C2

Rosamund Ashby POV

“That's not—”

Rosamund tries to protest, but the words die on her lips as Stellan kisses her forcefully.

For one treacherous moment, she gives in to his warmth, breathing in the intoxicating scent of pine and winter mint that clings to his skin. His hands slide down her sides, catching the hem of her leather tunic as he pulls her closer. Her head spins, and her wolf stirs restlessly beneath her skin, responding to the pull of their mate bond.

The sharp chime of a communicator shatters the moment.

Rosamund snaps back to her senses and jerks away, pressing her lips together as she struggles to steady her breathing.

Stellan growls in frustration. He grips her shoulder, keeping her against the stone doorframe while reaching for his communicator with his other hand.

“What is it now?” he snaps.

A woman's distressed sobs come through the speaker.

“Stellan... it hurts so much. The curse is acting up again. Why aren't you here?”

Stellan glances at Rosamund. Seizing her chance, she shoves him hard in the chest, breaks free of his grip, and steps away to straighten her tunic.

“I'm coming,” Stellan tells the caller, his harsh voice softening into a gentleness Rosamund rarely hears from him.

He ends the call and looks at Rosamund for a long moment.

“I'll pick you up tomorrow evening for the feast at Valecrest Manor. My mother insists you attend.”

Rosamund turns sharply, her eyes flashing silver.

“Didn't you tell the council we're ending our mate bond?”

“We're putting the proceedings on hold,” he replies, his jaw tightening. “My father's health is deteriorating because of the border wars. I'm not going to put him through a shock like this.”

Rosamund lets out a cold, humorless laugh.

“Stellan, the documents are already signed. I have no reason to keep pretending to be your obedient little Luna.”

“Fifty thousand silver credits, transferred directly to your pack account, in exchange for one evening,” Stellan offers flatly.

Rosamund gives him a razor-sharp smile.

“Fine. But if you touch me without my permission, the price doubles.”

He studies her warily as she pulls out her communicator and holds it toward him, making it clear she expects the money before she agrees to anything else.

His golden eyes widen at her audacity. After a long pause, he taps his screen.

“Fifty thousand sent. I'll be here at six.”

He turns and strides down the stone corridor.

The moment the heavy iron doors slam shut, Rosamund's legs give way. She sinks against the wall, exhaustion crashing over her.

*I almost gave in to him again. What is wrong with me?*

Her heart pounds as shame and anger twist inside her. She hates herself for accepting his money, even though she knows she needs to stop letting him control her life.

Her communicator vibrates in her palm. The screen displays a name: Ffion Calder.

Rosamund answers the call and brings the device to her ear.

“Ffion?”

“You're my only hope! Please, you have to help me!” Ffion blurts out in a panic.

Rosamund frowns.

“What happened?”

“I twisted my ankle during combat training,” Ffion groans. “We have a mandatory duel demonstration next Friday in front of the territorial lords. Can you take my place?”

Rosamund mentally reviews her schedule.

“Luckily, I'm free next week. I'll come to the training hall tomorrow morning, and we can go over the choreography.”

Ffion gives a nervous laugh.

“Right... there's just one thing you should know. The dual-blade routine involves a lot of close contact with the male lead, and—”

“That doesn't matter,” Rosamund interrupts smoothly. “I'll handle it.”

She is ending the mate bond. She is leaving the ruins of a relationship that has brought her nothing but pain and reclaiming her place as a warrior. If Stellan cannot honor their bond, she refuses to let his shadow dictate the rest of her life.

Rosamund spends the entire next morning in the training hall, sweat running down her skin as she practices swift, precise sword strikes with her sparring partner.

By late afternoon, she steps onto Burgo Street to catch her breath in the cool air. Her lungs are still burning from the intense workout.

Her communicator vibrates insistently in her hand. She answers.

“Where are you?” Stellan demands, his voice rough with a barely restrained growl.

“Burgo Street,” Rosamund replies, still breathing a little harder than usual.

“What are you doing there?” His tone turns sharp. “Who's with you?”

“That's none of your business, Alpha,” she snaps.

Silence stretches between them, broken only by the sound of his frustrated breathing.

“Stay where you are. I'm coming.”

Rosamund takes a quick, cold shower in her quarters before changing into a fitted, midnight-black leather dress that leaves her throat bare. She finishes her look with a dark shade of lipstick.

As she steps out of her room, her communicator vibrates again.

*I'm outside. Come down.*

She makes her way through the grand entrance.

In the stone courtyard, Stellan's breath catches when his golden eyes land on her.

The midnight-black leather hugs her figure, and the high neckline draws attention to the delicate curve of her throat. She looks striking, confident, and utterly out of reach.

Her expression, however, is cold as she approaches his vehicle.

She reaches for the door handle, but a large, calloused hand closes around her wrist.

Rosamund lifts her chin and meets his gaze.

“Is something wrong, Alpha Valecrest?”

“You seem to be doing just fine without me,” Stellan says through clenched teeth, his voice thick with anger.

“Better than fine,” she replies with a sharp smile.

“Now I understand why you were in such a hurry to end our bond.” His fingers tighten around her wrist. “Is this the reason?”

Rosamund's eyes flash.

“If you brought me here just to make baseless accusations, save your breath. Push me any further, and I'll walk straight out of your family's feast.”

“Then explain why you were breathing so heavily when you answered my call.” Stellan steps closer, his dominant presence pressing in on her. “Who were you with at the training hall?”

Heat creeps up Rosamund's neck. She shoves at his chest.

“That's complete bullshit!”

She twists away and reaches for the car door.

Stellan moves too quickly for her to escape. His arm locks around her waist, pulling her back against him.

“Answer me!” he orders, his voice carrying the unmistakable authority of an Alpha. “Were you letting another male get close to you? Are you already looking for someone to replace me?”

Rosamund struggles against his grip, her cheeks burning with anger.

“Of course not! I was practicing sword routines in the training hall! Let me go!”

Instead of releasing her, Stellan lowers his head and kisses her roughly. The unexpected force of it leaves her stunned. He then abruptly sets her back on her feet.

Rosamund gasps and immediately wipes her mouth with the back of her forearm, glaring at him with undisguised fury.

Stellan gives her a dark, dangerous smile.

“Consider that a warning not to defy your Alpha.”

When they finally arrive at Valecrest Manor, Rosamund walks beside Stellan into the grand hall.

Maud and Corbin Valecrest are waiting near the raised hearth. Maud's lip curls in open contempt, while Corbin greets Rosamund with a tired but gentle nod.

Stellan immediately drapes an arm around Rosamund's shoulders. His fingers press painfully into her collarbone, a silent threat reminding her to play the part of his devoted mate.

Rosamund forces a polite smile, though her eyes remain cold and distant as she looks up at him.

Stellan glances down at her, raising an eyebrow in warning.

“Rosamund, you look thinner,” Corbin says kindly, sliding a wooden platter of roasted meat toward her across the long table. “You need to eat properly and keep your wolf strong. This pack needs you healthy.”

“Thank you,” Rosamund replies softly. “Please make sure you're taking your healing elixirs, too. When the moon changes, I'll accompany you to the apothecary for your checkup.”

Maud suddenly slams her metal goblet onto the stone table. Her dark eyes blaze as she turns on her son.

“Where is the heir?” she demands, her voice cutting through the hall. “I've heard you've spent only three nights at the pack house this entire month. The rest of the time, you've been looking after that sick, helpless girl from the lower territory. Is that true?”