Chapter 2

Ethan let out a sharp, mocking breath, the sound cutting through the heavy silence of the bedroom. He looked at Lane as if she had suddenly lost her mind, his lips curling into a condescending smirk.

"End our mate bond?" he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. "Lane, stop joking. You’re letting your temper get the best of you, and it’s making you say ridiculous things."

He stepped closer, his shadow looming over her naked form, but Lane didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, her spine as rigid as steel, refusing to pull the bedsheet back around herself. If he wanted to treat her like an object, he would have to look at the scars she bore—the physical reminders of the legacy he was so quick to dismiss.

Ethan’s eyes dropped to the hollow of her neck, staring directly at the fresh, angry red mark he had forced upon her just an hour prior. The skin around the bite was still swollen, radiating a fierce heat that matched the cold fury burning in her chest.

"Look at yourself," Ethan said, reaching out to trace the air just an inch away from the mark, though he didn’t touch her. "Without me, where exactly do you think you will go? Your pack is gone. Your family is dead. The Silvermoon territory is a graveyard waiting to be carved up by predators. If you walk out that door, you have nowhere to go."

He stepped back, crossing his arms as he began to pace the room, his voice taking on the lecturing tone of a frustrated master. "The world outside these walls is brutal, Lane. A weak she-wolf with a broken mate bond? You wouldn’t survive a week. You would be mistreated, hunted, and humiliated. If you're lucky, you might end up as some low-ranking Alpha's hidden mistress, kept in the shadows just for your bloodline. If you're unlucky, you'll be dragged into the wild by rogues and torn to pieces. Eaten alive. Is that what you want?"

Lane kept her face completely blank, though every word he spoke felt like a splash of acid on an open wound. The utter lack of respect, the absolute certainty that she was nothing without him, was a grand revelation.

"Maris is a warrior," Ethan continued, his chest swelling slightly at the mention of the other woman's name. "She is stronger than you in every way that matters for the survival of this pack. She can lead a vanguard, she can shed blood, and she commands the respect of the soldiers. I am trying to shield you from the harsh realities of this world by keeping you here, safe, as the first Luna. Accept it, Lane. Stop this childish tantrum."

When she didn't answer, he took her silence as submission. He buckled his belt with a definitive snap, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room, slamming the heavy oak door behind him. The sound echoed through the empty space like a gunshot.

The moment the lock clicked, the artificial strength holding Lane upright cracked. She sank slowly onto the edge of the bed, the cold air raising goosebumps on her skin. She wrapped the silk sheet around her shoulders, staring blankly at the moonlit floor as memories she had buried deep began to resurface.

She remembered the day the world ended.

She had been sitting in the courtyard of the Royal Pack Academy when the messenger arrived, his armor covered in soot and dried blood. The news had traveled like wildfire: the Silvermoon Pack’s vanguard had been ambushed. Her father, the Alpha, and her five older brothers—all legendary generals who had never lost a siege—had fallen on the northern border.

When Lane rushed home, she found her mother sitting by the hearth, her eyes hollow and completely devoid of tears. Her mother hadn't cried; she had simply taken Lane’s hands into her own, her grip tightly desperate.

*"You are dropping out of the academy tomorrow,"*

her mother had whispered, her voice cracking with a finality that brooked no argument.

*"I will not lose you too, Lane. I don't want you to end up a warrior. I don't want to watch them bring your body back in a wooden crate, or worse, hear that you were left to rot on a battlefield. I want you to live a good life. A safe life. I want you to get married, manage a household, and never touch a silver blade again."*

To appease her grieving mother, Lane had obeyed. She had hidden her training, suppressed her wolf, and allowed the world to believe she was fragile—a delicate lady of high birth who needed protection.

But Ethan was wrong about one thing: he hadn't been her only choice.

After her family’s demise, Lane was the sole inheritor of the vast, wealthy Silvermoon lands and their deep financial reserves. Alphas from the northern reaches to the southern coast had lined up outside her estate, presenting lavish gifts and sending endless courtship letters. But Lane had seen right through them. They didn't see her; they saw the silver mines, the fertile valleys, and the strategic borders of her home. They wanted her land.

