The dungeons of the Obsidian Pack weren't actually dungeons. They were just cold, damp holding cells beneath the servant’s quarters, smelling of mildew and old fear.

I sat on the edge of the cot, my hands trembling in my lap. My ankle throbbed where the glass had sliced it, a steady thump-thump-thump that matched the erratic beating of my heart.

But the pain in my ankle was nothing compared to the fire in my blood.

Mate.

My wolf, usually a quiet, timid thing, was pacing inside my mind. She was scratching at the walls of my consciousness, whining, desperate to get back to him. To Marcel.

"He felt it," I whispered to the empty room. "I know he did."

I closed my eyes, replaying the moment. The way his pupils had blown wide, swallowing the iris. The way his scent—dark chocolate and rain had flooded my lungs, making me dizzy. The electricity that snapped when he grabbed my arm.

Alphas couldn't ignore the bond. It was biological law. It was the Moon Goddess’s will.

Maybe he was just shocked. Maybe, once the party was over, once the cameras and the dignitaries were gone, he would come down here. He would open the door, and his eyes would be soft, like they were when we were children, and he would tell me he was sorry.

creak.

The metal door at the top of the stairs groaned open.

My head snapped up.

Heavy footsteps descended the concrete stairs. Slow. Deliberate. Authoritative.

My wolf let out a sharp yip of excitement. Him.

I stood up, wincing as weight hit my bad ankle, but I straightened my spine. I tried to smooth down my stained uniform. I tried to wipe the dirt from my cheeks.

The shadow appeared first, stretching long across the floor. Then, Marcel stepped into the dim light of the cell.

He had changed. The wine-stained shirt was gone, replaced by a crisp black dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, muscular forearms. He looked devastatingly handsome.

He also looked like he wanted to murder someone.

"Alpha," I breathed, dipping my head in submission. It was instinct. His aura was so potent in the small space it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

He didn't speak. He just stared at me.

He stepped closer. Then closer.

He stopped inches from me. The heat coming off his body was incredible. It called to me, pulling at my naval like a hook. I wanted to lean into him. I wanted to bury my nose in his neck and breathe him in.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I lifted my gaze.

There was no softness. No apology. His eyes were hard chips of obsidian, burning with a mixture of lust and profound hatred.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

I blinked, confused. "My ankle?"

" The bond," he corrected, his voice rough. "Does it burn, Vanessa? Does it feel like your skin is too tight for your body? Does your wolf feel like she’s clawing her throat out just to be near me?"

"Yes," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. "Yes, Marcel. It hurts."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Good."

I recoiled as if he’d slapped me. "What?"

"You think this is a gift?" He took a step forward, forcing me to back up until my shoulders hit the cold concrete wall. He caged me in, placing a hand on the wall beside my head. He didn't touch me, but the proximity was suffocating. "You think because the Goddess played a cruel joke, that I’m suddenly going to forget who you are?"

"I’m your mate," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "I’m your equal."

"You are a servant!" he roared.

The sound bounced off the walls, making me flinch. My wolf whimpered, tucking her tail.

"You are a scrub girl," Marcel snarled, leaning down so his face was level with mine. "You have no lineage. No power. Your parents were rogue trash that my father took in out of pity. And you think you’re fit to be Luna of the Obsidian Pack?"

"It’s not about power," I cried. "It’s about the bond! You can't fight it, Marcel. It will drive you mad."

"Watch me."

He reached out then, his hand wrapping around my throat.

He didn't squeeze. He didn't cut off my air. But the contact was electric. A gasp ripped from my throat, my eyes fluttering shut. Sparks, hot and addictive, danced across my skin where his fingers lay.

"See?" I panted, my body betraying me. I leaned into his hand. "You feel it too."

Marcel’s breath hitched. For a second just a fraction of a second his thumb caressed the pulse point of my neck. I felt his resistance crumble. I felt his wolf pushing forward, wanting to claim, wanting to mark.

He lowered his head. His lips brushed the shell of my ear.

"I feel it," he murmured, his voice sounding like gravel. "I feel the urge to take you right here on this dirty floor. To mark you until everyone knows you belong to me."

My knees went weak. "Marcel..."

"But," he pulled back sharply, his hand dropping from my throat as if I were toxic waste. The coldness slammed back into his eyes, worse than before. "I am not an animal, Vanessa. I am an Alpha. And I choose my destiny. I do not let a biological itch dictate my future."

I stared at him, horror dawning on me. "You... you’re going to reject me?"

