CHAPTER 2

The damp chill of the packhouse basements had always settled into my bones, but tonight, the cold felt absolute.

I sat on the edge of my narrow cot, staring at the raw purple bruises forming around my wrist where Cassian had grabbed me to keep me from falling when the bond snapped. The grand gala hummed three floors above my head, the muffled thud of drums and laughter bleeding through the stone ceiling. Up there, they were drinking to the future Luna.

Down here, I was packing my life into a single leather satchel.

I didn't bring clothes to make me look delicate; I packed three sturdy woolen tunics, my personal charcoal sketching pencils, and the heavy brass compass my father had left me before he died on the northern front. My hands were steady. The agonizing tear in my chest—the raw, bleeding phantom wound left by the shattered mate bond—was still there, pulsing with every heartbeat. But beneath the pain, something cold and sharp had taken root.

The door to my quarters creaked open without a knock.

Selene leaned against the wooden frame, a golden chalice resting lazily in her manicured hand. Her silk dress was slightly rumpled at the waist, her lips swollen and stained with dark wine. She looked at my packed satchel, a slow, triumphant smile curling her mouth.

"Leaving so soon, Clara?" she purred, taking a slow sip. "And here I thought you'd stay to help plan the wedding. You’re always so good with the supply orders."

I kept my back to her, rolling my tactical parchment maps tightly and securing them with leather straps. "The winter ledgers are on the table. Tell Cassian he has three weeks before the northern grain hoppers freeze solid if he doesn't adjust the insulation."

Selene let out a soft, sharp laugh. "Do you honestly think he cares about your stupid papers? Cassian is an Alpha. He has real power. He doesn't need a fat, ink-stained ghost dragging him down." She stepped into the room, her heels clicking loudly against the bare stone. "He spent the last hour showing me exactly what a real mate feels like. You should be thanking him. He gave you your freedom."

I stopped. I turned around slowly, rising to my full height. I was broader than Selene, built with the thick, grounded strength of our mother's side of the family—the side that spent generations working the mountain forge while Selene's line sat in court.

"He gave me nothing," I said, my voice dead calm. "He threw away the only person holding his border defenses together. When the mountain packs push south this winter, Selene, make sure you wear that silk dress to the front line."

Selene’s eyes flashed with sudden venom, her smile dropping instantly. "You arrogant little bitch—"

"Get out of my room."

She scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder, but the edge of her arrogance had frayed. "Enjoy the frost, sister. Nobody out there wants Cassian's discarded scrap."

She slammed the door behind her.

I let out a long, shaky breath, closing my eyes until the urge to scream passed. I hoisted the satchel over my shoulder and walked out into the narrow, torch-lit corridor that led to the rear gates.

I didn't make it ten paces before a shadow detached itself from the stone archway.

Cassian stepped into the light. He had stripped off his formal jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, smelling heavily of liquor and Selene’s floral perfume. His eyes were dark, stormy, and unfocused—raging with an unnatural, erratic energy.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, blocking the narrow hallway.

"I’m leaving," I said, keeping five feet of distance between us. "You rejected me, Cassian. Publicly. Before the entire pack council. My obligations to Bloodmoon are finished."

"You don't get to walk away because some mountain savage held your hand!" Cassian snarled, taking a heavy step forward. The air around him swelled with aggressive Alpha pressure, trying to force my knees to slam into the floor. "You belong to this pack. You belong to my court. You think Thorne wants you? He’s playing you, Clara. He wants our border maps."

"Then he values my work," I replied, holding my head high despite the suffocating weight of his power pressing on my chest. "Which is more than you ever did."

I tried to brush past him, but Cassian moved with violent, blinding speed.

His large hand shot out, clamping around my upper arm with terrifying force. He yanked me backward, slamming my spine against the damp stone wall. Pain shot up my neck as my satchel hit the floor with a heavy thud.

"Listen to me," he growled, leaning in so close I could feel the hot, alcohol-laced heat of his breath against my jaw. His grip tightened until I felt the skin beneath his fingers bruise. "You are not leaving this territory. You will stay in the archive, you will write the reports, and you will bow to Selene when she takes the throne. You are mine to command."

The raw, possessive fury in his eyes made my stomach turn. He didn't want me as a mate, but his bloated ego couldn't tolerate the idea of me choosing another path.

"Let go of me," I whispered through clenched teeth.

"Make me," he sneered, his thumb digging brutally into the soft flesh of my arm. "You're nothing without the pack, Clara. A fat, useless she-wolf that no one will ever—"

"She said let her go."

The voice didn't come from the corridor. It seemed to come from the very stone beneath our feet—deep, resonant, and dripping with deadly promise.

Cassian froze.

At the end of the passage, framed by the cold moonlight of the open courtyard, stood Alpha Julian Thorne. He wasn't wearing his formal coat anymore. He stood in a simple black leather tunic, his broad chest rising and falling slowly. In his right hand, held loosely at his side, was a double-edged obsidian hunting blade.

The air in the narrow hallway suddenly plummeted in temperature. Frost began to crackle across the damp stone walls, fanning out from where Julian stood.

"Thorne," Cassian spat, turning slightly but keeping his grip locked tight around my arm. "You're trespassing in the lower quarters. Get out before I call the guard."

Julian took one slow step forward. The sound of his leather boots against the stone echoed like a war drum.

"I gave you one chance to act like a leader tonight, Prince Vance," Julian said quietly, his dark silver eyes fixing on the exact spot where Cassian's hand was bruising my skin. "You failed. Now, remove your hand from my Chief Tactician... or I will remove it for you."