Chapter 3

SERA'S POV

‘What do you want, Jerry?’.

I tapped send, my heart hammering a jagged rhythm against my ribs. I was just about to drop the phone when it buzzed a sharp, needy vibration that made my skin prickle.

‘‘Sera, must you be so harsh?’.

The pop-up message flashed across the screen. I snatched the phone back, my grip so tight the edges dug into my palm. My thumbs flew across the glass, fueled by three months of built-up silence and stings.

‘It’s been three months. State your business or I’m blocking you.’

‘Just wanted to check up on you,’ he replied. *‘Nothing much.’

‘Well, thanks, Jerry. I’m fine. Have a nice day.’

I threw the phone onto the tangled sheets and paced the room, my feet hitting the floor with heavy, angry thuds. I turned back to the bed, glaring at the device as if it were Jerry himself. With a frustrated cry, I slammed both fists into the mattress, trying to vent the heat rising under my skin.

“Knock, knock! Sera, good morning.”

The door creaked open, and there was Pixy, leaning against the frame with a playful smirk. “Whoa, what’s with the face? You look like you fought the entire Southern Region in your dreams and came out a mad conqueror.”

I let out a ragged breath. “Glorified Luna, good morning. Now, hand me the kitchen keys.” I marched toward her, my hand outstretched, my patience thinner than a spider's silk.

“You kept me waiting for hours,” I started, my voice rising with every word. “The dishes are dirty, the morning meal is pending and the Lord’s meat is sitting there uncooked... PIXY!”

The roar started deep in my chest. I could feel the shift coming, the familiar, painful tingle of my claws sliding out, the coarse prickle of fur erupting along my skin. My fangs ached, a sharp hunger for something more than just words pulsing through me.

“It wasn't me! It was—”

“It was who?!” I snapped, cutting her off. “Who else would lock the kitchen door when it’s not their turn? Who else spends every waking minute trying to get under my skin?”

I had reached my limit. The frustration from Jerry’s messages merged with the morning’s chaos into a blinding white heat. My claws found the soft skin of her neck, my other hand tangling into her hair.

With a surge of predator strength, I swept her to the floor. I pinned her down, my knees locking her body to the wood. My fur stood on end, and I could feel the heat of my own breath, heavy and wild, as saliva pooled at the corners of my mouth. At that moment, the civilized world felt a thousand miles away.

“Here are the keys. And why are you ladies fighting like pups this morning? I was so hungry last night, I asked the head chef to lend me the keys so I could lock up once I was done."

That voice. That rich, deep scent. My heart didn't just skip a beat; it stopped entirely.

I was still pinning Pixy to the floor, but the fire in my blood turned to ice. My claws slid back into my fingertips, and the coarse fur receded, leaving my skin tingling and cold. I swallowed hard, my left hand trembling as I wiped the dampness from the corners of my mouth. Beneath me, Pixy began to squirm. I heard the sickening *rip* of her gown catching on a splinter in the floorboards as she tried to scramble away. I quickly widened my stance, giving her enough room to slide out from between my legs like a frightened rabbit.

"I tried to tell her I didn't lock it," Pixy said, her voice regaining its confidence the moment she was free. "But she wouldn't listen. She just pounced."

The air in the room shifted. It grew heavy, pressurized, making every breath feel like I was inhaling lead. I could feel his gaze—sharp, intense and unyielding—locked onto me. My knees started a rhythmic, uncontrollable shake. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted the metallic tang of blood.

*Shit. Shit. Shit.* What now? Should I bolt? No, he’d catch me before I hit the hallway. Should I lie? Even worse—she was the future Luna, and a lie would be my death warrant. I forced myself to pull what was left of my dignity together and slowly, agonizingly, looked up.

There he stood. He was a mountain of a man, six-foot-five of raw, sculpted power. His chest was broad enough to break stone, and his midsection was a ladder of muscle—eight-pack, not six, my brain noted in a daze. On the left side of his chest sat the birthmark of our pack, a black wolf that looked so real it seemed ready to leap off his skin and hunt. His arms were thick, capable of snapping a life away in a heartbeat.

My head ducked instinctively, bowed by the sheer weight of his presence. *Moon Goddess, if you get me out of this, I’ll pray five times a day. I’ll hunt for you. I’ll sacrifice anything.* My gown was already soaked with a cold, nervous sweat that pooled on the floor where I knelt.

"I... I did what I had to," the words tumbled out of my mouth, shaky but sharp. I looked at Pixy, trying to find my footing. "You didn't tell me anything, Pixy. In fact, you pounced first! If I wanted a fight, I would have come to your room, but here you are, in mine. I have nothing else to say."

The silence that followed was deafening. Then, the heavy jingle of metal hit the floor. A bunch of keys landed right in front of my knees.

"I'll let you both handle your own business," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "And Sera? Be sure to do justice to the meat in my chambers."

He turned on his heel and the door snapped shut with a definitive *click*.

"Yes, my Lord!" I called out, my voice high and breathless with a mix of terror and a strange, lingering heat.

"Oh, Moon Goddess, thank you," I whispered under my breath, my heart finally slowing its frantic pace. "I owe you. A fattened ram, the best in the land, I swear it."

I stayed on my knees for a second longer, letting the silence of the room settle. Then, I turned slowly toward Pixy. She was standing at my mirror, acting as if she hadn't just almost cost me my life, calmly braiding her hair into a single, neat line. The sight of her acting so innocent made my blood simmer all over again.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across my face. I could feel my eyes heating up, glowing a sharp, predatory red.

"You bitch," I growled, the words low and steady. "Come here. Now”.

I didn't give her a chance to move. I pounced, my claws sliding out with a familiar *shing* as I tackled her. We hit the bed with a heavy communal groan of the springs. I pinned both of her wrists above her head with just one of my hands, my strength fueled by the lingering adrenaline.

Pixy squirmed, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and annoyance, but I wasn't finished. I let a single, razor-sharp claw extend from my free hand. I didn't dig in—not yet—but I traced the tip of it lightly, mockingly, over the fabric of her dress right above her chest.

She let out a sharp cry, a sound of pure agony and frustration. It was a game of cat and mouse now, and after the morning I'd had, I wasn't in the mood to lose.