Chapter 6

Sienna's POV

I stayed slumped against the wooden door, my back pressed flat against the timber, listening as the quiet footsteps of passing servants faded away into the distance.

My chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow gasps. Deep inside my ribs, where the mate bond had hummed with fiery life only hours ago, there was only a hollow, scorched void. Jaxson’s public words echoed in my ears, bouncing off the damp stone walls of my mind with brutal precision.

An Omega cannot strengthen my leadership. A weak mate brings no territory, no guards, and no political power. I formally reject Sienna Vance as my mate.

I looked down at my trembling right hand, my chest aching so violently I thought my ribs might crack open. He hadn't just rejected me in front of his inner circle to prove his authority; he wanted every trace of our night wiped clean before sunset.

A heavy, deliberate thud sounded against the wooden door behind my head.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

"Sienna."

His voice cut through the thick wood like a rusted iron blade. It was low, gravelly, and stripped of the thunderous power he had used in the grand hall, but the dominant Alpha weight behind it was unmistakable. The scent of cedarwood, crushed cloves, and ozone seeped through the cracks around the frame, instantly wrapping around my senses like a suffocating blanket.

I didn't move. I didn't answer. I pressed my palm flat against the cold stone floor, keeping my chin tucked into my collarbone, praying he would assume the room was empty and leave.

"Open the door, Sienna," Jaxson commanded softly. It wasn't a roar, but the low, vibrating pressure of his Alpha aura pushed against the timber, making the heavy bolt shudder in its housing. "I know you're in there. Don't make me break the lock."

My wolf, battered and whimpering deep within my chest, shivered at the sound of his voice. Even after the brutal severing of the bond, my body still recognized his authority—a pathetic, instinctual reaction that made my stomach turn with self-loathing.

Slowly, I pushed myself up off the floorboards. My knees were stiff, my ankles trembling, but I forced my spine straight. I unlocked the bolt and pulled the door inward.

Jaxson stood in the narrow, dim hallway, filling the entire doorway with his broad frame. His black leather Alpha jacket was still buttoned tightly to his throat, his dark hair immaculately groomed, but his face looked as though it had been carved from gray granite. His jaw was locked tight, a thick muscle ticking rhythmically near his ear, and his glowing golden eyes were dark, shadowed by a heavy, dangerous exhaustion.

In his right hand, he held a steaming ceramic mug.

The dark, reddish-brown liquid inside sloshed gently against the rim, releasing a sharp, medicinal odor of bitter bark, dried copper-root, and crushed moon-thistle.

Moon-tea.

"You left it on the nightstand," Jaxson said, his voice flat, devoid of any inflection. He stepped forward, forcing me to take a step back into the small washroom as he crossed the threshold. He didn't close the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar, as if standing in a small room with me for too long were a liability he couldn't afford.

I stared at the steaming mug in his large, calloused hand. "You came all the way down to the servants' quarters just to bring me a cup of tea?"

"I came to ensure my orders were followed," he replied, his eyes fixing on mine with an icy, unyielding focus. "The council has already begun drafting the formal treaty with Alpha Vane. Valerie's father will have his scouts at our border by tomorrow morning. There can be no complications."

"Complications," I repeated quietly, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. "Is that what I am to you now? A political complication?"

Jaxson’s golden eyes flashed with a brief, dangerous ember of warning. "You are an unbonded Omega who spent a night in the Alpha tower. If word spreads that you are carrying my blood, it jeopardizes the entire northern alliance. The pack cannot afford an internal power dispute over an unsanctioned heir."

"An unsanctioned heir," I murmured, a dry, humorless laugh escaping my throat. It was incredible how easily he reduced a soul-shattering night of passion into clinical, administrative terms. "You don't have to worry, Alpha Jaxson. I haven't taken a single thing from your tower."

"Drink it," he said, extending his arm and holding the mug out toward me. The steam rose between us, carrying that bitter, metallic scent that made my stomach turn. "Drink it now, while it's still warm. The healer prepared it personally. It will take effect within the hour."

