Chapter 5

We reached the venue – a tavern on the edge of the pack territory, famous for its views of the mountain and its private dining rooms. It was the kind of place couples came to celebrate bondings and weddings and anniversaries.

Kane parked the car and got out. He opened my door and lifted me from the back seat.

For one dizzy second, I was in his arms again. Warm. Solid. Familiar.

His scent hit me – pine and smoke and something else, something that had always been just him. I had dreamed about that smell for seven years. I had tried to imagine it during the long nights when the pain made me forget what comfort felt like.

And now he was holding me.

I almost lost it. My throat closed up. My eyes burned.

But then he set me in the wheelchair quickly – too quickly – and turned to Vivra.

"Give me the wipes," he said.

She handed him a packet of wet wipes from her bag. He unfolded one and scrubbed his hands. Then another. Then another. He scrubbed like he had touched something rotten. Like I had infected him.

Vivra gave an awkward, tinkling laugh. "Sorry, Selene. He's weird about cleanliness. He can't stand any other woman touching him. It's a Northern thing, I think."

I watched him scrub his hands until his knuckles were red, and I pretended not to notice.

It wasn't about cleanliness.

Seven years ago, when I touched him – when I held his hand, when I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, when I fell asleep with my head on his chest – he never did anything like this. He never pulled away. He never flinched.

This was different. This was deliberate.

He was telling me, loud and clear, that every inch of skin I had ever touched now disgusted him. He was erasing me.

We went inside the tavern. The owner – an old wolf with gray hair and a kind face – showed us to a private dining room overlooking the mountains. The view was stunning. Snow-capped peaks, green valleys, a river winding through the forest like a silver ribbon.

Kane ordered for the table. He listed off seafood dishes – crab, lobster, oysters, shrimp. A whole spread.

He never used to eat seafood. Neither did I. We had both hated it since we were children. But here he was, ordering it like it was his favorite thing in the world.

Who was he ordering for? Vivra, obviously. Vivra, who was nodding along with a pleased smile, squeezing his arm under the table.

I didn't want to make things hard on myself. I was already struggling to eat anything – my stomach couldn't handle much these days. So when the waiter came to me, I asked for a light vegetable soup.

That was when Kane lost it.

"You're already skin and bones," he snapped. His voice was loud enough that the waiter took a step back. "Now you're on a diet? What is wrong with you?"

My chest flooded with a bitter, aching warmth. He still noticed. He still noticed.

I kept my voice calm. "Harlan likes me thin."

Harlan.

The fake boyfriend. The warrior Ilsa had hired seven years ago to pretend to kiss me under the old oak tree. I had seen him exactly once – for five minutes – and then he had disappeared from my life forever. I didn't even remember what he looked like.

But the name still worked. It always worked.

Kane's face went white. Then red. His jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscles jumping under his skin.

He shoved his chair back. The legs scraped against the wooden floor with a sound that made everyone in the room flinch.

"I'm going outside," he said. And he walked out.

Vivra waited.

She waited exactly two seconds – long enough for the door to close behind him – and then she grabbed a glass of ice water and threw it in my face.

The cold shocked me. I gasped. Water dripped down my cheeks, into my mouth, onto the front of my dress.

"You little bitch," Vivra said. Her voice was quiet and venomous, nothing like the sweet, airy tone she used in front of Kane. "You think playing helpless is going to win him back? You think being pathetic and broken is going to make him forget about me and our pup?"

I didn't answer. I just sat there, dripping, my hands shaking in my lap.

She leaned closer. "Let me tell you something, Selene. Kane is mine. He has been mine for years, and he will be mine until the day we die. Don't think for one second that just because you were his first love, you can take him away from me."

I still didn't answer.

She slapped me across the face.

The sound echoed through the private dining room. My head snapped to the side. My cheek stung – hot and throbbing.

The water I could take. I deserved that. I was being selfish, clinging to these last moments with Kane when I knew he belonged to someone else.

But not the slap. She couldn't slap me.

Without thinking, I pushed her away. It was barely a touch – my arms were so weak that I couldn't have knocked over a glass if I tried. My palm met her shoulder, and she stumbled back half a step.

Then she fell.

She fell to the floor like a sack of flour, and she screamed.

"My stomach! Help! Someone help me! She attacked me! I'm pregnant – I'm carrying Kane's pup – someone help!"

I stared at my hands. I stared at her writhing on the floor. I couldn't understand what was happening. I had barely touched her. I was so weak that I couldn't even lift a cup of water without my hands trembling. How could I have pushed her hard enough to fall?

Kane came running.

He burst through the door and saw Vivra on the ground. Her face was twisted in pain – fake pain, I realized, watching her eyes flick toward me for just a second, watching the corner of her mouth twitch into something almost like a smile.

Then she saw Kane, and the fake pain became a mask of terror and agony.

"Kane," she sobbed. "Kane, help me. She pushed me. She tried to kill our pup."

Kane turned to look at me.

His face was stone. His eyes were cold. Cold and empty and full of something that looked like hatred.

"Selene," he said. His voice was low. Dangerous. "What did you do?"

"Kane, I didn't – she's lying – I barely touched her –"

"You barely touched her? She's on the floor, Selene. She's pregnant. She's carrying my child."

"I know, but –"

"Seven years ago, you cheated on me. You broke my heart. You threw me away like I was nothing. And now, when I finally found someone new, when I finally moved on, you come back and you attack her?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. What could I say? The truth? He wouldn't believe me. He never believed me.

Kane walked toward me. His footsteps were heavy on the wooden floor. He stopped in front of my wheelchair.

Then he kicked it.

Once. Twice. The chair shuddered under me. My body jolted.

Then he shoved it backward.

The wheelchair rolled across the room, hit the edge of a table, and tipped over. I fell. My head slammed against the corner of the table. I heard a crack – the table leg, or my skull, I couldn't tell. Something warm ran down my face. Blood.

I lay on the floor, surrounded by broken plates and spilled water and shards of glass. My ears rang. My vision blurred.

Kane didn't look at me.

He picked up Vivra. He cradled her in his arms like she was made of glass. He kissed her forehead. He whispered something in her ear – something soft and gentle, words I couldn't hear.

Then he carried her out the door.

He didn't look back.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling. The tavern owner rushed in, then the staff, then pack warriors. Someone was shouting for a healer. Someone else was cleaning the blood off my face.

I grabbed the Beta's sleeve – he had appeared out of nowhere, his face pale with shock.

"Tell my mother," I said. My voice was barely a whisper. "Tell her not to blame him. Tell her this was my choice. My fault. Tell her... tell her I'm sorry. I can't stay with her anymore."

The Beta's face crumpled. He nodded.

I closed my eyes.

Seven years. Seven years of fighting. Seven years of hoping. Seven years of dreaming about seeing Kane Blackwood one more time.

I had seen him.

That was enough.