Chapter 2: The Scent of Jasmine and Wolfsbane

Ryder did not follow her. He didn't come to their bedroom that night, nor did he send a mindlink. Only his faint scent on the bedsheets teased her, a ghost of the love she thought they shared. Her wolf, Kalina, whimpered in the back of her mind, mourning the betrayal but still nursing a pathetic, desperate hope that he would reject his fated mate and things would return to normal.

Zoriana tossed and turned until dawn, her mind a battlefield. Just as she finally began to drift off, his scent hit her. Moments later, strong, familiar hands pulled her close, and the warmth of his mate-touch spread through her body like a drug.

She opened her eyes and saw him watching her with eyes that were already dark—not with apology, but with a raw, heavy lust. He looked unfairly good. His jaw was rough with dark stubble, and his hair was a mess. The black ink of his tribal tattoo flowed over the hard muscle of his chest and shoulder, a map of everything she used to think belonged only to her.

"Baby, I want you," he muttered, his voice a low, gravelly morning rasp.

He didn't wait for her to speak. He leaned in, his lips finding the pulse point on her neck. His kisses were hot and demanding, his hands moving over her lace camisole as if the night before had never happened.

For a second, her body was a traitor. Her skin sparked where his stubble grazed her, and her breath hitched. A dizzying heat flared in her chest, and Kalina whined, wanting to sink back into the comfort of her mate. She hated how much she still wanted to pull him closer.

But then, the memory hit her—the scent of jasmine. The way he’d looked at that fragile blonde girl like she was made of diamonds.

The heat in her veins turned to ice.

Zoriana shoved against his chest. It was like trying to move a brick wall, but the sheer coldness in her stare made him pause. She scrambled back, putting distance between them on the mattress, her heart thumping with a growing, jagged rage.

"Don't," she said, her voice sharp and brittle. She ignored the way his eyes flared with wounded pride. "You don't get to crawl into my bed to play husband after you spent the night with your fated mate in our house. Don't you ever touch me again."

Zoriana jumped to her feet. Ryder just sat there, staring at her in disbelief, as if he couldn't process that she had actually refused him.

“Baby, she was traumatised after the attack. And after you clearly showed Milana she isn’t welcome here, she needed my comfort,” he said softly, as if he were educating a difficult child.

“Ryder, what about me? I am your Luna. Do I not need comfort?” she hissed.

His lips thinned into a line, and his tone cooled. “Do not compare yourself to Milana. You are an Alpha’s daughter, a beloved Luna. You were born with a silver spoon, pampered by your family and then by me. You are strong. Milana is an Omega, raised by abusive parents and bullied in her pack. She became a rogue just to escape the hell she was living in.”

Zoriana’s breath hitched. He expected her to feel pity—to support the woman destroying her life.

“I expect more understanding from you, Zoriana. Spend more time with her, get to know her, and you will find common ground and the way to co-exist.” He got up casually, heading to the wardrobe to select his clothes.

“Do you expect me to be friends with your mistress?” she asked, utterly shocked.

He buttoned his shirt, speaking in the casual tone of a man closing a business deal. “She is my mate, not a mistress. A fated mate makes an Alpha and the whole pack stronger. Train her, guide her; she will be a great support for you. You will be the perfect balance—you with your fierce attitude and business knowledge, and she with the softness that will nourish the pack. I checked with the Council; similar arrangements have existed before. You will both be my Lunas.”

Zoriana was speechless from the humiliation. Ryder took her silence for agreement and left the room without a backward glance.

The glimpses from pack members in the hallway were heavy with pity. The strong Luna was now a reject. Zoriana ignored them, heading to the terrace to clear her head. She sat with her breakfast tray, staring at the distant forest, trying to anchor herself.

“Luna, I brought you my special tea. It helps to relax,” a voice dripped with sweetness.

Milana stood there, smiling widely and clutching a tray. Her hair was braided, her big innocent eyes wide. She looked like a living doll—weak, pretty, and lovable.

“We had a rocky start, but I really want to be friends,” she cooed. “You are a true inspiration to me. Let me serve you, Luna.”

Zoriana held her breath, her fists clenching under the table. She couldn't lose her temper in front of the pack. Milana poured the tea and passed the cup with a plastered smile.

The jasmine scent hit Zoriana’s nostrils—the scent of Ryder’s fate and her shattered world. The taste of the tea was even worse: oversweet and nauseating.

Suddenly, her vision blurred. Dizzy and disoriented, she stood up, stumbling toward the grass lawn.

“Luna, are you okay?” Milana asked, sounding worried as she stepped closer.

Then, the loud wail of a siren pierced the air. A rogue attack.

Milana shifted instantly into a small, light-brown wolf. Zoriana tried to follow, but her body refused to listen.

“Kalina!” she called desperately, but her wolf was silent, suppressed behind a heavy fog.

The realisation hit her like a train. Wolfsbane. The tea was poisoned.

Her limbs felt like lead as four rogue wolves began to circle her, baring their teeth. In human form, she stood no chance. Then, she saw a streak of midnight black—Ryder, rushing toward them and shifting mid-air.

She smiled faintly. He had come to save her.

His massive wolf raced with the speed of the wind, and then... he shielded Milana.

He didn't even look at Zoriana. He planted his body in front of the fated mate, leaving Zoriana exposed. The rogues lunged. One set of claws sank deep into Zoriana's shoulder, and another tore through her thigh. The physical pain was sharp and blinding, but strangely, it felt distant.

She barely even registered the claws and teeth sinking into her skin because her eyes were locked on the massive black wolf just a few feet away. Ryder didn’t even turn his head. He was so focused on shielding his little dove that he didn’t seem to hear the sound of Zoriana’s broken bones cracking or her muffled, ragged gasps for air.

That was the real agony. The claws were only tearing her flesh, but Ryder’s back—the sight of him protecting another woman while Zoriana bled out in the dirt—was what was actually killing her.

She fought until her muscles gave out, her fingers clawing at the grass in a useless rhythm, until the darkness finally moved in. The last thing she saw before the world went black wasn't the wolves attacking her; it was the mate she had loved for years, standing like the impenetrable shield for someone else.