009: Thr Alpha shadow

Selene’s POV

The villa doors yawed open before we even crossed the threshold. Two attendants stood in the entry, bowing as if they’d been waiting on my arrival all evening. Their faces were composed; their eyes betrayed the curiosity of those who know more than they dare say.

“Welcome, Luna,” the taller one murmured. “We’ve prepared your chamber.”

Of course they had.

Aric had called ahead.

Even here — in this private refuge that promised anonymity — his presence lingered like a scent. I was breathing because of his choice. I was alive, at least for the moment, because he’d decided I should be. That thought pressed into me with a weight I couldn’t decide if I liked or feared.

Diana and I drifted past marble floors and glass walls into a house that felt built from restraint and taste. High ceilings arched above, warm lantern light softened the edges, and the gardens beyond gleamed in discreet pools of silver. Nothing ostentatious. Everything deliberate. Aric’s world: power that didn’t shout.

They led us up a sweeping staircase and down a quiet corridor. “Here, Luna,” the attendant said, opening the door to a generous bedroom, all soft linens and muted light. “If you need anything, ring.”

“Thank you,” I breathed.

When the attendants left and the door clicked shut, silence rushed in like a tide. For a long moment I just stood, forehead to smooth cool wood, and let the noise of the world fall away.

Then it came back in a thousand small ways: the scandal beneath my name, the betrayal threaded through our marriage, the image of Lyra smiling while our children—pups that should have been mine—were tucked into another’s arms. My knees nearly went weak. I forced them to hold.

Rage rose first — hot, clean, and bright. Not the small, petulant anger of wounded pride but a fierce, clarifying heat. He had used me. Lied to me. Built a life in secret while I bled in the dark, thinking I was the problem. He’d treated our union like a bargain at market, a thing to be traded and valued.

Was I prepared to live tethered to a man who’d betrayed me at every turn? No.

But the road ahead would not be quiet. Severing a bond in the eyes of the pack was a war that started with whispers and ended with blood. Ivana would not surrender the narrative. She would move in shadows, send knives disguised as rumors to discredit me, paint me as reckless and unstable. I knew the machinery. I’d seen her run it.

A single hush of movement made me look over. The wall-mounted screen had come alive with its own glow. Someone had switched on the villa’s news feed.

There we were: my face next to Damon’s, Lyra’s poised smile above two wide, innocent pups. Headlines crawled in bold across the bottom:

BLOODM OON SCANDAL: LUNA DEMANDS BOND SEVERANCE

CAN THE ALPHA LEAD IF HE CAN’T HONOR HIS LUNA?

ROYAL BLOOD TAINTED: ARE THE PUPS LEGIT?

Each sentence landed like a strike. Not on me — on him. Damon’s carefully constructed mask hadn’t fallen. I had merely set a crack in it, and now the press hammered at the seams.

I’d once told him that if he betrayed me, I wouldn’t let him keep anything he’d gained through our union. That had sounded like bravado in a gilded hall. Now the words felt prophetic.

A soft buzz on the nightstand made me start. My phone flashed an unfamiliar number. I hesitated — then answered.

“Selene.”

Aric’s voice slid into the room like smoke curling over embers. My chest tightened at the sound.

“How did you—” I began, then stopped. Of course he had my number. Of course he’d set things in motion.

“I arranged the villa,” he said simply. “Made sure you had a working line and that you’d arrived safely. I wanted to know you were—” He paused, as if choosing the right word. “—settled.”

Something softened inside me, dangerous and betraying. Relief flickered, then was smothered by caution. He’d done so much for me already. Why? Protection or possession? I couldn’t tell which I feared more.

“You called to check on my comfort?” I tried for dry. A humorless little edge peeked out, but beneath it, something like warmth.

A low chuckle, and then, “I’m glad you can still find that scrap of humor.”

I told him I’d just arrived, that the room was gracious and the staff obliging. He told me to save his number, not to hesitate to call. “If you need anything—no hesitation,” he said.

