C1

“Wake up, Lyra. Look at me when I’m reclaiming what’s mine.”

The rasp of Alpha Tristan Crowne’s voice hit me like a physical blow before my eyes even adjusted to the dim light of our quarters. I blinked, catching the sharp, metallic scent of expensive bourbon and the overwhelming musk of a predator. He was back from the Ironfang Airfield early.

“Tristan? You’re back,” I managed to whisper, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

He didn’t answer with words. He leaned in, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that tasted of dark liquor and cold dominance. It wasn't a reunion; it was an assertion of rank. I felt the phantom weight of the Mafia-style blood oath we’d taken when I became his substitute Luna—a duty to the Crowne Dominion, not a choice of the heart. I tried to shift, my hand instinctively moving toward my stomach.

“Don't move. Stay under me,” he growled, his voice vibrating deep in his chest, making my inner wolf whimper in forced submission.

“It’s our second anniversary,” I breathed, trying to find a flicker of the man I’d loved since our days at Northcrest Academy. “I thought we could—”

“Silence, Lyra. Just melt into the sheets.” He buried his face in my neck, his cologne swirling with the scent of the pack’s forest, a potent, intoxicating lure. His hands grew bolder, claiming territory he didn’t realize was now carrying his heir.

“Tristan, please… not so rough tonight,” I gasped, the secret of the pregnancy burning on my tongue. “I need to tell you—”

The sharp, aggressive trill of his encrypted burner phone shattered the silence. The tension in the room snapped. Tristan’s eyes, darkened with a lust that never quite reached his heart, flickered to the screen. The Alpha’s mask slid back into place instantly.

“Are you leaving the territory?” I asked, clutching my silk robe as he stood and began dressing with the cold precision of a man heading to a hit.

“Business,” he said, his tone as sharp as a silver blade.

“But the council meeting isn't until tomorrow, and the hockey season doesn't start for—”

“Go back to sleep, Lyra,” he cut me off, his voice detached. He leaned down, a fleeting, icy brush of his lips against my forehead. “Don't wait up.”

He walked out without looking back. I stared at the door, the silence of the Crowne Alpha Estate pressing in on me. I tried to tell myself it was a crisis at the Crowne Dominion Tower—maybe a breach in the Mafia shipping lanes or a rogue pack challenge.

“He’s just protecting the pack, little one,” I whispered, my hand resting on my belly. “He doesn't mean to leave us. He’s an Alpha; he has a world to run.”

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A news alert from the underworld wire.

“Crowne Dominion Alpha Spotted at Ironfang Airfield: Is the Real Luna Returning?”

The image was high-definition. Tristan, clad in a tailored black tactical suit, standing by the private hangar. His posture was regal, but it was his eyes that broke me. He was looking at the woman stepping off the jet with a raw, aching tenderness I had never seen in two years of marriage.

Selene Voss was back. The true mate. The woman whose departure had made me a convenient substitute for a fallen House Ashford daughter.

“No,” I choked out, the air in the room turning to ice. “Not now.”

I couldn't stay in bed. I threw on a coat and moved through the shadows of the estate toward his study, my wolf pacing inside me with a sense of impending doom. I reached the heavy oak doors just as the muffled voice of Damien Cross, his enforcer and best friend, drifted through the gap.

“So the rumors are true? You spent the night at the safehouse with Selene?”

I froze, my breath hitching.

“She’s back, Damien. That’s all that matters,” Tristan’s voice was flat, devoid of the heat he’d just used on me.

“And Lyra? She’s been your wife for two years, Tristan. She’s House Ashford—even if they’ve fallen, she has the bloodline. You can’t tell me she’s just a placeholder anymore. If you toss her aside, the other Alphas will move in. She’s a prize you’re ignoring.”

“I feel a slight stir of guilt for the girl, nothing more,” Tristan retorted, his words like a silver bullet to my chest. “If you want her so badly, Damien, perhaps I’ll hand her over once the divorce papers are filed. Now, get the reports on the Blackmoor University territory. We have a war to prep for.”

Guilt. I was a debt to be paid, a burden to be shifted. I turned and ran, my bare feet silent on the cold stone as I fled into the Moonfall Garden. I collapsed near the ancient sanctuary stones, burying my face in my knees.

I remembered ten years ago—the day the Ashford bloodline fell and the pack turned on me at Northcrest. Tristan had stepped in then, a young Alpha-in-waiting, fending off the bullies with a snarl that promised death. He had been my savior. I had followed him to Blackmoor University, studied the blade and the books, all to be worthy of the man who had seen me when I was nothing.

I had loved him for a decade. But to him, I was just the girl who filled the seat until the real Luna came home.