CHAPTER 3

Ciara's POV

His eyebrows rose. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." I held his gaze, refusing to let him see how my hands trembled beneath the sheets. "You want to marry me. I need protection. It seems a fair exchange."

"Fair." He tasted the word like wine, his eyes never leaving mine. "How remarkably pragmatic of you. And here I thought you might require more convincing. Perhaps some dramatic declarations or false promises of affection." There was something almost rueful in his tone, as if he wished those things were possible.

"I am not a child," I said, though part of me felt exactly like one—lost and frightened and desperately out of my depth. "I know this is not about love. You have your reasons for wanting this marriage, and I have mine for accepting. That is enough."

"Is it?" He leaned closer, bracing one hand on the headboard above me. This close, I could see the flecks of silver in his black eyes, like stars in a night sky. His other hand lifted, hovering near my face as if he wanted to touch me but could not quite allow himself the liberty. "You do realize what you are agreeing to, do you not? Marriage to the bastard son. The one your precious pack considers beneath them." His voice dropped lower, almost gentle despite the harsh words. "Your reputation, already in tatters, will be completely destroyed."

"My reputation is already gone," I said quietly. "Kaden made sure of that."

Something fierce flashed in his expression—protective and angry on my behalf. His fingers finally made contact, the barest brush against my temple as he tucked back a loose strand of hair. The gesture was so careful, so tender, it made my chest ache.

"So you would rather be the bastard's wife than the rejected bride," he murmured, his voice softer now. "Interesting choice, little wolf."

"It is the only choice I have."

His jaw tightened at that, and for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to argue. Instead, he pulled back, creating distance between us though his hand lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.

"I wonder if you truly understand what you are agreeing to," he said, and there was something almost vulnerable in the way he watched me, as if my answer mattered more than it should.

Probably not. Almost certainly not.

But understanding was a luxury for people with options, and I had none.

"First, you must return home," he said, and I watched him school his features into something more controlled, though tension remained in his shoulders.

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"Propriety, Ciara." He glanced back at me. "No matter what agreement we have reached, the pack has rules. A highborn she-wolf cannot simply disappear into my household without proper procedure." He moved toward the door, but his gaze kept returning to me, as if pulled by an invisible thread. "I must speak with the Alpha first, make my intentions known officially. And you..." His lips curved into something that was not quite a smile, though there was concern in his eyes. "You must face your family one last time."

"They will not let me leave again."

He turned back sharply at that, crossing the room in three strides. His hand found mine before he seemed to realize what he was doing, his fingers curling around my bandaged ones with surprising gentleness. "They will have no choice." 

The intensity in his gaze made my breath catch. For a moment, we simply looked at each other, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand as if the gesture was unconscious.

Then he seemed to catch himself and released me, stepping back and calling into the hallway. "Marcus!"

A stern-faced man appeared within seconds, bowing slightly. "My lord?"

"Prepare the carriage. Miss Ciara will be returning to her father's house." Draven's eyes found mine again, and despite the formal words, there was something warm and reassuring in his expression. "I will be visiting the Alpha this morning. By afternoon, your father will understand that you are no longer his to dispose of as he sees fit."

The possessiveness in that statement—his—should have frightened me. Instead, it made me feel safer than I had in years.

Marcus bowed again and disappeared.

I pushed myself up straighter in the bed, ignoring the protest of my still-recovering body. "And if something happens before then? If he—"

"Nothing will happen." Draven moved back to my bedside, and his hand lifted as if to cup my face before he caught himself, redirecting the gesture to grip the bedpost instead. "I give you my word, Ciara. You are under my protection now." 

He studied me for a long moment, conflict clear in his expression—as if he wanted to say more but could not allow himself. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter.

"You chose this path. Now walk it. Show them you are no longer the obedient girl who kneels in the snow."

There was pride in his voice when he said it. Pride in me.

"But remember," he added, and now his hand did touch my face, just briefly, his knuckles brushing my cheek with heartbreaking tenderness, "you do not walk it alone."

