Chapter Three: You've Made a Mistake

The ballroom glittered with candlelight and forced smiles. Natasha had felt the pull the moment Damien had walked in, a magnetic hum beneath her skin that she’d spent the entire evening denying. She caught his gaze once—just once—across the sea of silk and politics. His blue eyes had locked onto hers, and for a breathless second, the noise of the crowd faded. Then he’d looked away, jaw tight, and turned his attention to an aging elder who was droning on about bloodlines. Natasha did the same, burying the ache in her chest with a long sip of wine.

For hours, they orbited each other like twin stars refusing to collide. Damien was paraded like a prize stallion—elders clapping his shoulder, alphas’ daughters batting their lashes. His smile was a mask, his posture diplomatic steel. More than once, Natasha caught the subtle twitch of his fingers, the way his gaze flicked briefly toward her before snapping back to duty. She pretended not to notice.

She busied herself with survival. Every few minutes, another male approached. Betas with nervous compliments, alphas with assessing stares that stripped her down to breeding stock. She deflected with cool politeness, her warrior’s stillness a shield. A young alpha from the Ironfang pack had tried to press a drink into her hand, his grin too familiar. “You look like you could use some fun.”

“I’m having plenty,” she’d replied, voice flat as she set the glass aside untouched. He’d lingered, testing, but her unblinking stare sent him retreating. Others weren’t so easily deterred.

Aldous had been circling her all night. She recognized his scent before she saw his bulk—mead and arrogance, a cloying promise of trouble. He’d approached twice, each time his remarks sliding from flattery to something edged. She’d responded with clipped courtesy, refusing to give him an inch. But he’d only grinned, as if her resistance was part of the game.

The third time, he trapped her near the refreshment table, his body blocking her path without quite touching. “You’ve been ignoring me, little wolf,” he rumbled, leaning close enough that she could smell the sweat beneath the cologne. “I don’t like being ignored.”

Natasha set her glass down with deliberate calm. “I’m not here to entertain you, Aldous. Step aside.”

A nearby couple glanced over, sensing the undercurrent. Aldous’s smile sharpened. He didn’t move. “You think you’re above this? Your sister knows her place. You? You’re just a warrior playing dress-up. But I could teach you what it means to be a real Luna.”

Her wolf snarled silently, but she held herself still. “I have no interest in your lessons. This is your last chance to walk away without embarrassment.”

He laughed, a low, ugly sound. “Embarrassment? From you? You’re adorable.” He lifted a hand as if to brush a stray hair from her face. She sidestepped smoothly, the movement too fast for his fingers to land. “I said no,” she said, her voice carrying just enough ice to draw more eyes. Aldous’s expression flickered—not anger, but anticipation. “Fine,” he drawled, stepping back with exaggerated surrender. “For now.”

She didn’t wait for him to change his mind. The balcony called, a sliver of moonlit silence beyond the velvet drapes. She slipped through, the cool night air a balm against her heated skin. For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the tension drain from her shoulders.

Then the curtain whispered again.

Aldous’s grin was all teeth as he filled the balcony doorway, his bulk casting the narrow space into deeper shadow. He didn’t move aside. Instead, he braced a hand against the stone frame, the velvet sealing them off from the ballroom entirely. “You’ve got fire,” he said, his gravelly voice dropping to a mock-caress. “I’ll enjoy snuffing it out. The others want a pretty Luna to warm their bed. Me? I want a warrior to break. And you, little wolf, you’ve been begging for it all night.”

Natasha’s grip on the wine glass tightened until the crystal creaked. She had faced rogues, bled in the training ring, earned the respect of hardened males twice her size. This wasn’t a fight; it was an insult wearing alpha arrogance. “Last warning,” she said, each word a shard of ice. “Step aside, or I’ll break more than your hand. I’ll shatter every bone that lets you walk out of here.”

Aldous’s smirk widened, a wet, hungry thing. He took a deliberate step forward, his boots scraping the stone with theatrical slowness. The balcony shrank around them. Moonlight glanced off his shoulders, turning him into a monolith of threat. “You think your pack will protect you? A third-born daughter with delusions of strength? Your father sent you here to be chosen, not to choose. Be grateful I’m offering. Most males wouldn’t bother with a mouthy bitch.”

He advanced again, closing the distance to arm’s length. The air thickened with his scent—mead, sweat, and the sharp tang of violent intent. Natasha’s wolf roared inside her chest, a primal surge that set her teeth on edge. She couldn’t shift—the gown, the confined space, the political fallout—but her body coiled, ready.

Aldous reached for her arm, his fingers brushing her bare skin. “Nervous? Good. You should be,” he said, his tone dropping to something dark and possessive. “Now be a good little bitch and—”

Natasha didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. But her free hand curled into a fist, her stance shifting to that of a predator who knew exactly where to strike. The night air grew heavy, charged with the unmistakable tension of violence about to erupt. She met his gaze, green eyes unyielding. “You’ve made a mistake.”

On the other side of the curtain, the music played on, oblivious to the storm brewing above. And Aldous, for all his arrogance, felt a flicker of uncertainty crawl down his spine as he looked at the woman before him—a warrior, not a victim, and he’d just cornered her with nowhere to go.