Selene’s paws trembled as she read Kael’s message. A warmth she hadn’t felt in years flickered in her chest.
[Understood. One week is enough.]
One week. Not a full moon, not a whole cycle—just a week. After that, she would be gone from Ronan, from the Ironfang Pack, and finally free of the betrayal that had marked every heartbeat of the past three years.
She slipped back into the villa, the corridors eerily quiet. The sight that met her in the sitting hall made her blood run cold.
Lyra lounged on the couch, reclining in a silk gown—Selene’s gown. Her fingers drummed casually against the armrest, a predatory gleam in her eyes.
The sound of the door opening caught her attention. Lyra’s sneer sharpened. “Back already? You look like the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.”
Slowly, she rose, tilting Selene’s chin with a possessive, mocking grace. “Look at you—pale as the moonlight. Anyone would think you’d nearly died.”
Lyra leaned closer, whispering in Selene’s ear, her voice a venomous caress. “Last night… with Ronan, he said he only feels like an Alpha with me. Said you lie there like a sleeping pup—completely useless.”
Selene’s golden eyes narrowed, and with a swift motion, her paw met Lyra’s cheek.
“Lyra,” she hissed, teeth bared, “know your place. I am still Ronan’s mate. You are nothing but a pretender. Push me too far, and I will reveal every deceit you’ve spun in the pack. Everyone will see the truth of what you are—a wolf who uses others to claim what she cannot earn.”
Lyra laughed coldly, a sound that scraped against the stone walls. She raised her hands in mock surrender, but it was obvious—she had no intention of stopping.
Before Selene could react further, Ronan appeared, stepping out from the shadowed hallway. Lyra froze, knees weakening, and stumbled forward toward the nearest pillar.
Ronan’s reflexes were swift. He caught her just in time, his hold firm.
“Lyra, I invited you here. If anyone has a problem with you being present, they have a problem with me,” he barked, his voice sharp as a fang.
Selene pressed her lips together, a bitter, hollow smile crossing her face.
“Selene,” Ronan growled, glancing at her, “apologize to her.”
“I did nothing wrong. Nothing!” she snapped. “And Ronan, aren’t you even curious where I was last night?”
“Don’t care,” he cut her off, his amber eyes glinting with cold authority. “But you do not hurt Lyra! Apologize now, or face suspension from pack duties—until you submit.”
Selene realized then: in his eyes, she was just a loyal worker, a mate in name only. He believed a suspension would punish her—but she had long ceased to live for him. She had only endured for him.
Her chest tightened at the sight, but she held her dignity. Ronan turned, leading Lyra with him, leaving Selene behind.
Even the pack caretaker obeyed Ronan’s silent orders: do not feed her until she “admitted her mistakes.”
Selene’s amber eyes filled with tears, silent as she watched them go. This was the wolf she had once loved, the one she had trusted with her entire heart. Now, there was nothing left.
Days passed. She remained locked within the villa’s private wing, visited only by the caretaker three times a day with the same question: “Have you seen reason?” She said nothing, staring out the balcony at the forest beyond. She was counting. Five more days.
Her communicator buzzed constantly, but all of it came from Lyra—messages of mockery, reminders of her place, images of Ronan tending to Lyra, laughing with her, their closeness on display.
Selene did not cry. Her heart, which once ached for him, was now an empty den.
On the fourth day, her caretaker withheld all food as instructed. Selene drank only water, surviving on willpower alone. That evening, she ventured into the courtyard, her paws weak beneath her.
A young timber wolf dashed from the treeline, colliding into her. Normally, the wolf’s strength wouldn’t have mattered—but her body, deprived of nourishment, crumpled under the impact.
Pain seared through her belly, and instinct told her the truth: two moons ago, in a moment of rare intimacy, she and Ronan had shared a bond without protection. Now her womb protested violently.
Gritting her teeth, she begged the caretakers for assistance. The Alpha guarders leaped to her side, rushing her toward the healer’s den—but the forest path had been blocked.
“Miss Valen,” one guard stammered, “it’s Lyra’s celebration tonight. The roads through the pack territory are closed by Ronan’s orders. We cannot reach the healer quickly.”
Outside, the fireworks of the festival lit the sky, echoing through the hills. All for Lyra. All orchestrated by Ronan.
Selene collapsed against the forest floor, trembling. With the last of her strength, she ripped the silver band from her paw—her bond ring—and hurled it into the undergrowth.
Ronan. The pack. Their marriage. She wanted none of it anymore.