---

The carriage that brought me home was fine—too fine for someone like me. Black lacquer with silver trim, the Stormclaw crest deliberately absent from its sides. Marcus had helped me inside with careful formality, as if I were already someone who mattered.

"Lord Draven will speak with the Alpha this morning," Marcus had said as the carriage began to move. "He will make his intentions known officially. Until then, miss, you must return home. Propriety demands it."

I had nodded, though the word propriety felt like a bitter joke in my mouth.

Now the carriage stopped in front of my father's house. Through the window, I could see the steps where I had knelt three nights ago. Someone had swept away the snow, erasing all evidence of what had happened there.

How convenient.

Marcus opened the door and offered his hand. "Miss Ciara. Lord Draven will send word when arrangements are finalized. Do not fear—he will not be long."

I nodded and stepped down, my legs still weak but stronger than they had been. The healer's work had been thorough, and two days of rest had helped. I was not the half-frozen girl who had collapsed in the snow.

But I was not sure who I was now, either.

The carriage pulled away, leaving me alone at the bottom of the steps. I stared at the door, gathering what remained of my courage.

*Show them you are no longer the obedient girl who kneels in the snow.*

I started to climb.

The moment I stepped through the door, a porcelain vase hurtled through the air and shattered at my feet, shards exploding across the stone.

"How dare you!" My father roared as he stormed out onto the landing. His face was mottled red with rage, spittle flying from his lips. "How dare you show your face here after what you have done!"

I froze, my hand gripping the railing. For a moment—just a moment—I was that obedient girl again, the one who would bow her head and accept whatever punishment he deemed appropriate.

But that girl had died in the snow.

"Father," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I live here."

"You lived here!" He descended the steps toward me, his fist raised. "Before you humiliated this family! Before you disgraced the name I gave you! Before you—"

His hand came down.

I moved.

Years of training in combat forms, dismissed as unnecessary for a Luna candidate, suddenly proved their worth. I twisted aside and his fist met empty air. The momentum of his swing carried him forward, and he stumbled, catching himself on the railing.

The shock on his face was almost worth everything that had happened.

"You..." He straightened, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You dare to dodge? To resist?"

"Yes." The word came out cold, final. "I dare."

"You ungrateful—" His face went from red to purple. "You bring nothing but shame to this house! You fail to secure the engagement your mother died arranging! You let the Alpha's heir reject you in front of the entire pack! And then—" He advanced on me again, his voice rising to a shriek. "Then you spend days away without a word, returning with some strange man's servant as if—as if—"

"As if what?" I met his eyes, refusing to look away. "As if I am not the perfect, obedient daughter you wanted? I never was, Father. You just never bothered to notice."

"How dare you speak to me this way!" His hand rose again. "Your punishment is not complete! You knelt for barely three hours before you disappeared—"

"Three hours?" I laughed. "In weather cold enough to limit shifting. You know what happens when a wolf cannot shift to generate heat. You know exactly what you were sentencing me to."

Something flickered across his face. Guilt, perhaps. Or simply annoyance at being called out.

It lasted less than a heartbeat before anger consumed it again.

"I did what was necessary to teach you humility!" He took another step toward me. "You needed to understand the severity of your failure! Instead, you run away, you bring more shame upon us by letting people question how I raised you—"

"Ciara, darling."

My stepmother's voice dripped like honey as she descended the stairs. Elara moved with grace, one hand trailing along the railing, the other reaching out to touch my father's shoulder in a soothing gesture.

"My love, please." She gave him a gentle smile. "Your blood pressure. You know what the healer said."

My father's breathing was ragged, but he stepped back, allowing Elara to position herself between us. She looked at me with an expression that might have passed for concern if not for the cold calculation in her eyes.

"Oh, Ciara." She sighed, shaking her head. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Nothing," I said flatly. "You are going to do nothing with me."

"Now, now. I know you are upset, but there is no need for hostility." Elara's smile widened. "We are family, after all. And family takes care of each other, even when... difficulties arise."

