childhood burn. The teddy bear. The diary. The sweater that smelled like safety.
"I've made arrangements," Dante said, eyes on the flames. "Boarding school in Switzerland. You leave next week."
"Exile," I laughed. Dry, cracking.
"Safety," he recited. "Isabella... she's territorial. If you stay, she'll hurt you. And I can't... I can't watch you 24/7."
"You mean you can't stand the guilt."
He turned, eyes blazing. "I am saving your life! You are weak! You are an Omega without a wolf! You cannot survive this world without me!"
"You're right," I whispered. "I can't survive with you."
He flinched.
"Go to your room. Stay there until the party."
I walked away.
He didn't know he'd just done me a favor. A wolf without a nest is a Rogue.
And Rogues have nothing left to lose.