"I can't have a weak Luna," he said, straightening his cuffs, looking at me with cold calculation. "I need an alliance. I need Mia. Her father controls the southern trade routes. Marrying her secures the pack’s future."

"Mia?" I choked out. "She’s cruel. She’s selfish. She doesn't love you!"

"She is suitable," Marcel said flatly.

"The pack will know," I argued, desperate now. "They’ll smell me on you. They’ll know I’m your true mate."

"No, they won't."

Marcel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver vial. He tossed it onto the cot.

"Drink that."

I looked at the vial. The liquid inside was a murky purple. "What is it?"

"Wolfsbane mixed with a scent-blocker," he said. "It will dull the bond. It will stop your wolf from calling to mine. And it will hide your scent from the pack."

"You want me to poison myself?" I looked at him in disbelief. "Marcel, wolfsbane hurts. It burns."

"It’s better than the alternative," he said darkly.

"Which is?"

"Death."

He wasn't joking. I could see it in the set of his jaw. He was threatened by me. He was threatened by what I made him feel.

"I won't do it," I whispered. "I won't hide who I am."

Marcel’s eyes flashed. The air around him shimmered with Alpha command.

"You will do as I say."

The voice wasn't his human voice. It was the Alpha Voice. It slammed into my brain, forcing my muscles to lock up, forcing my wolf to bare her neck in submission.

My body moved without my permission. I stumbled toward the cot. My hand reached out, shaking violently, and picked up the vial.

"Please," I sobbed, fighting the command with everything I had. "Marcel, please don't make me do this."

He watched me, his face a mask of stone. But his hands were clenched into fists at his sides, shaking. He was fighting it too. He was using every ounce of his will to crush the instinct to comfort me.

"Drink it," he ordered. "And tomorrow morning, you will stand before the pack, and you will witness my engagement to Mia. You will serve the wine. And you will smile."

"I hate you," I whispered, uncorking the vial.

"Good," Marcel said, turning his back on me.

I brought the vial to my lips. The smell was acrid.

I downed it.

Pain, sharp and immediate, tore through my stomach. It felt like swallowing liquid fire. I gagged, dropping the vial, clutching my stomach as my knees hit the floor. My wolf screamed in agony as the connection to the moon—and to Marcel was forcibly dampened.

I curled into a ball on the concrete, gasping for air.

Marcel paused at the door. He didn't look back.

"Stay here tonight," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "If you try to leave, the guards have orders to shoot. Just because you’re my mate doesn't mean you’re immortal, Vanessa."

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

I lay on the freezing floor, the poison burning through my veins, while the man I loved walked away to plan a future with another woman.

But as the darkness began to take me, I realized something.

He hadn't rejected me yet. Not formally. Not with the words.

He was afraid. He was afraid if he said the words 'I reject you', the bond would snap and kill us both.

He was trying to bury it.

But nothing stays buried forever. especially not this.

The wolfsbane was a slow poison. It didn't just mute my wolf; it turned my blood into lead and my bones into glass. Every step I took across the ballroom floor felt like walking on hot coals, but I couldn't stop. The Alpha’s command was still vibrating in my skull, a tether I couldn't break.

"Keep moving, Vanessa. If you faint, I’m not helping you," Martha hissed as she shoved a tray of crystal flutes into my hands.

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice sounding like it was coming from underwater.

The Grand Hall was even more crowded than the night before. The scent-blocker was working; the guests didn't look at me with curiosity or suspicion. To them, I was just a nameless shadow, a ghost in a black dress.

But Marcel… Marcel knew.

He was standing by the fireplace, surrounded by Barnard and Ray. Barnard, the pack’s oldest advisor, was gesturing wildly with a cigar, likely talking about border security. Ray, the lead trainer, stood like a statue, his eyes scanning the room.

And Marcel? He looked like he hadn't slept a wink, though his face remained a mask of cold perfection.

"You’re late with the drinks," Ray barked as I approached the group.

"I’m sorry, sir," I whispered, keeping my head down.

I reached for Marcel’s glass to refill it. My hand shook, the silver tray rattling. As I poured, the scent-blocker flickered for a second—the pain of the wolfsbane causing my control to slip. A tiny puff of my natural scent, vanilla and rain, escaped.

Marcel’s head snapped toward me. His nostrils flared.

"I told you to stay in the kitchen," he said, his voice a low, lethal vibration.

"Martha sent me," I said, finally meeting his eyes. They were merciless. "The guests are thirsty, Alpha."

"I don't care about the guests. Get out of my sight."