Except for Ethan. Or so she had thought.

She remembered the night he had taken her to the sacred grove, standing before the ancient, glowing statue of the Moon Goddess. The moonlight had bathed them both in a soft, ethereal silver. Ethan had taken her hands, looked into her eyes with an intensity that had made her heart race, and sworn a sacred oath.

*"I don't care about the Silvermoon wealth, Lane,"* he had vowed, his voice thick with emotion. *"I don't want your land. I want you. I swear before the Goddess that I will love you forever, protect you from the wolves who see you as a prize, and give you the best of everything."*

And because the universe seemed to align with his words, the mate bond had snapped into place shortly after. He was her fated mate. She had believed his promises were the bedrock of their future. Now, she realized they were just the cheap lies of an ambitious beta-born Alpha who needed her money to rebuild his own failing territory.

A soft knock on the door broke her out of the spiral.

The door pushed open quietly, and a young woman in a simple gray dress stepped into the room. It was Maya, Lane’s personal maid. Maya was a few years older than Lane, with sharp eyes and a fiercely loyal heart. Like Lane, she was a survivor of the Silvermoon Pack, having come with Lane as part of her small bridal retinue.

Maya took one look at Lane’s disheveled state, the dark red mark on her neck, and the heavy atmosphere in the room, and her face hardened.

"Milady," Maya said softly, closing the door behind her.

Lane lifted her chin, the tears in her eyes drying into a cold, diamond-hard resolve. "Maya, start packing. Gather everything that belongs to us."

Maya paused, her hands gripping her apron. "Packing, milady? Where are we going?"

"Home," Lane said simply. "Back to the Silvermoon territory."

Maya’s eyes widened in shock. She hurried forward, dropping to her knees beside the bed. "Milady, with all due respect, that is unacceptable! We cannot just leave. Have you forgotten how much we have given to this place? We have spent almost every single penny of your inheritance on the Blackwood Pack!"

Maya’s voice shook with suppressed anger on her mistress's behalf. "When we arrived a year ago, their warriors were wearing rusted armor. Their packhouse roof leaked every time it rained. The children in the pack school didn't even have proper textbooks! You paid for all of it, Lane. You funded their meals, you bought the fabric for their winter clothes, you practically rebuilt their entire infrastructure out of your own pocket! You are the only reason this pack is stable and thriving right now. If we leave, we leave with nothing!"

Lane looked at Maya, a small, bitter smile touching her lips. The words were true. Ethan had been away playing the hero on the battlefield, winning glory and the heart of his warrior mistress, while Lane had stayed behind, silently acting as the financial engine of his entire domain. She had bought their loyalty, fed their hungry, and cured his ailing mother with medicines that cost more than a common wolf would see in a lifetime.

And in return, she was told she was weak, ungrateful, and replaceable.

"Let it go, Maya," Lane said, her voice dropping into a calm, chilling register. "Think of it this way: we’ve simply spent the last year feeding some stray wolves."

Maya gasped slightly at the sheer coldness in Lane's tone, but as she looked into her mistress's eyes, she didn't see a broken, rejected mate. She saw the gaze of the Alpha’s daughter—the bloodline of the legendary generals who had ruled the northern skies for centuries.

"They ate our food, they wore our clothes, and they slept under the roofs we paid for," Lane continued, standing up and pulling a dark velvet robe over her shoulders, tying the sash tightly around her waist. "But a stray wolf never learns loyalty, no matter how well you feed it. Let Ethan have his warrior Luna. Let him see how far her sword gets him when the treasury runs dry and the winter rations disappear."

She turned to the window, looking out over the sprawling, prosperous pack lands that her wealth had built over the past twelve months.

"They think I am weak because I chose peace," Lane whispered, her reflection in the glass showing a dangerous, sharp glint in her eyes. "They forgot that before a general leads an army, they must first master the logistics of war. I gave them their prosperity, Maya. And tonight, I am taking it back."

Maya’s shock slowly melted into a fierce, proud smile. She bowed her head deeply. "Yes, Alpha's daughter. I will begin packing immediately."