Chapter 8 – Lilith’s Warning

The packhouse garden was beautiful in a way that felt almost cruel.

Moonlight spilled across the stone paths, glimmering on the dew that clung to silverleaf bushes and flowering vines. White roses curled along the trellis, their scent delicate, carried on the night breeze. Bella walked slowly, her hands clasped before her, trying to breathe in the calm.

It was the first quiet she had found in days.

Within the walls of Stormfang, there was never peace—only laughter that mocked, stares that stripped her bare, and Lucian’s silence pressing against her chest like iron chains. Here, among the roses, she could almost pretend she was anywhere else.

Almost.

The crunch of footsteps on the gravel snapped her from her thoughts. Bella turned, her chest tightening.

Lilith Duskbane.

She glided down the path like a queen in crimson silk, her dark hair cascading in waves, her icy blue eyes gleaming beneath the moonlight. She was stunning—every line of her body perfect, every step graceful. Bella felt her breath catch despite herself. This was the kind of woman wolves adored, the kind of woman Lucian might choose.

Lilith stopped a few feet away, her lips curving into a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “How sweet. The little human bride wandering through Stormfang’s roses.” Her voice was smooth, each word sharpened like the edge of a blade.

Bella swallowed hard, her palms damp against her gown. “I was just walking.”

“Walking,” Lilith repeated, her tone laced with mockery. She stepped closer, the crimson fabric of her gown whispering against the gravel. “You really think walking in gardens will make you Luna? Do you think silk dresses and silver pins will change what you are?”

Bella’s chest tightened, but she forced her chin high. “And what am I?”

Lilith’s smile sharpened. “Fragile. Temporary. A human toy to amuse the Alpha until he remembers where he truly belongs.”

Her icy blue eyes gleamed, satisfaction burning there as Bella flinched.

Lilith leaned closer, her perfume rich and cloying, her words soft but venomous. “Lucian belongs to me. He always has. And no fragile little human can take what is mine.”

Bella’s pulse hammered in her throat. She wanted to shrink back, to flee, but something hot stirred in her chest—anger, sharp and fierce. She thought of her father, frail and coughing. She thought of the wolves laughing at her at the feast. She thought of Lucian’s cold eyes, of his vow that she would never have his love.

And she found her voice.

“Then why am I the one wearing his ring?”

Lilith’s eyes flashed, her smile faltering for the first time.

Bella’s hands trembled, but she didn’t look away. “You can sneer, you can threaten, but the truth is simple—I am his Luna. Not you.”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched. The roses rustled in the wind, the moonlight shimmering faintly across Lilith’s perfect features.

Then Lilith laughed. It was low, cold, dripping with disdain. “Oh, you’ll regret those words, human. You won’t last in this world. You’ll break long before the pack accepts you.” Her eyes narrowed, icy fire burning in their depths. “And when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

Bella’s stomach twisted, but she kept her chin lifted, even as her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

“Maybe I will break,” she whispered. “But not for you.”

Lilith’s gaze hardened, her hatred now bare and unmasked. She turned sharply, her gown flaring like spilled blood against the white roses, and strode away without another word.

Bella exhaled shakily, her knees weak, her palms slick with sweat. She clutched the edge of the stone bench beside her, willing her heartbeat to steady. Her whole body trembled, but she had not bowed. She had not run.

A faint sound made her freeze.

From the shadows of the trellis, silver eyes gleamed.

Lucian.

He stood half-hidden in the dark, his tall frame rigid, his scar catching the sliver of moonlight. He had heard. All of it.

For a moment, Bella’s chest tightened with wild hope—that he might step forward, that he might silence Lilith, that he might offer her even a single word of acknowledgment.

But Lucian said nothing.

His silver gaze lingered on her, unreadable, cold, before he turned and walked away, his footsteps silent against the gravel.

Bella sank onto the bench, her throat burning, her hands trembling against her gown. The roses around her seemed too fragile, too delicate, their beauty mocking her pain.

She pressed a hand to her chest, whispering into the silence: “I will not be broken.”

But even as she said it, her heart ached with the knowledge that Lucian had left her alone again.