"Marcel, don't be so hard on the girl," Barnard chuckled, blowing a cloud of smoke. "She’s just doing her job. Besides, we have a guest of honor arriving any minute. We need all hands on deck."

"She’s incompetent," Marcel snapped, his eyes never leaving mine. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me whole. "And she smells like sickness. It’s disgusting."

The word disgusting twisted the knife in my heart. I wanted to scream that it was his poison making me smell this way.

"Is that any way to talk to a lady, brother?"

The voice came from the main entrance, loud and dripping with a playful arrogance that didn't belong in this tense room.

The crowd parted.

I froze. Coming down the stairs was a man who looked almost exactly like Marcel, but where Marcel was shadows and ice, this man was sunlight and fire. He wore an expensive leather jacket and a grin that promised trouble.

"Nathan," Ray breathed, his hand twitching toward his side.

Nathan Blackwood. Marcel’s twin. The "Wild Alpha" who had been traveling the world for two years, refusing to be tied down by pack politics.

Nathan ignored the gasps and whispers, walking straight up to the High Table. He didn't look at Marcel first. He looked at me.

"Well, well," Nathan said, stopping right in front of me. He leaned in, sniffing the air, his amber eyes dancing with mischief. "The Obsidian Pack has certainly upgraded its staff since I left. Who are you, little bird?"

"She’s nobody," Marcel growled, stepping between us. The air between the brothers crackled with instant, violent dominance. "What are you doing here, Nathan? You weren't invited."

"It’s an engagement party, Marce! I couldn't miss my big brother selling his soul to the Beta’s brat," Nathan laughed, clapping a hand on Marcel’s shoulder. Marcel looked like he wanted to rip the arm off.

Nathan’s gaze flicked back to me, lingering on the way I was trembling. "You look pale, sweetheart. Why is my brother treating you like a criminal?"

"She’s just a servant, Nathan. Leave it," Marcel hissed.

"A servant with eyes like a storm," Nathan murmured, reaching out. Before Marcel could stop him, Nathan’s fingers brushed my cheek.

The contact was warm normal but it wasn't the spark. It wasn't the mate bond. It was just a man touching a woman. But Marcel’s reaction was anything but normal.

Marcel lunged forward, grabbing Nathan’s wrist and twisting it away from me. A low, guttural snarl ripped from Marcel’s throat, a sound so primal it made the guests scream.

"Don't. Touch. Her," Marcel breathed, his eyes turning pitch black.

The room went silent. Even Nathan’s smirk faltered.

"Whoa," Nathan laughed nervously, pulling his hand back. "Easy, Alpha. I didn't know the help was off-limits. Is there something you’re not telling me?"

Marcel realized he’d overreacted. He smoothed his shirt, his face returning to that terrifyingly calm mask. "She’s clumsy. I don't want her breaking more crystal."

He turned to me, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. It wasn't love. It was a hunger so dark it made my blood run cold.

"Vanessa," he said, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "Go to my study. Now. We need to discuss your… termination."

"Marcel, you can't" I started.

"Go," he commanded. The Alpha Voice hit me like a physical blow.

I turned and ran. I didn't stop until I reached the heavy oak doors of his private study. I pushed inside, gasping for air, the wolfsbane making my lungs feel like they were collapsing.

I leaned against his desk, trying to steady my heart. It smelled like him in here. Dark wood, old books, and that intoxicating scent of rain.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

The door slammed open.

Marcel didn't walk in; he stormed in. He kicked the door shut and locked it in one fluid motion. He looked possessed.

"You like the attention?" he snarled, crossing the room in three strides. He grabbed my waist and lifted me, slamming me back against the heavy mahogany desk.

"What attention?" I cried, my hands landing on his chest. His heart was thudding like a war drum.

"Nathan. You were practically throwing yourself at him," Marcel growled, his face inches from mine. "Is that the plan, Vanessa? If the Alpha rejects you, you’ll just move on to his twin? You want a crown that badly?"

"You’re insane! He just touched my face!"

"He touched what is mine," Marcel roared.

"You said I was nothing to you!" I yelled back, the tears finally breaking through. "You said I was trash! You gave me poison to hide me! So why do you care?"

Marcel froze. His grip on my waist tightened until it hurt. His gaze dropped to my lips, and I saw the war raging inside him. The Alpha who wanted power, and the Wolf who wanted his mate.

"I hate you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I hate that you have this hold on me."

"Then let me go," I sobbed.

"I can't."

He crashed his lips onto mine.

