Chapter 007

Sienna's POV

The air here didn't belong to the living, lacking the scent of damp moss or the metallic bite of the cellar to taste of ancient dust and ozone instead, like the heavy, electric stillness right before a mountain storm breaks. I choked on the thickness of it, my lungs burning as they struggled to process the atmosphere.

My eyelids finally flickered open, revealing that I wasn’t in the cellar anymore.

I stood in a vast, silver void that seemed to bleed into the edges of eternity while my heart hammered against my ribs—an erratic, hollow rhythm that felt far too large for my narrow chest. Before me, a ladder of shimmering light crystallized out of the gray haze, each step vibrating with a low, humming power that resonated in the very marrow of my bones.

Am I dead?

The silence swallowed the words, but I knew I wasn't dead, because death would be quieter than this, and it wouldn't feel like a live wire was pressed against my spine.

A sharp cramp twisted my stomach, serving as a reminder of the day I’d spent without a single crust of bread. The hunger was a dull roar now, competing with the flashes of the coronation that played on the back of my eyelids like a broken film—the betrayal, and the way the light in Lucas’s eyes had simply gone out when he looked at me, replaced by a clinical, hollow distance.

I moved toward the glowing dais at the top of the ladder, though every step felt like walking through deep water.

There you are.

The voice was a deep resonance, coming not from the air but from the floor beneath my bare feet, forcing me to spin around.

A massive white wolf emerged from the silver mist, her fur a thick mane of ivory that shimmered as if woven from moonlight while her eyes shone like two glowing crystals of pure, ancient power. She was a dominant force, a shadow of an alpha that made the air feel pressurized, causing me to stumble back as my breath caught in a throat that felt lined with glass.

On my eighteenth birthday, my wolf had been a small, flickering thing—a shadow that hid in the corners of my mind—but this was something else entirely, acting as a true titan.

"Are you mine?" I rasped. "The one who has been hiding while they bled me dry."

The wolf didn't move, but her gaze shifted toward the infinite sky. You are brittle, Sienna, carrying a tide of power that would drown a lesser soul. To use me is to invite a pain you aren't yet ready to navigate, because you seek justice, but you are still holding onto the ghost of a man who has already buried you.

"The Moon Goddess has a cruel sense of humor, then," I mocked. "She gives me a god and leaves me in a cage."

The Goddess does not choose the shallow, the wolf countered, her voice sounding like grinding stones. You are the last of the Millennium line, a warrior in a servant's skin. You look at your chains, but you have forgotten you are the one who holds the key, for your true mate is already drawing breath in your territory. He is the fire to your ice, so do not let this pack extinguish you before he arrives.

The moon mark on my hand flared with a blinding, silver light, the vibration traveling up my arm to rattle my teeth as the world began to tilt, leaving the silver void to bleed right back into the greasy darkness of reality.

The smell hit me first—mildew, old webs, and the copper tang of my own dried blood—while the door to the cellar groaned open, hitting the stone wall with a sharp crack.

"Still dreaming? The new Luna expects a full court today." A servant kicked the edge of my cot, her eyes narrowing the moment I sat up.

I didn't snap back, nor did I even look at her with anger, simply watching the way the dust motes danced in the sliver of light from the hallway. Everything felt slow, and the maid’s heartbeat sounded like a frantic drum in a distant room.

"The Blood Moon Pack arrives today," she snapped, tossing a bundle of coarse gray fabric at me. "Be at the kitchens in ten minutes."

I caught the clothes in mid-air with an effortless movement, simply looking at her as a slow, calm smile spread across my face.

"Thank you."

The maid froze, the fear in her eyes surfacing not because I was scary, but because I was calm. She scrambled out of the room as if she had seen a ghost that had finally decided to haunt her.

I changed slowly, savoring the grit of the wool against my skin because it reminded me I was still tethered to the earth. In the cracked mirror, I looked the same with my brown eyes and tangled hair, but the fire behind my pupils had taken on a new color—the silver of the void.

I stepped into the corridor, my fingers brushing the rough stone walls as I felt the pack house humming with a thousand different pulses all beating at once, making it overwhelming yet perfectly clear.

"There’s my dear sister."

Ivy waited at the turn of the hallway, appearing as a vision in blood-red silk while her perfume created a cloying cloud of expensive roses that tried to mask the rot of her malice. She drifted toward me, her eyes raking over my servant’s rags.

