Tristan's POV
The bass vibrated through my bones as I sat in the VIP section of the bar.
Red lights washed over everything, casting the space in a bloody glow. The air was thick with the mingled scents of expensive perfume, sweat, and liquor. I rotated the crystal tumbler in my hand, watching the amber liquid swirl against the glass.
"Fucking bond-breaking ritual," I muttered, then downed the whiskey in a single, burning gulp.
The image of Lysandra handing me that damn scroll kept flashing through my mind. She'd had them for months.
Months, pretending to be the perfect wife while secretly planning her escape. The betrayal twisted in my gut like a blade.
My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, a low growl echoing in our shared consciousness. Ever since I'd married her, he'd been acting differently drawn to her in ways I didn't understand. She was wolfless, a genetic flaw. And yet… he was fascinated.
"You're a traitor," I told him silently.
"She fooled my father with that innocent act. Made him believe she was the girl from the prophecy."
Two years ago, my father had summoned me to his study. I remembered the grim expression on his face when he told me I had to marry and mark Lysandra, a girl from a low-ranking Gamma family.
When I refused, he dropped the bomb there was a prophecy passed down through Alpha bloodlines. He didn't share all the details, just that she was vital to preventing some great disaster.
I clenched my jaw. She'd somehow discovered the prophecy and used it to climb from nothing to potential Luna of the Silverblood Pack.
The ultimate social climber.
I signaled for another drink.
"That scheming bitch had a severance request prepared behind my back," I muttered. "Did she expect me to beg her to stay?"
I laughed, bitter and sharp. "I crushed her little game. Now she has to live with the consequences."
The hatred I felt toward her burned in my chest like acid. I'd been forced to mark her. The bond was incomplete, one-sided. She carried the burden of it, not me.
That's how it worked when the marking wasn't mutual, the one who got marked felt everything. The one who did the marking? Could block it out.
And I did.
That's why I knew when the severance ritual came, she'd be the one in agony.
Not me.
Still, my wolf didn't agree. He resisted every time I reminded myself how worthless she was.
"Tristan." A soft voice cut through the haze of alcohol.
Selene.
She stood before me, her red dress hugging every curve, the scar on her arm stark against her pale skin a mark from the night she saved my life as a child. She slid into the booth beside me, her body warm against mine.
I'd told her about the severance ritual earlier—spat it out between clenched teeth, too furious to keep it in.
I shouldn't have. But rage needed a place to go. And she was always there.
Where Lysandra was plain and forgettable, Selene was stunning lush curves, perfect features, and a confidence that demanded attention.
I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close.
"Don't be sorry," I said. "It's exactly what I wanted."
Her nails drew slow circles on my thigh. "You deserve a real Luna," she whispered, lips brushing my ear.
"Only I know how to please a true Alpha. I'll be your perfect Luna."
My wolf snarled in my head, baring his teeth in warning. I ignored him.
Selene's eyes locked with mine as her tongue wet her lips.
"Come upstairs with me," she murmured, her hand sliding toward my belt.
I caught her wrist, bringing her hand to my lips.
"Lead the way."
The private suite upstairs was dimly lit, a plush king-sized bed dominating the room. The door clicked shut behind us.
Selene turned, pressing her body into mine, her lips hungry against mine. She guided me to the bed, straddling my lap as she loosened the ties of her dress. The fabric slipped down, baring her shoulders and the tops of her breasts.
She ground against me, my body responding instinctively.
Then her hand reached for my belt.
And my wolf exploded.
NO! SHE IS NOT YOUR MATE!
The force of his rage hit me like a brick wall. I winced, physically recoiling.
"What's wrong?" I tried to suppress him, to regain control. "She's perfect exactly what we need."
She is NOTHING. If you sleep with her, I'll take over. You know I can.
He wasn't bluffing. The Alpha bond between man and wolf was stronger in me than most. If he wanted, he could force a shift override my control.
"Tristan?" Selene's voice broke through. She was fully exposed now, eyes wide, breath quick. "Don't you want me?"
I stood, gently pushing her off my lap. "I like you, Selene. But this isn't the time. You deserve more than a quick fuck in a club suite."
She pouted, but let me help her with her dress.
"Don't make me wait too long."
Fifteen minutes later, I was in the back of my car, heading home. My driver sensed my mood and said nothing.
As we neared the estate, I spotted a figure near the front gate, struggling with a large suitcase.
A spark of something dark ignited in my chest.
Perfect timing.
"Going somewhere?" I called, my voice slicing through the silence.
Lysandra froze, her back to me.
Her shoulders tensed beneath her thin jacket.
"I already told you," she replied, still not turning.
The Alpha in me surged forward, rage igniting like a flame. How dare she treat me like I was insignificant?
My voice dropped into its full Alpha tone raw and commanding.
"Told me what?"
She flinched. My power hit her like a slap. When she finally turned, her eyes were red-rimmed but defiant.
"I'm leaving your house and the Silverblood Pack," she said, voice trembling. "I don't want to stay here anymore."
I let out a low, humorless laugh. "Not yet, you're not."
Her shoulders started shaking. Tears stained her cheeks, but I didn't care.
"You don't get to run until after the Severance Rite," I growled. "After that, crawl to whatever pathetic excuse for a pack will take in a wolfless reject like you."
I turned toward the house. I was done. She wasn't worth my time, my anger, or even a second glance.
Then I heard it.
A heavy thud.
I turned, expecting drama, some pathetic ploy for sympathy.
But what I saw—"
Lysandra lay crumpled on the ground, her suitcase toppled beside her.
Her face was pale, too pale, and her body was completely still.
A cold, foreign sensation crept up my spine.
Panic.
Real, gut-twisting panic.