Chapter 3

ISABELLE'S POV

My mind swam, and I thought my legs would give out beneath me. I wanted to scream, but not a sound could leave my lips.

Lyra hadn't moved a muscle. She sat perched on the bed like a dove but glowered at me with snake-like eyes. She didn't scramble to cover herself with the bedsheets. She didn't turn red from embarrassment. All she did was watch me—as if she'd been waiting for this moment for a long time. Michael was different. The moment he sensed my presence, he scrambled out of bed.

There was silence for a second. A heavy silence. But not heavier than the truth I'd just realized.

"You want to kill me," I breathed out, my heart thudding like a bass drum. It wasn't a question. It was a fact.

"Tell me I misheard you. Tell me it's not true," I screamed, my gaze shifting between them before settling on Lyra.

"And you! You bloody bitch!" I lunged at my sister, claws drawn out, but she laughed in my face. For the first time, when I looked at her, I didn't want to be humble and meek. I wanted to hurt her. And perhaps I would've succeeded if Michael hadn't stepped between us like a brick wall.

"Why are you defending her?" I yelled, pounding at his chest. The urge to claw at his face wrestled with my self-control. Could I take him in a fight? I didn't think so. And from what I'd heard them say, I wasn't sure if he'd mind if he killed me.

"He's defending me because he loves me," Lyra spoke up from her perch, filing her claws as though this were the most boring theatre performance she had ever attended. "You wouldn't understand that, Isabelle. You're so used to being worshipped by everyone."

Lyra reached for him and wrapped her arms around Michael's neck, a playful light shimmering in her eyes. "I just wanted something for myself."

My gaze narrowed on her. "Something for yourself? You stay the fuck away from him!"

"Oh, please. You have nothing to complain about. You got chosen by an Alpha. Publicly. Can't you at least be grateful for that?"

"Grateful? You wretched whore," I yelled at her, cursing her. But all she could do was laugh. I was a joke to her—the punchline.

"Isabelle, stop," Michael called sternly, reaching out for me. Lyra's face fell as he stepped away from her and toward me. I swallowed hard, curling my hands into fists at my sides. "You're better than this, my love. I've never known you to be so jealous. This isn't what it looks like," he said, cupping my cheek gently in the palm of his hand. He felt like warm velvet. So familiar, so tender that I almost leaned into it. Then I remembered how I found him.

I slapped his hand away, ignoring the look of disapproval drawn all over his lying face. Did he think I was stupid? Naive? Is that what he thought of me?

"Not what it looks like? What about what it sounds like? I heard every word."

There was another second of silence. Then his expression hardened, and he looked at me the same way he would at an enemy. It made my wolf cower inside me.

"I could call the guards to take you away, and no one would challenge me," he threatened, his words dripping with venom. My breath caught in my throat as I held the gaze of the man who had given me his heart just a day ago. No, this wasn't the same person. How could someone pretend like that for so long?

I lifted my head in defiance, my next words shocking both of us. "Then call them," I retorted. Michael's expression flickered.

Summoning all the courage I could muster, I stood my ground. "I'll tell everyone what you are. And you won't get as much as a drop of my blood." My voice trembled, but I forced myself to continue. "And without me, you'll die a slow and painful death. Alone."

"You're a cheat and a manipulative bastard," I went on, pointing an accusing finger at him. "And I'm going to tell every single one of those wolves who kiss the ground you walk on."

The earth stood still as the words left my lips. For a moment, he simply stared at me. At first, he appeared astonished by my threat. Then the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. What was once surprise had morphed into amusement. A lowly wolf like me threatening an Alpha? How comical.

"Honestly, Isabelle. I thought you were smarter than that," he told me, amber eyes glowing as he scowled.

My heart pounded, and my lip quivered as I watched his eyes darken. Then he turned toward my sister. "Lyra. Leave."

Her head snapped toward him. "What?"

"Now." The single word echoed through the room, causing a shiver to run down my spine.

Lyra hesitated, her eyes darting between us.

"But Michael—"

"Now."

Hurriedly, she climbed from the bed, clearly furious, and stalked toward the door. But when she passed me, she slowed her steps. For a second, our eyes met.

There was no guilt or remorse in hers. Just pure, raw hatred.

Then she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

Michael turned back to me, a vein throbbing in his neck. "You have a lot of nerve speaking to her like that."

"To her? I'm the Luna," I retorted, eyes narrowed on the man I wasn't sure I knew anymore.