It wasn't a soft kiss. It wasn't a romantic reconciliation. It was a collision of teeth and tongue, a desperate, angry claim. It was the bond screaming for release, fueled by the wolfsbane and the jealousy and years of repressed longing.

I should have fought him. I should have pushed him away. But the moment his tongue touched mine, the pain of the poison vanished. I was soaring. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing the friction, needing the heat.

He groaned into my mouth, his hands roaming over my body with a frantic, possessive hunger. He hiked up my dress, his fingers searing my skin.

"Marcel," I whimpered against his lips.

"Don't speak," he growled, burying his face in my neck, his teeth grazing the spot where he should mark me. "Just… don't speak."

In that moment, under the dim light of the study, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no Mia, no pack, no rejection. There was only the fire.

But as he pushed me down onto the desk, his eyes suddenly cleared for a heartbeat. He looked at me truly looked at me and the coldness returned like a winter frost.

"This changes nothing," he whispered, even as he unbuckled his belt.

"I know," I breathed, pulling him back down.

I didn't know that this one night would be the beginning of my greatest joy and my deepest agony. I didn't know that as we lost ourselves in each other, a pair of eyes was watching through the crack in the door.

And those eyes weren't Nathan's.

Three weeks.

That’s how long it took for Marcel to completely erase the night in his study.

If I thought that night was a turning point, I was a fool. It wasn’t a beginning; it was a final, desperate goodbye that only I had been aware of. Since then, Marcel hadn't just been cold he had been a stranger. He didn't look at me when I poured his coffee. He didn't acknowledge me when I cleaned his boots. He treated me with the same clinical indifference he showed the floorboards under his feet.

I, on the other hand, was falling apart.

"Vanessa! The silver isn't going to polish itself!" Martha’s voice barked from the kitchen doorway.

I slumped over the sink, my stomach rolling in a violent wave. The smell of the lamb roasting for tonight’s feast was making my head spin. "I’m on it, Martha. Just… give me a second."

"You’ve been 'taking a second' for ten days," Martha grumbled, though her eyes softened for a fraction of a second. "You look gray, girl. Go sit down before you faint and break the Alpha’s china."

I didn't sit. I couldn't. If I stopped moving, I’d start thinking. And if I started thinking, I’d remember the way Marcel’s hands felt on my skin the only memory keeping me from sinking into the dark.

I grabbed a tray of appetizers and headed toward the drawing room.

The "inner circle" was gathered. Marcel, Mia, Raval, and the Elders. Barnard was droning on about territory lines, but my eyes were glued to Marcel. He was sitting in his armchair, one leg crossed over the other, looking regal and utterly terrifying.

Mia was perched on the arm of his chair, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Oh, look," Mia chirped as I entered. "The little mouse is back. Honestly, Marcel, she looks worse every day. Are you sure she isn't contagious?"

Marcel didn't even lift his gaze from the maps on the table. "She’s fine, Mia. Just overworked."

His voice was like a slab of granite. No emotion. No warmth. Not even the anger from three weeks ago.

"Well, she smells… off," Mia insisted, wrinkling her nose. "Like sour milk and cheap soap. It’s ruinous to my appetite."

I bit my lip, moving to the side table to set down the tray. My hand slipped. A small piece of bruschetta tumbled onto the rug.

"Clumsy bitch," Ray muttered from the corner, his arms crossed over his chest. He was Marcel's lead enforcer, and he hated omegas almost as much as Mia did.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, kneeling to pick it up.

As I bent over, the world tilted. My stomach did a somersault, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead. The scent of the garlic on the tray hit me like a physical punch.

I bolted.

I didn't ask for permission. I didn't care about the silver. I sprinted for the hallway bathroom, barely making it before I lost what little breakfast I’d managed to swallow.

I sat on the tile floor, gasping, my heart hammering against my ribs.

It’s just the wolfsbane, I told myself. It’s just the stress.

But deep down, in the part of me that was still connected to the moon, I knew. The bond hadn't just sparked that night; it had taken root.

"Vanessa?"

A shadow fell across the doorway. I looked up, my eyes watering, to see Nathan. He was leaning against the frame, his amber eyes clouded with concern. He wasn't like Marcel. He didn't hide behind a mask.

"Go away, Nathan," I groaned, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"You've been sick every morning for a week," he said, stepping inside and locking the door behind him. "And don't tell me it's the flu. I'm a Blackwood, Vanessa. I can smell the change in your hormones from down the hall."

I froze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're carrying," he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of shock and something that sounded like grief. "Is it his?"

