2

Then, a month after Katrina and Adrian were paired, she found her fated mate. The real deal, the one the Moon Goddess picks for you. And what did she do? She rejected him. Flat-out turned her back on her true mate to stay with Adrian, to keep her shiny Luna title. I don’t know if it was love or power she was chasing, but it made me sick. Still does. She parades around like she’s untouchable, lording it over everyone, especially me.

Katrina came back into the dining room, brushing past me where I stood against the wall, trying to fade into the background. I kept my head down, desperate to avoid their never-ending drama. Then a loud crash split the air—glass shattering on the hardwood floor, wine splattering like blood. “Oops,” Katrina said, her voice dripping with fake innocence as she turned to me. “Looks like you now have something to keep you busy instead of standing here being lazy.” I bit my lip hard and dropped to my knees, picking up the broken pieces of glass. *I’m used to this*, I told myself, trying to calm the fire raging in my chest. My hands moved fast, gathering the shards while her words burned in my ears.

She flounced to the table, letting out a dramatic sigh as she sank into her chair, like she’d just run a marathon instead of breaking a wine glass to mess with me. I kept my focus on the floor, ignoring the sting of her words, the way they dug into me like claws. The pack members around the table didn’t even glance my way—they just kept eating, laughing, acting like I was invisible. Fine by me. The less they noticed me, the better.

Once they finally finished their meal, I cleared the table, scraping plates and stacking them in the kitchen. My hands moved on autopilot, washing dishes, wiping counters, prepping for dinner. My mind, though, was somewhere else. In three days, Iron Fang’s ninety-sixth anniversary was coming up—yeah, just one day after my eighteenth birthday. Not that my birthday mattered to anyone here. The pack would be throwing a big celebration for the anniversary, and guess who’d be stuck cooking and cleaning? Me. Always me. They had head cooks and omegas who strutted around with fancy titles, but when it came to the actual work i was the one who do all the damn work while they took the credit.

I was so lost in my thoughts, stirring a pot of sauce and chopping carrots, that I didn’t hear the kitchen door swing open. Not until Katrina’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. “What are we having for dinner, slave?” she called out, leaning over to peer into the pot, her perfume choking the air. I didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her. I just kept chopping, the knife thumping against the cutting board. “Are you deaf or something?” she snapped, her voice sharper now. I stayed silent, focusing on the carrots, pretending she wasn’t there. “Ignoring me, huh?” she said, and I could hear the smirk in her voice as she stepped closer.

I braced myself, knowing what was coming. Katrina wasn’t one to let things slide—she always had to make a point. Sure enough, she went physical. “You bitch,” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking it back hard. I yelped, the sound slipping out before I could stop it, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes from the sharp pain. “Let me go, please, you’re hurting me,” I choked out, my voice shaking. She just laughed, cold and cruel. “Aww, poor little thing. Begging now, are we?” Her grip didn’t loosen. “What are you cooking?” she demanded again, her breath hot against my face.

“Steak… steak with sauce,” I stammered, the words tumbling out as she pulled harder, my scalp screaming. “Hmm,” she said, like she was inspecting some fancy dish at a restaurant, not torturing me in the kitchen. She still didn’t let go. “Let me go, Katrina,” I said, my voice tight with pain, barely holding it together.

“What did you just call me?” she yelled, her face twisting. “You bitch, you still can’t accept that I’m your Luna!” She raised her hand, and I braced myself, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the slap to land. But before it could, a voice boomed from the doorway. “That’s enough!” Adrian’s voice, deep and sharp, cut through the room like a whip.

Katrina’s hand froze mid-air, then dropped. She let go of my hair, and I stumbled back, my scalp throbbing. “Oh, baby,” she said, spinning toward Adrian, her voice suddenly all sweet and pitiful. “You have no idea what this worthless slave said to me!” She pressed a hand to her chest, playing the victim like she was born for the role. “She said I’m not fit to be your mate and Luna!”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I hadn’t said a damn thing like that—hadn’t said anything at all except what I was cooking. My mouth opened to protest, but no words came out. I just stood there, stunned, my hands trembling as I gripped the counter behind me.

“Enough, Katrina,” Adrian said, his voice low but firm. He didn’t even look at me, just turned and walked out, his boots heavy on the floor. Katrina’s jaw dropped, and for a split second, I saw shock flash across her face. Then it turned to fury. “What the hell, Adrian?” she shrieked, storming after him. “You’re just gonna let this bitch insult me and walk away scot-free?” Her voice echoed down the hall as she chased him, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

I turned back to the pot, my head still pounding where she’d yanked my hair. My hands shook as I stirred the sauce, the steam rising in little curls. I wanted to scream, to throw the pot across the room, to tell them all what I really thought. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.