I looked at his hand—the same hand that had cupped the back of my neck in the dark, the same fingers that had traced the line of my waist while he whispered promises of protection into my skin. Now, those fingers held a potion designed to flush any potential life from my womb before it could even take root.

"And if I refuse?" I asked softly, raising my head to meet his cold stare.

Jaxson leaned down slightly, his towering presence casting a heavy, suffocating shadow over me. "You don't have the luxury of refusing. You are a member of the Bloodmoon Pack, and I am your Alpha. You will drink the tea, Sienna, and then you will gather your belongings."

My chest hitched. "My belongings?"

"You will leave my sight before nightfall," Jaxson stated, his tone brutal in its absolute finality. "Your presence in the main packhouse is a distraction to the guards and an insult to the northern delegation. Elder Thomas has arranged for your reassignment to the outer boundary posts near the eastern river, or you may hand in your pack token and leave our territory entirely. I do not care which you choose, so long as you are gone from this house before the sun sets behind the pines."

Every word felt like a physical blow to my chest, driving the last remaining breath from my lungs. He wasn't just rejecting me; he was casting me out, throwing me to the cold margins of the territory like trash that needed to be cleared away before his new bride arrived.

"Before nightfall," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the quiet drip of a leaking pipe in the corner.

"Before nightfall," Jaxson repeated coldly. He thrust the ceramic mug forward until the warm clay pressed directly against my knuckles. "Take it."

I looked down at the dark, steaming liquid. My mind raced, panic and anger tangling together into a knot in my throat. My wolf let out a faint, desperate growl deep within my chest—a primal instinct warning me that this liquid was poison, that I should not let his dark brew touch my lips.

Slowly, deliberately, I wrapped my fingers around the rough clay mug, taking the weight of it from his hand.

Jaxson’s fingers brushed against mine for a fraction of a second. A sharp, electric spark executed a faint, lingering ghost of the mate bond across our skin, making his hand twitch back instantly as if he had been burned by hot iron. His jaw clenched so hard I heard the joint click, his chest rising in a sharp, shallow breath as he stared down at our touching hands.

For a brief, fleeting second, his golden eyes softened, a raw, tormented flicker of regret washing over his features. But as quickly as it appeared, his cold, dominant mask slammed shut once more, locking away whatever human emotion lingered beneath his leather jacket.

"Drink all of it," he ordered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp. "I will have Caleb check the room before the evening patrol."

"You don't need to send Caleb," I said, my voice dead and emotionless as I stared into the dark liquid. "I will be gone."

Jaxson stared at me for three long, suffocating seconds. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, his throat working against the tight silver collar of his jacket, but he closed it without making a sound. He turned on his heel, his heavy leather boots thumping against the stone floor, and walked out of the washroom.

He didn't look back. His tall, imposing figure disappeared down the dim corridor, the heavy sound of his steps fading away until the hallway fell completely silent.

I stood alone in the small room, holding the warm ceramic mug in my hands. The bitter steam rose into my face, stinging my eyes and filling my nose with the smell of crushed herbs and copper.

I looked down at the dark tea, then reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, empty wooden box Jaxson had left on the nightstand.

Slowly, carefully, I tilted the ceramic mug over the stone basin in the corner of the washroom.

The dark, reddish-brown liquid poured out in a steady stream, swirling around the drain before disappearing down the pipe until not a single drop remained in the cup. I set the empty mug on the edge of the stone sink, leaving it beside the small wooden box.

If there was a life growing inside me, a tiny spark created from that night of passion, I would not let Jaxson Vance destroy it with his bitter herbs and political fears. It was mine. My blood, my choice.

I turned away from the sink, my jaw set, my eyes dry and clear. I walked out of the washroom and made my way toward the small, cramped servant quarters at the back of the house.

I had six hours before nightfall. Six hours to pack my life into a single cloth bag, slip past the border guards, and disappear into the vast, unforgiving wilderness beyond the Bloodmoon gates—far away from the Alpha who had broken my heart, and far away from the pack that viewed me as nothing.