CHAPTER 3: THE RIGHT BLOOD

KATARINA

Pain hit me first, searing as it shot through my rib cage, followed by another blow that made me cough. I stirred, feeling as if fire had replaced my bones, and I tried opening my eyes, but only one responded; the other was too swollen, and I blinked hard until the room began to take shape.

His harsh voice echoed across the space, just as something cold struck my face. I couldn't hear what he said at first, but it cut through the fog in my head and brought me to full consciousness.

With that, everything came crashing back: the slap, the fight, Summer, the submission choke, and the brutality that followed.

I could feel his breath on my neck as he pressed my face against the bloodied tiles. And I could hear his grunts and curses as he took me every which way he pleased, while my wolf's cries inside my head shattered every inch of my being.

I gasped, bringing my hand to my swollen mouth as a sob ripped through me. And his voice boomed again, yelling for me to clean up.

My arms flew to my face to protect myself as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me up, screaming that he would not speak again. He grabbed what appeared to be a garment bag and shoved it against my chest, telling me to clean up now, or he'd lose patience.

Stumbling inside the bathroom, I collapsed, my knees weak and my legs unable to stand. "Summer," I called out softly, unable to feel my wolf. I was cold.

I pleaded with her, hoping to feel her comfort, rage, or anything, to know she was there, but there was only silence. "Please don't leave me." I choked, hugging myself on the cold floor, and it was then that I felt her warmth, and she began to heal me.

It began as a faint flicker of warmth in my chest, then spread gradually. She continued to remain silent, as if she were too tired or ashamed to speak, and the healing process was slower too, as if she was doing so out of necessity rather than desire. Still, I clung to the feeling because it was the only thing holding me together.

I didn't know how long I sat there, my tears soaking into the floor beneath me--only that everything hurt on the inside, and Summer's silence was more painful than the bruises.

I was still in a daze when I heard a loud bang on the door and jumped. “I don't have all goddamn night!" My entire body flinched, and I finally heard my wolf voice.

“He'll hurt us again if you don't do what he says."

Her voice was small, and my chest tightened; she was right. And we couldn't withstand another attack like that, not in this condition. So I forced myself to move, groaning as my limbs struggled.

Each movement sent a throb through my bones, but Summer managed to dull the pain enough for me to stand. Limping to the sink, I grabbed the towel on the rack with shaky hands. And I wiped away the blood and shame. The blood came off, but the same wouldn't.

I picked up the garment bag from the floor, fumbling with the zipper until a dark crimson dress shimmered in the light. The fabric slipped over my skin, concealing the damage, and I took one last look at myself in the mirror, summoning all of my strength.

Stepping into the bedroom, the monster turned, adjusting the cuff of his tuxedo, but he didn't hold my gaze for long. He started walking toward the door without saying anything, and I followed, but my steps faltered before I could get very far.

My gaze strayed, drawn against my will to the spot where it all had happened. The tiles were spotless now, and my gaze lifted to the bed, where a neat red stain marred the pristine white sheet, almost perfect.

It was exactly how it would have appeared if my husband had been gentle, if this had been love, and if my first night as Luna had been anything but brutality wrapped in fur.

A tear fell before I could stop it, and I quickly wiped it away, knowing there was no place for it. Of course, he'd staged it. How else could he conceal what he had done from his father?

After the marriage was consummated, an elder of the pack would come to verify, and the pink-stained sheet would be held up as an honorary banner. It was a custom — one of those ancient traditions that people clung to, despite its irrelevance.

Alphas were designed to dominate everywhere. So bleeding was expected the first time, resulting in the stain. I forced my feet to move again, and Greyson came to a stop and turned to face me before opening the door.

His eyes pierced mine, and I swallowed hard as his voice dropped, struggling to maintain his gaze. I despised him with every fiber of my being.

"You'd better behave if you know what's good for you," he said harshly, "and your bitch of an aunt." My throat tightened around the air I attempted to draw in, and he did not wait for my response.

He yanked the door open, and we stepped outside together. The hall erupted, with voices raised in celebration that felt like stabs. Greyson leaned down, his mouth brushing against my ear, hissing, “Fix that fucking face, or I'll break it."

I didn't think my heart could sink any lower, but it did, sinking straight into the pit of my stomach as my lips stretched into a hollow smile.

"Luna."

The voice was female, and I looked up to see Cyra, who extended her hand to me, which I accepted. This was the first time she had spoken with me, my appointed right-hand woman. She was beautiful, a warrior in her own right, and unquestionably every man's dream woman.

She led me to my seat, and I breathed for the first time since leaving the suite when I was removed from Greyson's side.

My aunt stood among the crowded tables below, beaming with pride. She caught my eye and blew me a kiss, her face shining as if she were watching a dream come true. It took everything in me not to shatter, not to run to her and beg her to take me away from here as I caught the kiss in the air and held it to my heart.

The moment didn't last long, and cheers erupted again as the elder returned, holding the sheet aloft. Pints of beer were raised into the air, and laughter erupted as congratulations rained down on Greyson, who accepted them with feigned grace, smiling as if he hadn't been a monster just moments ago.

I stared at the fabric, my vision blurring, until a voice spoke next to me. “Gods, how humiliating!" I looked surprised at Cyra, who rolled her eyes before adding, "I mean, the whole sheet thing and dragging it out here like this. It's such a stupid tradition. It will not fly at my wedding."

I watched her speak, her tone casual and dismissive. Of course, she had a choice: she had the right blood flowing through her veins. Plus, her father was a highly respected warrior chief. She was a warrior herself and would marry whomever she wanted, when she wanted, under her own terms.

I forced a smile at her words, but a voice interrupted, and I froze as my eyes lifted.

Alexander... the other monster.