"Who else would it be?" I snapped, the fear finally turning into anger. "He's my mate, Nathan. Even if he hates me, he's the only one I've ever"

"He doesn't know," Nathan realized, his face paling. "If he knew, he wouldn't be doing what he's about to do."

"What is he about to do?"

Nathan didn't answer. He just looked at me with pity, and that was far worse than Marcel’s coldness.

The bell for the Full Moon Assembly rang an hour later.

This was the time when the pack gathered to hear the Alpha’s decrees. Usually, it was about hunting quotas or new recruits. But tonight, the air felt different. Heavy. Electric.

I stood in the back, hidden behind a pillar, my hand instinctively resting on my still-flat stomach. I felt a strange sense of calm. I'll tell him tonight, I thought. Once the assembly is over, I'll go to his study. I'll tell him about the babies. He won't reject me if he knows he has an heir.

Marcel stood on the dais, the moonlight through the skylight turning his dark hair to silver. He looked like a god.

"Pack members," Marcel began, his voice echoing with Alpha authority. "The strength of the Obsidian Pack lies in its bloodlines. To ensure our future, I have made a decision regarding my station."

Mia stepped up beside him, a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"To lead, I must have a Luna who matches my strength," Marcel continued. He finally looked toward the back of the room. His eyes found mine. For a second, the coldness flickered, replaced by a raw, jagged edge of pain.

Then, it was gone.

"I, Marcel Blackwood, Alpha of the Obsidian Pack, recognize the moon's choice for my mate," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl.

The pack gasped. My heart leapt. He's going to do it. He's going to claim me.

"And I find her wanting," Marcel finished.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Vanessa," he barked. "Step forward."

I walked through the crowd, my legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. I stopped at the foot of the dais, looking up at him. I tried to mind-link him, to scream 'I'm pregnant!' into his head, but the wolfsbane he'd forced me to drink act like a wall. I couldn't reach him.

"Vanessa," he said, looking down at me as if I were a bug under his boot. "You are an omega. An orphan of rogue blood. You are a weakness I cannot afford."

"Marcel, please," I whispered, the tears blurring my vision.

"I, Marcel Blackwood," he began the formal chant, his voice rising in power, "reject you, Vanessa, as my mate and the future Luna of this pack. I sever the cord. I break the bond. I cast you out of my bloodline."

The pain hit me like a physical blow to the chest. It was a searing, white-hot agony that made me collapse to my knees. My wolf let out a guttural, soul-shattering howl inside my head as the connection snapped.

It felt like dying. It felt worse than dying.

"Do you accept my rejection?" he demanded.

I looked up at him through the haze of pain. He was standing there, watching me suffer, and he didn't even flinch. He didn't care.

"I… I accept," I choked out.

The bond went dark. The silence in my head was terrifying.

"The ceremony is over," Marcel announced to the pack, his voice cold and final. "The celebration for my engagement to Mia begins now."

He turned his back on me.

I lay on the floor, my fingers clawing at the stone, the rejection pain mixing with a new, sharp cramp in my abdomen.

The babies.

I struggled to my feet, my head spinning. I needed to get out. I needed to run before I lost them, too.

As I turned to flee, a man stepped into the light at the edge of the hall. He was older, with a jagged scar running down his cheek and eyes that looked like cold brass.

"Well, well," the man said, his voice a raspy drawl. "I leave for five years and Marcel turns into a heartless bastard. Just like his father."

The room went still again.

"Cousin Dylan," Marcel said, his voice laced with a new kind of tension.

Dylan, Marcel’s cousin and the most notorious mercenary in the northern territories—didn't look at Marcel. He looked straight at me. He walked forward, his presence smelling of gunpowder and old blood.

He stopped in front of me, reaching out to tilt my chin up.

"You're the little mate he just threw away?" Dylan asked, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. He leaned in, his nose brushing my temple. His eyes went wide.

He smelled it.

Dylan’s gaze flicked to Marcel, then back to my stomach. "Oh, Marcel… you really are a fool. You just threw away more than a mate."

"Get your hands off her, Dylan," Marcel growled, his wolf surfacing.

Dylan laughed, a dark, jagged sound. "Or what? You've rejected her. She's free game now, isn't she?"

Dylan leaned into my ear, his voice a deadly whisper. "Don't worry, little bird. If the Alpha doesn't want his prize, I'm more than happy to take the leftovers. And the secrets they carry."

I looked at Marcel, hoping for a spark of protection.

He just looked at me with cold, dead eyes. "Take her if you want, Dylan. She’s nothing to me."