Chapter 17

Silas’s smile is devilish—roguish, even. My words sound like a finality I can’t take back, but strangely, there’s no panic. No fear.

He steps closer, invading my space, his face dipping to my neck as he whispers in my ear.

“You won’t regret this.”

I think I’m imagining the relief in his voice. Maybe it’s just a reflection of mine. But then he steps back just as quickly, putting space between us. He releases my hand—and for the first time, I don’t feel the need to take it back. Don’t feel the need to cling to him out of fear he’ll vanish before I can understand what this is.

I just told him I’d be his Luna. I can trust he won’t stray far.

His smug smile lingers as he folds his arms across his chest, muscles flexing with the motion. Now that there’s distance, I can properly take in the breadth of his shoulders, the powerful lines of his body. He’s exactly the kind of rogue the old stories warn you about—and exactly the kind that could rewrite them.

“So…” I tilt my head. “When do we announce this engagement to the public?”

He chuckles. The sound is deep, warm, and unexpectedly reassuring—like a bell echoing through my ribs.

“There’s no time like the present, is there?”

I gape. “Now?”

“The next gathering of all five major clans won’t be for months. We need to announce it somewhere visible. Public. Where no one can ignore it.”

It’s risky. Bold. Reckless.

I like it.

“It might be hard to convince them I’m madly in love with you. They’ve never even seen us together.”

“And yet, I was invited.”

My lips twitch despite myself. He’s clever. Calculated. He’s thought of everything. He’s right—his mere presence at the Eclipse Celebration is proof we’ve been in contact long before tonight. Proof this has been in motion for weeks.

There’s a flicker of admiration under my caution. And something else, something sharp and giddy.

I want out. Out of the Moonlit pack. Away from Rosalina. Away from the two men who called themselves my mates and threw me to the wolves. If this is my exit, I’ll take it.

“Very well.” I nod, the ghost of a smile tugging at my lips. “I’ll make it loud. No one will leave that room without knowing I’ve rejected two of the most powerful Alphas in the country… and promised myself to a rogue.”

He laughs again, clearly amused by my phrasing.

Then—he surprises me.

He kneels.

Still smiling. Still smug. But from this angle, beneath me, there’s something almost indecent in the way he looks up at me. My breath catches, a blush creeping up my throat.

With slow, deliberate movement, he reaches into his coat.

“You’ll need a ring,” he says casually.

I don’t move. Just watch, stunned, as he pulls out a small black velvet box. There’s no need for such dramatics, no reason to play this role so thoroughly—but I don’t stop him. I track his every motion as he opens the box with reverence.

Inside: two wedding bands. One modest and elegant. The other crowned with a crimson gem that glows like blood under firelight.

His eyes meet mine, unwavering.

“Luna Nara,” he says, voice low but sure, “will you marry me and do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The words, even warped by the context of our arrangement, strike something deep inside me. They echo—half dream, half threat—like something I’ve always wanted but never believed I could have. My hand trembles slightly as I lift it with ceremony.

With deliberate calm, I slide off the two wedding bands from my past engagement. I don’t throw them—I let them fall. Let the sound of metal against stone mark the end of something that was never truly mine.

My hand bare now, I extend it toward Silas. Ready.

“Yes.” The word escapes me, cracked and trembling.

Silas doesn’t hesitate. He takes my hand with surprising gentleness and slips the ring onto my finger.

“Red suits you,” he whispers.

I don’t think I’ve ever agreed with anything more.

The ring gleams like a fallen star about to collapse in on itself, crimson light burning at its center. It looks dangerous. Glorious. A warning and a promise. A sigil of the war to come and the protection I’ve been offered in its place. It feels like power made tangible—like armor on my skin.

It suits me.

Or at least, it suits the version of me who’s learning to bury her heart and make deals with the devils of this world.

“I will make you the most respected Alpha, Silas of the NightCrows,” I vow, voice steadier now. “I’ll do everything in my power to raise your pack.”

He’s still kneeling, still holding my hand—but something shifts in his gaze. A flicker of darkness. Hunger.

“And I’ll make you the most powerful Luna this world has ever seen,” he says. “One no one will ever dare to question.”

A shiver runs up my spine. Such bold, dangerous words—and I let them in. Let them bloom inside me like poison turned sweet.

I step closer, pulled in by the magnetic force between us, until his face is just inches from me. I cup his jaw in both hands, tilting his head up. His hands settle naturally against my thighs, like he was made to kneel at my feet.

My hair falls around us like a curtain as I bend closer.

“People will want a show,” I whisper.

Hope flashes in his eyes, hunger sharpening its edge.

“A proof we’re in love,” he offers.

I dip lower, just enough to feel his breath on my lips. My own comes hot and sweet—champagne and intent. His scent is wilder—like midnight woods and something feral beneath. I breathe him in, drowning for a moment.

Then I kiss him.

It’s soft at first. Teasing. Barely more than a caress.

But as I start to pull away, his hands snap up behind my head, anchoring me in place. His mouth claims mine in an open kiss, heated and demanding. His tongue moves with purpose, tasting, taking. I match him, try to push back—but he leads, and I let him.

One hand slips from my hair to my throat. He doesn’t squeeze. He doesn’t bruise. He just rests it there—possessive, final.

The touch drags a sound out of me—light, helpless.

He growls in response, low and primal, and something in me gives way.

My hands tangle in his hair, tugging hard. He punishes the roughness with soft, punishing bites to my lips—claiming me in every sense that doesn’t yet need a name.

I don’t know how long we stay like this. When he finally pulls back, my lungs burn, and my body aches with leftover heat. His lips are red and wet, his hair a tousled mess. I know I look worse—kiss-swollen, disheveled, wild-eyed.

The hunger in him seems almost deeper now, not satiated in the least. 

And just like that, I watch him reel it back in. See him put on the mask again.

His hands leave me slowly. I follow his lead.

He rises to his full height, back in control, and offers me that same devilish smile.

“I think they’ll believe us now.”