"Not officially. We're not even married yet," he pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone, as if proposing to me yesterday hadn't been his idea.

"How can you say that?"

Michael scoffed aloud. "Oh please, Isabelle. You women are so emotional. It's only natural. All the Alphas of the past were polygamous."

"They didn't plot to kill their wives!"

"That was your sister. I would never—"

My hand flew to his face before he could finish that sentence. I could see the mark of my handprint on his cheek. Then his breathing became hot and heavy. Something about his face had changed. He looked twisted and dark—nothing at all like the man I'd known for years. Had that man ever existed? Even for a moment in time?

"You'd dare raise your hand against me? Your Alpha?"

My heart lurched, and my stomach sank like a stone in a lake. Before I could answer, his hand closed around my throat. I gasped, grabbing his wrist.

"Michael—"

"You were always so obedient."

He stepped closer, tilting his head as he examined my face, which was slowly draining of blood. "You were so gentle."

He tightened his grip, causing me to gasp for what little air I could.

"And now you're threatening me? You? You wouldn't be in this palace if it weren't for me, you ungrateful wench."

Panic surged through me. He wanted to kill me. Michael actually wanted to kill me. No, I couldn't let him do this to me.

With the little strength I could summon, I scraped my claws across his skin. He recoiled for half a second, touching the mark I'd left on his face.

Then his eyes found mine. The anger I saw in them made my blood run cold. Was this what his enemies had seen that made them cower in fear?

"You bitch," he yelled, lifting me off the ground as I kicked in vain. My heart hammered against my ribs. I fought and struggled, but it was useless. He was stronger. So much stronger.

And suddenly, I understood that this wasn't a fight.

He could actually kill me. He had always been able to. I'd been sleeping next to a man who could take my life in my sleep. And I had trusted him. Why? How could I let this happen to myself? What could I have possibly done to get here? It was all because of this cursed power. This cursed gift. This wretched blood flowing in my veins.

Tears blurred my vision.

"Michael…"

He carried me to the balcony. The same balcony where he'd once held me against his chest and whispered how much he loved me. The same balcony where I'd stood beside him and imagined our future together.

"No," I choked out. His gaze remained fixed on mine, a teasing look dancing in his eyes.

"Lyra was right about you." His voice was frighteningly calm, as though nothing about this made him feel the least bit remorseful. Had he ever loved me? Had he ever?

"You're weak. Naive. Expendable."

My heart shattered like broken glass. Not because of the words. But because those words were coming from him.

The sea breeze rushed against my face. I could feel the droplets of water kissing my cheeks, reminding me that I was alive.

I looked down at the waves crashing against sharp rocks below. Then I turned my eyes toward him again, pleading, begging for mercy. I didn't want to die. Not yet. I wasn't ready.

I'd lived my whole life following the rules set out for me, and look where that had gotten me—held by the man I had once loved, and not in the way I wanted.

Now all I felt was hate. I hated him for lying. I hated Lyra as well. I hated him for not even feeling a little bit of guilt or sorrow. But I still needed his mercy if I wanted to see another day.

That was the worst part. Needing his mercy.

I heard the door swing open, and a familiar sound of footsteps made their way toward us. Lyra smirked as she looked down at me, triumph drawn all over her pretty features.

"How does it feel, sister? How does it feel knowing you're going to die?"

"Please," I begged, feeling hot, prickly tears run down my face.

Michael stared at me. He knew I was helpless. They knew I couldn't do anything to save myself, and they were savouring the sight of me in this state. He was a cat playing with its food before devouring it. And she was the audience.

"You will learn respect, Isabelle." His voice was cold and thick with contempt. "And death will be the perfect lesson."

The last thing I saw was Michael and Lyra above me, watching. She held on to him the same way I did, and to rub salt in the wound, she kissed his neck.

Then his grip disappeared.

For one terrifying moment, there was nothing beneath me. Nor was there anything to hold on to.

All I could hear was the rush of the wind around me. All I could feel was the cold of the ocean as I crashed into it. For a fraction of a second, as I fell onto the sharp rocks below, the familiar metallic scent of my blood assaulted my senses. Darkness enveloped me. And I felt death grasp me in its cold, icy hands.

Perhaps, if I had another chance…

If the Moon Goddess truly favoured me, she would offer mercy and spare my life. I can't die. Not like this. And especially not at the hands of a man who had never loved me.