Chapter 16 – The Mark’s Tax

Utterly humiliated, I sprinted into the clearing, tears blurring my vision, and crashed headlong into a solid wall of muscle.

Menelik caught me just in time, his hands steady on my shoulders, preventing me from collapsing face down into the mud. I froze, forehead pressed against his chest, gasping as if the air might refuse to fill my lungs. My ribs ached with each breath, and my soul felt laid bare, exposed for him to see.

“Amani? What’s wrong?” His voice was calm, a steady anchor in the storm raging inside me.

At that moment, the dam shattered.

Words spilled from me. I told him about the Council’s decision, Zebub’s smug smile, how Vance looked at her as if I were just a forgotten ledger to be tucked away. I kept the secret of the Lycan’s bite, the horror my father had revealed, locked in my throat. But everything else erupted, spilling out like a wound torn open. Humiliation at being replaced, the cold hall, my husband practically handing my life over to a rogue.

Menelik listened, jaw clenched tight as I poured my pain out. Then he pulled me in, arms firm and consoling, enveloping me in a scent that was entirely wild and strangely comforting.

“Wait,” he whispered against my ear. “All will fall into place. Remember that Zebub’s a rogue. Rogues are unpredictable, unstable. They  are creatures of chaos who cannot stay in order for long. She’ll slip up, snap, lose her patience, or greed will override her. And she’ll reveal exactly what poison Vance has invited into his bed. You just need to be there to see her fall. Stay alive, Amani. Stay sharp.”

His words offered comfort, but behind his steady gaze, I could feel his mind was a storm.

But seeing me, shattered and trembling in his arms, something in him began to crack. The rain misted over us, cooling the night but doing nothing to ease the heavy tension. The despair I carried collided with the quiet intensity in him, sparking a strong friction.

Menelik seemed to lose his restraint, pulled toward me by a gravity neither of us could resist.

His fingers traced my jaw, tilting my face up. For a moment, he simply stared, his eyes dark with a desire that had nothing to do with instinct.

Then, he leaned in.

At first, he kissed me softly, a tentative, questioning brush of lips, offering peace, a fragile anchor in the chaos. But as soon as our skin touched, the softness vanished. A jolt of raw lust shot through me, hot and all-consuming, making my toes curl in the mud.

A low moan escaped me as my fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, turning into a desperate, fiery collision. Menelik’s tongue swept against mine, and suddenly, the rain, the trees, the looming threat of the pack, all moved to the background. There was only the taste of him, the scent of the wild forest, and the crushing, magnificent strength of his body pressed against mine.

He backed me against a rough oak, hands sliding to my waist, lifting me until my legs wrapped around his hips.

The contact was seismic. I felt every muscle of his chest, the heat radiating through his clothes, the pounding of his heart against mine.

“I want you for myself, Amani,” he whispered, breath hot at my lips.

No love confession— too soon, too dangerous— but the possessiveness in his tone made my blood race with a terrifying thrill.

“Away from that house. Away from him. I want you where he can’t touch you again. Where you belong only to the moon and to me.”

His lips moved to my neck, teeth grazing perilously close to Vance’s mark.

Each touch was a bold claim, a rebellion against the tether that bound me. I arched my back, breath hitching as he traced fire down my throat. His hands explored my curves, pulling me closer, as if trying to merge our souls right there in the mud.

It was reckless, passionate, an intense blur where the line between us dissolved into a shared, desperate need.

For a few fleeting moments, I was lost.

Forget the Council, the rogue girl in my packhouse. Forget I was a Luna in exile. I was just a woman, alive and wanted, sinking into the heat of a man who saw me as something extraordinary, something worth fighting for.

Then, suddenly, reality hit hard.

A sharp, invasive pain centered right on the mark on my neck. The bond flared, a cold, possessive pulse, jealous and savage.

It was a reminder: I was still property.

If I pushed further, if I surrendered to this heat, Vance would feel it. Through the tether, he’d sense the betrayal of the bond. He’d know the moment my loyalty faltered, and he’d use it as his final excuse to discard me.

“No!” I gasped, the word torn from my throat as the pain intensified.

The shift from pleasure to piercing clarity was like being doused in ice. I shoved Menelik away with frantic strength, eyes wide with terror.

He stumbled back, lips still swollen, confusion clouding his face. His chest rose and fell, pupils dilated as he reached out for balance.

“Amani? What’s wrong?” he asked, trembling.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, hands flying to cover the burning mark on my neck, feeling it glow white-hot beneath my palms. The throb was a warning, a silent snarl from the Alpha still claiming my biology. “I… I have to go.”

I didn’t wait for protests, or questions, or even for the hurt to turn into anger. I turned and ran, my boots slipping on the mud, back toward the darkness of the packhouse. The remnants of his kiss still clung to me, heavy in my chest, a beautiful, dangerous secret.

I was heading back to a cage, to a man I hated.

But this time, I wasn’t just running for my status. I was running to keep the only man I’d ever truly wanted from becoming my executioner. As the rain turned into a relentless downpour, washing away the mud but not the memory of his touch, I understood: the mark wasn’t just a symbol of Vance’s power.

It was a prison. And the walls were closing in. I need to get rid of this.

As soon as possible.