Seraphine ’s POV

Rowan leaned against the jagged arch of the rogue den, his amber eyes glinting in the moonlight as they settled on Mina. She toyed with the hem of her tunic, her laughter rippling through the night like a blade. The faint shimmer of her wolf mark on her collarbone glowed under the moon's silver gaze, a symbol of her rogue lineage.

"You’re impressed, aren’t you?" she teased, her fingers trailing along Rowan’s chest.

He smirked, the crooked curve of his lips making my heart ache. "Impressed doesn’t even begin to cover it."

Hidden deep within the shadows of the woods, I watched them, my breath catching at the sight of their intimacy. His gaze was unguarded—possessive, even—and it shattered the fragile hope I’d clung to. My wolf thrashed within me, her anguish a raw, searing force, but I kept still, rooted by the weight of betrayal.

"You’ve got the pack in your claws, don’t you?" Beta Orin said, appearing beside Rowan with an air of smug amusement. "Mina’s more than just a rogue, huh? She’s a prize."

Rowan’s smirk slipped, his expression darkening. A dangerous growl rumbled from his chest. "She’s not just a prize."

Orin raised a brow, undeterred. "And Seraphine ? Still hanging onto the mate bond? She’s a worthy Luna in her own right, even without your attention."

Rowan’s posture stiffened, his golden eyes blazing with fury. "Say one more word about her, Orin, and I’ll tear your throat out."

The Beta chuckled nervously, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Easy, Alpha. No disrespect."

I couldn’t bear to hear more. Each word cut deeper than the last. Turning on my heel, I fled, the forest closing in around me as my steps quickened. My wolf whimpered, her grief mingling with mine, but I shoved her back. I did not have the time for tears or pain—All I need is clarity.

By the time I got to the edge of the pack's territory, my legs were shaking, and my breath came in short and painful gasps. A patrol wolf came out from the shadows, his sharp eyes narrowing.

"Luna Seraphine ," he said, dipping his head in respect. "Is everything—"

"Don’t," I snapped, my voice sharper than intended. "You didn’t see me. Understand?"

The wolf’s ears flattened, and he nodded quickly, stepping aside to let me pass. Without another glance, I strode toward the village.

The market was quiet, save for the low murmur of voices and the crackle of the central fire. I approached the herbalist’s stall, snatching up a handful of moonroot tinctures and vials of wolfsbane mead. The herbalist raised a brow but said nothing, her gaze lingering as I tossed a pouch of coins onto the counter and left.

As I stepped onto the main path, her scent hit me before her voice did—a sickly sweet mix of wildflowers and deceit. Mina.

"Seraphine ," she called, her tone dripping with mock concern. "You look… tired. Rough night?"

I clenched my jaw, my claws itching to extend, but I forced myself to remain composed. She sauntered closer, the glint in her eyes as sharp as her words.

"You know," she continued, her voice a silken dagger, "Rowan speaks of you often. He says you’re resilient. Strong. A true Luna." She paused, a cruel smile curving her lips. "But even the strongest bonds can break, don’t you think? The Moon Goddess works in mysterious ways."

I tightened my fingers around the vials in my pouch, my nails entering into my palm. Still, I did not give her the satisfaction of a response from me.

"Don't let me keep you," she said, her voice calm but filled with poison. "He’ll be looking for me soon. You know how demanding Alpha duties can be."

I strode away without a word, her laughter trailing behind me like a shadow.

Back at the Pack House, I dropped the vials onto the table and collapsed into the nearest chair. The silence pressed down on me, thick and suffocating. I uncorked a vial of wolfsbane mead and drank deeply, the bitter burn offering little solace against the storm raging within.

The sun dipped below the horizon before Rowan returned. His golden eyes softened as he stepped through the door, his gaze falling on the nearly empty vial in my hand.

"Seraphine ," he murmured, his voice low and careful. "Have you been drinking wolfsbane mead?"

I lifted the vial, the bitterness in my heart matching the mead on my tongue. "Is that a problem?"

He crossed the room in fast strides, kneeling before me and taking my hand. "You don’t need this, love," he said, his voice thick with concern. "Whatever’s troubling you, we can face it together."

I laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. "Together?" I repeated, shaking my head. "That’s rich coming from you."

He flinched, his jaw tightening. "You’re exhausted," he said softly. "Let me take care of you."

I pulled my hand free, placing the vial on the table with a sharp clink. "I don’t need you to take care of me, Rowan. I need you to tell me the truth."

His amber eyes searched mine, the flicker of guilt there fleeting but unmistakable. "I’ve never lied to you," he said, the words smooth but empty.

I rose to my feet, the chair scraping against the floor as I moved past him. "Maybe you haven’t lied," I said quietly, my voice cutting through the heavy silence. "But you haven’t told the truth either."

As I stepped into the bedroom, I heard the faint chime of his messenger hawk—a soft series of high-pitched calls only audible to werewolves. I stopped, my heart sinking as Rowan’s voice came down into a hushed tone.