As she got closer, I saw the tremor in her hands, proving she wasn't just angry, but terrified that the crown didn't fit. She was playing a part, and she knew I was the only one who could see the cracks in her mask.

"You look exhausted, Sienna," Ivy giggled, though the sound was brittle. "But get used to the weight, because you’re a lowly omega now. Do you understand?"

I didn't flinch, turning my head slowly to follow her movement with a predatory steadiness that made her step back. "Is that what Lucas told you? Or is that what you tell yourself when you realize he’s still looking for me in every room?"

Ivy’s smile vanished and her breath hitched, leaving me to watch the muscles in her jaw lock so hard that a tiny bead of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. She absolutely hated that I wasn't crying.

I stepped past her, my shoulder brushing hers in a deliberate act of defiance.

A hand caught my hair, yanking me backward as Ivy stepped into my space with a mask of loathing that was starting to look more like desperation.

"You think you’re still a threat," she hissed. "I hate you, because your cursed mother took my brother’s glory, and you think you can just walk past me."

"Don't speak about my mother, Ivy," I said, keeping my voice at a steady, absolute low. "The status you stole doesn't make you a Luna—it makes you a thief in a red dress."

Ivy snatched a pair of sharp shears from a passing maid’s tray, tearing the front of her own expensive gown in a blurred motion where the red silk ripped with a jagged, ugly scream. She looked at me, a terrifyingly cold thought flashing in her eyes.

You don't belong here?

Then she screamed. "No! Sienna, stop!"

A heavy slap landed across my face, leaving me to taste copper instantly, though I didn't recoil or cry out. I slowly turned my head back to look at her with eyes that remained cold and vacant.

"Sienna!"

Lucas was there, seizing my wrist in a grip that threatened to snap the bone while his eyes darted frantically between Ivy’s torn dress and my bloody lip. He wasn't just angry, but acted as an Alpha whose world was slipping out of his control, needing to be the "Just Alpha" for the servants watching from the shadows because he desperately needed to believe I was the problem so he didn't have to look at himself.

"You really think the rules don't apply to you," Lucas’s voice boomed.

"You really think I’m the one holding the shears, Lucas?" I met his eyes, letting him see the silver flickering in the brown. "Are you that desperate to believe the lie?"

"She’s out of control, Lucas!" Ivy wailed.

Lucas’s face darkened as he looked at the elders approaching the end of the hall, looking at his future before looking at me—the one person who knew he was a coward. He had to break me to keep the lie alive.

He struck me.

It wasn't a slap, but a heavy, backhanded blow fueled by his own shame that sent me flying against the stone wall. My head cracked against the masonry with a sickening thud, causing blood to trickle into my eye, hot and sticky.

Lucas took a step forward, his guilt clearly surfacing, but it was a useless currency he spent every day to buy his own peace of mind. I didn't look at him with pain, looking at him with pity instead.

"Don't," I whispered. "It's embarrassing, Lucas."

The words hit him harder than the blow, leaving him to freeze with his hand trembling in mid-air while I scrambled up, my legs shaking, and walked toward the kitchens without running.

I buried my face in my hands in the pantry, trying to breathe through the nausea, and when I finally looked up, I saw them through the service window.

In the shadows of the courtyard, Morrigan stood with a maid, her face a mask of calm even as her hurried movements showed her handing over a small, dark vial. A strange, invisible pressure blocked my hearing, signaling the use of pack magic.

I stood and grabbed a tray of food, knowing I had to see where that vial went.

The ceremony was in full swing when I entered the hall, where Ivy sat next to Lucas in a fresh white gown, looking like a saint who had forgiven her "troubled" sister.

"The Blood Moon Pack is arriving," Morrigan said as she glided past me. "Ensure the wine is ready."

I looked toward the high table, catching sight of the maid I had seen with Morrigan as she leaned over Lucas's glass, leaving a single, dark drop to fall from her fingers into the deep red liquid.

Lucas reached for it while distracted, laughing at a joke like a man who had finally silenced the noise in his head.

I wanted to scream, but then I remembered the stone wall, the red dress, and the pity in my own voice.

I stayed frozen as he lifted the silver chalice to his lips, taking a long, deep sip until the liquid, shimmering like a dark secret, disappeared down his throat.

Lucas set the glass down with a small frown creasing his forehead, rubbing at his chest with a momentary look of confusion before forcing the smile back on.

The poison was in, the clock had started, and for the first time, I didn't feel the urge to save him.