I wanted to invite him over, to ask if he’d come sit in the garden and let the world burn without me, but the idea felt reckless. Too intimate. Too much.

Instead I gave him a brittle “Thank you,” and ended the call.

I slipped out of the heavy gown that still smelled faintly of palace incense and let it pool on the floor like the ghost of who I’d been. A silk robe replaced it — something soft and merciful against skin that had been taught taut by obligation for too long.

Then, on a childish impulse, I rang for a maid. “Do you have ice cream?” I asked.

“Yes, Luna,” the maid said without hesitation. “Vanilla and dark chocolate.”

Minutes later I curled on the small sofa with a bowl in my lap, the spoon warm between my fingers. It should have felt foolish. Indulgent. Immature. It did. And it also felt like the first truly private thing I’d done in years.

The television continued its relentless commentary. Talkers opined, pundits pretended depth, and the world debated whether my defiance was brave or mad. They argued about succession, about honor, about whether I had done the right thing. Some defended Damon. Some called for the pack’s elders to step in. The noise scraped at my nerves and made me strangely glad for the small, ordinary sweetness melting on my tongue.

Good, I thought. Let them all burn. Let Ivana spin her webs. Let the press gnash like wolves at the heels of whatever remained of the court. I would not spend my breath policing their lies to save the man who’d given me cause to betray myself.

The phone buzzed again. This time a message: a single, clipped line from Aric — Rest. We begin properly when you are ready. No flourish, no sign of ownership. Just a promise and a plan.

I closed my eyes. The silk against my skin felt like an armor I could actually move in.

Diana perched on the arm of the sofa, always practical, always the steady anchor. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

I nodded. “I am.” It was both true and not. True because I was no longer his possession. Not because the path forward was a battlefield I’d never chosen.

I ate until the bowl was empty, feeling the ridiculousness of it, the freedom in the small ritual. No one was watching me eat. No one was pronouncing judgment as I lifted a spoonful to my lips. For the first time in years, I could do something for myself.

When the maid cleared the dishes, she paused in the doorway, eyes steady. “Lord Aric will be around tonight,” she said. No question. No apology. Just fact.

My pulse quickened, not from surprise but from a new, unfamiliar something. Anticipation? Fear? The stirring of an old hunger.

I stood and crossed to the window. The gardens below were a study in shadow and light: clipped hedges, a reflecting pond, lanterns that trembled like watchful eyes. Somewhere, a wolf barked in the night. The sound felt like an invocation.

Outside the villa, the world spun. The court seethed. Ivana was already moving her pieces. Damon would be desperate. My father humiliated. Lyra—center of this storm—would hold her head high and pretend she’d done nothing but answer a call.

Aric’s voice — steady, unadorned — settled behind me. “Eat well,” he said.

I didn’t turn immediately. When I did, he stood in the doorway like someone who had stepped out of shadow and into truth. Casual jacket, one sleeve rolled, eyes like winter steel and something else I hadn’t named yet.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said.

His mouth tilted, half a smile. “You left a mess burning. I didn’t want it to take you with it.”

There it was again — the sliver of something proprietary wrapped in concern.

“Why me?” I asked, voice softer than I intended.

“Because you are not the kind of Luna to fall and stay down,” he said. “Because whatever the court says, you still have teeth.”

The words hit me like a promise. I stepped closer until the air between us hummed. “And if I bite?”

“Then we deal with the aftermath,” he replied simply. “Together.”

That single line — that offer — knocked something loose inside me. It was not protection I sought in him. It was the possibility of being chosen when I had never asked to be. It was an ache for allegiance that was not purchased with favors and whispered bargains.

Outside, the moon rode high, silver and indifferent. I drew in a breath, and the night tasted like the first breath after a long, painful winter.

“Rest,” Aric said again, softer. “Tomorrow we plan.”

I let my head fall back against the cushion and watched the silk ruffle at my collarbone. A small, private smile ghosted my mouth.

For the first time since the packhouse, I felt like someone who might survive what came next — not untouchable, not invulnerable, but dangerous in my own right.

And dangerous was a beginning.