Chapter 6

Sylvia’s POV

"You can't just bring her into our home without even discussing it with me," I said, my voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

We stood in our bedroom, where hours ago I'd been celebrating the possibility of having pups, of fixing our marriage. Now those dreams felt like ashes in my mouth.

"What would you have me do, Sylvia?" Raven ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "You attacked a pregnant she-wolf."

"I slapped her," I cut in. "After she flaunted your credit card after she called herself your wife after she mocked our inability to have pups. One slap, Raven. And in return..."

I yanked up my skirt, revealing the angry red gashes that scored my thigh. The wounds still hadn't healed—a testament to my wolf's weakened state. "Look at what your precious widow did to me, Raven. Look!"

His eyes widened as he took in the wounds. For the first time since this mess began, I saw genuine shock cross his face. "She did this to you?" His fingers reached out but stopped short of touching the wounds.

"Oh, Raven!"

Astrid's voice cracked perfectly on his name as she appeared in our doorway. Her timing, as always, was impeccable.

Tears sparkled in her wide eyes, one hand pressed to her belly while the other braced against the doorframe. The very picture of a distressed pregnant woman.

"I was so scared," she whispered, those tears now sliding down her cheeks. "When she slapped me... all I could think about was the baby. James's baby." Her voice broke on his name. "I just... I reacted. My wolf... she only wanted to protect our pup."

I watched my mate's face, seeing the conflict war across his features. The wounds on my leg spoke of violence, but Astrid's tears spoke of vulnerability.

My strong, decisive Alpha—the man who could command hundreds of wolves with a single word—stood frozen between his mate and his supposed responsibility.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken accusations. Through our weakened bond, I felt his turmoil, his desire to protect both women before him.

"Astrid," he said finally, his voice carrying that Alpha authority I used to love. "Regardless of provocation, you attacked my mate. The Luna of this pack. That cannot happen."

Hope flared in my chest, bright and painful. Finally, he was seeing through her act—

"You're right!" Astrid's knees buckled as she sank to the floor, one hand still protectively curved over her belly.

The movement was graceful despite her apparent distress. Everything about her was always so perfectly choreographed.

"You're absolutely right, Alpha. Luna." She turned those tear-filled eyes to me.

"I was wrong. So wrong. I should never have let my fear control me. Without James, I just feel so... so vulnerable. Every threat seems so much bigger."

My wolf wanted to snarl, to expose her manipulation. But I'd played this game before.

Every time I reacted to her provocations, I looked like the aggressor. Every time I called out her manipulation, I seemed paranoid.

"Get up," I said coldly, watching her performance with new eyes. "Save your tears for someone who hasn't seen both your faces. The sweet, helpless widow you play for Raven, and the smirking manipulator who sent me that photo on our anniversary night."

"Sylvia!" Raven's reproachful tone made my wolf whimper. "She's apologizing. She's carrying James's pup—"

"James's pup," I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "How convenient. The perfect shield, isn't it? Every time you want something, every time you overstep, you just need to mention James or pat your belly, and everyone falls in line."

"Please," Astrid whispered, her voice small. "I know I've made mistakes, but I'm trying—"

"Trying to take my place?" I stepped toward her, noting how she shrank back even as her eyes glittered with challenge. "Trying to move into my home? Trying to steal my mate?"

"Enough!" Raven's Alpha voice resonated through the room. "Both of you need to calm down."

I turned to him, really looked at him. My mate. My Alpha. The man I'd loved since we were pups ourselves. Five years of marriage, of building a life together, and he still couldn't see what was right in front of him.

"No," I said quietly. "No more calming down. No more understanding. No more compromises." I met his eyes steadily. "One of us needs to leave this house, Raven. Your mate, or your... whatever she is to you. Choose."

Astrid's soft sobs provided the perfect backdrop to our drama. Everything about her was perfect—her timing, her tears, her helpless widow act. And I was done competing with it.

Raven straightened, his Alpha authority filling the room. "Astrid, please wait downstairs. I need to speak with my mate alone."

She hesitated, her hand still pressed to her belly, but even she couldn't disobey a direct Alpha command. As she left, her scent—jasmine and honey—lingered unpleasantly in our bedroom.

I turned back to my closet, yanking clothes from hangers. "There's nothing to discuss. You've made your choice clear."

"Stop." His hands caught mine from behind, stilling my frantic movements.

His chest pressed against my back, his scent—pine needles and winter frost—surrounding me, making my wolf stir with longing despite everything. "Just... stop, little wolf."

"Don't call me that," I whispered, but didn't pull away. His warmth was achingly familiar, reminding me of countless intimate moments we'd shared in this room.

"Let me at least tend to your wounds," he murmured, his breath warm against my neck.

I hesitated...

He guided me to sit on our bed, the same bed where just this morning I'd dreamed of having his pups.

He knelt before me, gently examining the gashes on my thigh. Through our weakened bond, I felt his genuine distress at seeing me injured.

"These should have healed by now," he said softly, reaching for the medicinal salve.

His fingers were gentle as they spread the cooling substance over my wounds. "Your wolf's healing..."

"Has been weak for months," I finished. "But you've been too busy with Astrid to notice."

His hands stilled on my leg. Then they moved higher, past the wounds to uninjured skin. The mate bond hummed between us as his touch became less clinical, more intimate.

"I've noticed everything about you," he murmured, his eyes darkening as they met mine.

"Your scent changing. Your wolf's quietness. The way you pull away from me."

His hands slid higher, making me gasp. "I've just been too much of a fool to do anything about it."

"Raven..." I meant it as a warning, but it came out as a plea.

His lips found mine, tasting of regret and desire. Each kiss felt like an apology, each touch a promise. The mate bond sparked between us, stronger than it had been in months, carrying echoes of his guilt, his love, his need.

I should have stopped him. Should have maintained my anger, and my resolve. But five years of love don't die easily, even when poisoned by betrayal. And right now, with his scent surrounding me, his hands erasing every memory of pain, I needed this connection.