Two

Camelia Pov

"Enough with the lies."

Peter's voice snapped through the room.

I flinched.

"I'm not lying," I said. "I don't know what happened at the bar."

"You expect me to believe you woke up in another male's bed by accident?"

"I think someone drugged me."

Peter let out a short, cold laugh.

"Of course. Someone forced you to drink. Someone forced you into his bed. You had nothing to do with it."

I shook my head. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?"

The right words wouldn't come. My head still hurt, and the memory of the stranger's room made me feel sick.

Even the journey there was a blur. How could I explain what I didn't understand myself?

I searched Peter's face for the man I knew.

He used to wait outside my father's hall after long council meetings, tired but smiling the moment he saw me. He used to take my hand beneath the table when our families discussed the bonding ceremony, as if the promise between us belonged only to us.

I held on to those memories because they were the only proof I had that our love had once been real.

The man in front of me gave me nothing to hold on to.

"Look at me," I pleaded. "You know me. You know I would never risk our bond for one night with a stranger."

I took a careful step toward him.

"If I had wanted someone else, I would have told you. I would not have waited until three days before the ceremony."

My voice shook, but I kept talking. Silence would leave his accusations standing.

"We can speak to the bartender. We can find out who saw us. We can ask why I can't remember anything after that drink."

Peter's expression did not soften.

His gaze kept moving toward the hall, as if he were waiting for someone.

That small movement unsettled me.

He had been ready with his accusation before I had even explained where I had been. He had not asked whether I was hurt. He had not asked whether I remembered the stranger.

He had asked where I had been, then decided what the answer meant.

A cold feeling spread through my stomach.

For the first time, I wondered if he wanted the truth at all.

"Our bonding ceremony is in three days," I said. "The elders have been summoned. The feast is prepared. Please don't call it off before we know what happened."

"You're worried about the ceremony?" Peter asked. "After what you've done?"

"I'm worried about us!"

My voice broke. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand.

"This is a setup. Someone doesn't want us to bond beneath the full moon. Think about it, Peter. I went out with Anya, drank what she gave me, and lost hours of my memory. Something is wrong."

Anya's name flashed through my mind.

Again I saw the way my sister had watched my drink.

No. Anya wouldn't do this to me.

Light footsteps sounded in the hall.

Anya entered wearing a silk dress. Her hair was neat, and her face showed no sign of a difficult night.

She looked from Peter to me, then smiled.

Her calmness made the room feel even colder. No trembling hands. No shame in her eyes. No sign that she feared what she had done.

We had shared a room as children, whispering our hopes after our parents went to sleep. When other pack girls called her jealous or difficult, I had defended her. Whenever she made trouble, I had found a reason to excuse it.

Family meant giving someone another chance. That was what I had told myself.

Now Anya stood beside Peter as if she had won something she had always deserved.

I hurried toward her. "Anya! Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you through the pack link."

Anya said nothing.

"Tell Peter what happened. Tell him the bar was a setup."

Anya tilted her head. "Why would I do that?"

I stopped.

"What?"

"You heard me."

The smile on her face widened. I searched her eyes, waiting for a hint that this was a cruel joke.

There was none.

"You knew?" I asked.

Anya laughed. "You always think everyone is as innocent as you pretend to be."

"Anya, please."

"You've always had everything handed to you, Camelia. The pack loves you. Father trusts you. Peter chose you."

She stepped beside Peter and rested her hand on his arm.

"You get to play the perfect daughter while everyone else has to live in your shadow."

My eyes dropped to my sister's hand on Peter.

He didn't pull away.

"What are you saying?" I asked.

"I'm saying Peter deserved to see your true colors."

The room seemed to shrink around me. I looked at Peter, but he kept his eyes on Anya.

"You set me up," I said.

Anya shrugged. "You made it easy."

"You're my sister."

"And you're a fool for thinking that means I owe you anything."

Tears filled my eyes. "How could you do this to me?"

Her expression stayed cold. "You were never good enough for him."

I turned to Peter. "You can't believe her. She just admitted she did this. You know I love you."

Peter's face hardened. "Don't use her to avoid taking responsibility."

"Peter—"

His hand struck my cheek.

The slap cracked through the room. Pain burned across my face as I stumbled, then lifted my fingers to the sting and stared at him.

He had hit me.

Questions crowded my throat. How long had they been planning this? Had Peter promised Anya the same things he had promised me? Had the ceremony ever meant anything to him?

I couldn't make myself ask. His silence had already answered more than he knew.

When he lifted his hand, I hadn't believed he would strike me. Even after his fingers hit my cheek, a part of me waited for him to look horrified by what he had done.

He never did.

Peter, who had once promised to protect me, had just struck me for asking him to hear the truth.

"Don't play the victim," he said. "Stay away from me."

He turned from me and walked to Anya. The anger left his face. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, then offered his hand.

"Come," he said gently. "Let me take care of you."

Anya slipped her fingers through his.

They moved together like they had done it before. Peter didn't look back at me.

Not once.

At the doorway, Anya paused and glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving.

"He is mine now, Camelia."

The door slammed shut.

Silence settled over the room. I waited for Peter to return. I waited for Anya to admit she had gone too far. I waited for someone to tell me this wasn't real.

No one came.

My knees gave way. On the floor, I pressed my hand against my cheek. The pain was sharp, but the betrayal cut deeper.

My fiancé was gone. The sister I thought I knew was gone too.

And I had no idea what would happen next.