17

Domic’s POV

The moon was already high when I crossed the gates of the Black Moon pack. The iron groaned the way it always did, long and harsh, a sound that crawled under my skin. The house announced itself before I even saw it — old wood, leather, and that cloying incense Victoria loved to burn in the corridors. Too sweet. 

Suffocating.

I ripped off my gloves and threw them onto the hall table. The leather hit hard, a sharp, final sound. My jaw ached from being clenched the entire way back.

Victoria was waiting. Fuck me.

She leaned against the living room doorway, wrapped in a pale robe that was far too deliberate for the hour. Her hair was loose, perfect, framing her face like she had been standing there for a while. Waiting. She always was.

Her lips curved first. “How was your day buying whores?”

I did not answer right away. I tugged at my collar with two fingers, pulling the fabric away from my throat. The air felt thick as it filled my lungs. Sweat cooled against my skin.

“If you were capable of consummating a real marriage,” I said, walking past her without looking, “I wouldn’t need them.”

Her heels struck the floor behind me. Angry. I entered the study and pushed the door open with my shoulder. The wood answered with a dull crack.

The scent of whiskey lingered in the room even before I opened the bottle. Old. Strong. Familiar. I switched on only the lamp, letting shadows cling to the walls.

I grabbed the bottle harder than necessary, and cold glass bit into my palm. I poured without measuring, the amber liquid slamming into the bottom of the glass. 

I drank it in one swallow. The burn tore its way down my throat.

“Consummate the marriage?” Her voice followed me in. “You mean having children?” She entered without asking. She always did. The robe shifted as she stopped near the desk, her fingers tightening in the fabric at her chest. “Maybe a weak wolf like you can’t even get a woman pregnant.”

Victoria and I married shortly after Melany’s death was announced. My father died that same year, some said it was from grief. I became Alpha and she became Luna, my mother approved of the arrangement. In her eyes, it was far better to have Victoria as Luna than a slave. 

But as the years passed, Victoria and I came to the same realization: We despised each other’s company.

I rolled my eyes slowly, bracing one hand against the back of the chair. The wood creaked under my grip. I inhaled through my nose. Her perfume... aggressive, floral, mixed with the alcohol and made my stomach twist.

I drank again. Slower this time. “Melany is alive.”

The words hit the room like a body dropped to the floor.

Victoria froze.

Her smile vanished first. Then her eyes narrowed, her brow folding into hard lines. She took a step forward, her heel sinking into the rug.

“What?” Her voice came out low, almost careful.

I finally turned. Set the glass down on the desk with deliberate control, as if anything sudden might shatter the room. I crossed my arms, feeling my shirt tighten across my shoulders. “You heard me.”

She blinked once. Twice. Her hand rose to the collar of her robe, pulling it closed tightly. “That… slave?” she spat. “That’s impossible.”

I tilted my head, watching every flicker on her face. The faint tremor in her lower lip, the breath she failed to steady.

"It isn’t impossible. I saw her at the auction, and she was… claimed by the King. The good news is that if she truly is a witch, it won’t take long for him to realize it. And the bad news is that we raised a witch for seventeen years without informing the King. He’ll burn us at the same stake as her."

Victoria laughed. 

Loud. 

She circled the desk with quick, restless steps. Her perfume grew stronger, almost choking. “you are drunk,” she said, pointing at the glass. “you are trying to provoke me.”

I lifted the glass again without looking away from her. “I saw her.”

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive.

Victoria stopped mid-step. Her shoulders locked. Her nails dug into the robe, twisting the fabric. “Alive…” she repeated, tasting the word. “After everything?”

I stepped closer. Just one step. Enough to feel the heat between us. “After everything.”

She stared at me, eyes shining with something far from fear. Rage. “You said the King might discover that she’s a witch, but something far more dangerous could happen.” Victoria slid her hand along my face. 

“She could fall into the King’s favor. He might like her. And look at that surprise... they get married.” Her hand kept moving down my chest. “She becomes Luna of all Atheon, and you can be sure our address never left her mind.” Her hand slid over my abdomen. “Then the Luna orders Black Moon to be wiped out.”

I dragged a hand down my face, fingers scraping over my jaw. I was tired. Tired of her. Of the house. Of the entire pack.

Her fingers lingered there, pressing lightly, testing. 

I caught her wrist before she could move lower. My grip closed tight around her skin, thumb digging into the inside of her pulse. I could feel it hammering. “do not,” I said.

She smiled anyway. Victoria leaned in close enough that her breath brushed my jaw. “you are afraid,” she murmured.

I tightened my hold and pushed her hand away from my body. She stumbled back half a step, the robe shifting open before she yanked it closed again, fingers bunching the fabric at her waist.

“I am not afraid,” I turned away from her and poured another drink, the bottle clinking against the glass. A few drops splashed onto my hand, but I did not bother wiping them off. “She won’t marry him. Kings do not marry slaves.”

Victoria came up behind me again. I smelled her perfume before I felt her — that sharp floral note crawling into my lungs. “She isn’t a slave anymore,” she whispered. “She’s property of the King. And men like him do not collect things unless they intend to keep them.”

I set the glass down harder than necessary. The desk vibrated under my palm. “She was nothing when she left this pack,” I snapped. “Barely spoke. Barely looked anyone in the eye.”

Victoria leaned against the desk, crossing one leg slowly over the other. Her gaze never left my face. “And now she’s alive. Survived what was meant to kill her. That alone makes her dangerous.”

I clenched my jaw. Images I did not want surfaced anyway... her hair red and tangled, dirt smeared across her skin, the crowd screaming "witch" as she stood there with her head bowed, copper strands fallen over her face the last time I’d seen her.

“She remembers,” Victoria went on. “Every order. Every punishment. Every time you looked the other way.”

I turned on her so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor. “You think I do not know that?”

“Then act like it.”

Silence pressed down between us, thick and charged. Outside, a wolf howled somewhere in the forest, long and distant. The sound sank into my chest and stayed there.

“What do you want?” I asked finally.

Victoria straightened, smoothing the robe down her body, reclaiming control inch by inch. “We find out what the King intends to do with her,” she said. “And if she truly has his favor…” She paused, letting the words hang. “…we make sure she never gets the chance to remember Black Moon.”