"I’ll be there soon," he said, his words clipped and impatient.

The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place, each fragment sharper than the last. My stomach churned, and my wolf growled low, but I swallowed the rising fury.

Tomorrow, I thought bitterly as I closed the door behind me. He always promises tomorrow.

But this time, I’d be the one making promises. And when the moonlight faded, Rowan would learn what it meant to betray a mate.

Seraphine's POV

Present Day

An hour after Rowan left, a sharp knock shattered the quiet of my den. I opened the wooden door to find a young pack runner standing there, his head bowed respectfully, carrying an armful of crimson roses. Not a bouquet—an entire crate brimming with tightly packed blooms.

“Luna Seraphine, Alpha Rowan sent these as a token of his devotion,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He placed them at my feet and quickly stepped back, avoiding my gaze.

I stared at the roses, my wolf stirring uneasily. What once symbolized love and unity now felt like a cruel mockery—beauty masking the pain beneath.

“Leave,” I commanded curtly, slamming the door before he could say more.

The moment the door shut, my control unraveled. Rage surged through me, white-hot and consuming. I grabbed a clay vase from the table and hurled it at the crate. The sharp crash echoed through the den as shards flew in every direction. My claws extended, tearing into the flowers, shredding petals and stems. The powerful smell of crushed flowers filled the air, disgusting and suffocating.

My wolf howled in anguish, clawing at the sides of my mind, but I sent her back. There was no room for pain—only fury.

I sank onto the fur-draped couch, pressing trembling hands to my face, my breaths ragged. A faint rustling outside caught my attention. Rising, I moved to the window, peering through the thick wooden slats.

In the distance, shadows moved—two figures walking close together along the treeline. My enhanced sight sharpened the image. Rowan, his golden hair catching the moonlight, walked beside a woman draped in an elegant wolf hide cloak. Her hand brushed his arm, their closeness unmistakable.

My wolf growled low, her rage echoing my own.

Another sound broke my focus—a messenger's howl from the far edges of the pack’s territory. A warning? A revelation? I couldn’t ignore it.

I stormed back inside, grabbed my traveling cloak, and summoned the elder responsible for the silver crescent moon Pendant, a heirloom blessed by the moon goddess herself for the Luna.

“The heirloom,” I said sharply when his voice filled my mind through the pack link. “Sell it.”

A stunned silence followed before his hesitant reply. “Luna Seraphine? The heirloom is sacred. It holds the spirits of our ancestors—”

“I don’t care!” I snapped, my voice laced with a growl. “Sell it to the highest bidder. It means nothing to me now.”

He hesitated again, but I silenced him with a snarl, severing the link. The heirloom had been Rowan’s promise to me—a future that now felt like a lie. Keeping it would only remind me of his betrayal.

Exhaustion pulled at me, and I let myself collapse onto the couch, the weight of my rage and heartbreak dragging me into uneasy sleep.

The scent of cedar and musk woke me. Rowan.

My eyes opened to find him crouched before me, his golden gaze searching my face. His lips brushed mine lightly, tentative and soft.

“Seraphine,” he murmured, his voice thick with concern. “What’s going on? I’ve heard troubling whispers—about the heirloom, the patrols, even shifts in territory ownership. Are you all right?”

His feigned concern stoked the embers of my anger into a roaring flame.

“Just minor misunderstandings among the elders,” I said coolly, keeping my tone detached.

His eyes flicked toward the door where the massacre of roses had been. The pack had cleaned the mess, but his wolf instincts caught the lingering tension in the air.

“You’ve been distant lately,” he said cautiously. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp. “Can I?”

He tightened his jaw, his golden eyes becoming dark, but he did not say anything. Instead, he moved to the hearth, busying himself with stoking the fire and preparing our meal. The sight of him playing the role of a caring mate was almost laughable.

When he set a plate of roasted meat and wild herbs before me, my wolf growled low in warning. I ignored the food, my mind racing with the images of Rowan and the woman.

Rowan’s demeanor shifted subtly as he finished eating. His lips curled into a faint, private smile as if his thoughts were far from me.

“I have a council meeting,” he announced abruptly, pulling on his cloak. “Don’t worry about the dishes—I’ll handle it later.”

Before I could reply, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a finality that left my chest hollow.

The howl of another messenger reached my ears—a mournful, lingering note that carried new information. I stepped outside, following the sound.

At the forest’s edge, two patrol wolves exchanged hurried whispers.

“She’s always at his side now,” one said. “Some say she’ll be named the new Luna soon.”

My claws extended involuntarily, digging into the wooden railing of the den.

I stormed back inside and began packing. Cloaks, trinkets, personal belongings—everything that tied me to this place. By the time I finished, the Pack House was stripped of any trace of me.

As the wagon rumbled toward the border, I felt the bond between Rowan and me stretch, its once-unbreakable grip loosening.

A final howl reached me, carrying Rowan’s message through the pack link.

“You sold the Heirloom? Why? What’s happening?”