"Difficulties." I repeated the word like it was poison. "Is that what we are calling it?"

"Your reputation is in ruins, dear." She spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a simple child. "The entire pack knows you were rejected by the Alpha's heir. And then you disappear for three days, only to return with a strange man's carriage dropping you off like... well." She let the implication hang in the air. "People talk. They wonder. They judge."

"Let them."

"Oh, but we cannot." Elara's hand fluttered to her chest. "We must think of Seren. Of her future prospects. Having a sister with such a... tarnished reputation..." She turned to my father. "Darling, I think the only solution is to marry Ciara off quickly. Before more damage is done."

My father nodded slowly, his anger cooling into something worse—determination.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, that makes sense."

"And I have the perfect candidate." Elara's smile turned sharp. "Mr. Garrett next door has been widowed for five years now. He mentioned just last week that he would like to remarry. An older gentleman would be understanding of Ciara's... circumstances."

Mr. Garrett.

The neighbor who was my father's age. Whose last wife had died under mysterious circumstances—a fall down the stairs, they said, though the bruises on her face told a different story. Who spent his evenings drinking himself into violent rages that the entire street could hear.

They wanted to marry me to him.

"How thoughtful." My voice came out flat. "You really are concerned for my welfare, stepmother."

"Of course, dear." Elara placed her hand over her heart. "No matter what mistakes you make, no matter how much shame you bring to this family, we cannot simply abandon you. Your mother—Moon rest her soul—would never forgive us."

Don't. Don't you dare speak about her.

"We will send word to Mr. Garrett this afternoon," my father said, his voice businesslike now. As if he were arranging a trade of livestock. "He is a respectable wolf from a good family. You should be grateful anyone will have you after—"

"No."

The word cut through the air like a blade.

My father blinked. "What?"

"I said no." I straightened my spine, drawing on every lesson in deportment I had ever learned, using that training to mask the terror churning in my gut. "I will not marry Mr. Garrett."

"You will do as you are told!" My father's face went red again. "You ungrateful, stupid girl! Do you not understand what we are trying to do for you?"

"Oh, I understand perfectly." Something inside me cracked, years of silence breaking apart. "You want to be rid of me. You wanted me to die in the snow, and when that failed, you will settle for marrying me off to a man who will likely kill me within a year. At least then, my death will not be on your hands."

"How dare you!" Elara gasped. "Your father loves you! We both do! We are trying to help you despite your complete disregard for this family's wellbeing!"

"Help me?" I laughed, the sound verging on hysterical. "You are trying to help me by sending me to a known drunk who beat his last wife to death?"

"She fell—"

"She fell after he hit her!" I shouted. "Everyone knows it! Just like everyone knows you convinced my father to leave me in the snow to freeze! Just like everyone knows you have wanted me gone since the day you married him!"

"Ciara." My father's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Apologize to your mother. Now."

"She is not my mother!" The words ripped out of me, raw and bleeding. "My mother is dead! She has been dead for eight years, killed by heartbreak because you replaced her before her body was even cold! You brought this woman into our home, you gave her the place that should have been sacred, and then you stood by while she poisoned every memory of the woman who actually loved you!"

The silence that followed was absolute.

My father's face went white, then red, then a shade of purple I had never seen before.

"You will not speak of your mother," he said, his voice shaking with rage. "You will not use her memory as a weapon against me. I loved her. I mourned her. But life continues, Ciara, and I did what was necessary for this family!"

"You did what was convenient!" Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "You did what made your life easier! And now you are trying to kill me because I am inconvenient too!"

He moved so fast I did not see it coming.

His hand caught me across the face with a crack that echoed through the street. The force of it spun me around and I fell, my knees hitting the stone steps hard enough to send pain shooting up my legs.

"You will learn respect," my father snarled above me. "Even if I have to beat it into you."

I looked up at him through the hair that had fallen across my face. Looked at this man who had given me life but never love. Who had stood by while I was shaped and molded into someone else's dream. Who was now willing to sell me to a monster rather than admit he had failed as a father.

He raised his fist.