Shattered Bond, Sweet Revenge

I ran my feather duster along the oak shelves in Marcus's private study, careful not to disturb the meticulously arranged books. Three years as his mate, and this room still felt forbidden. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the higher shelf—another reminder of yesterday's 'training accident' that left my shoulder aching.

"Just be careful, Lyra," I whispered to my wolf, who whimpered softly in response. Once vibrant and strong, she'd grown increasingly withdrawn over the years, a shadow of her former self.

The study smelled of Marcus—sandalwood and power, that distinctive Alpha scent that once made my heart race with love. Now it just made me anxious. I glanced at the grandfather clock. Twenty minutes until he returned from the pack meeting. Twenty minutes to finish and disappear before he found some new flaw in my work.

As I stretched to reach the top shelf, my elbow knocked against a leather-bound book. It tumbled from its hidden position behind the row of financial ledgers, skidding across the polished floor with a sound that seemed to echo through the silent room.

My heart stopped. Marcus was meticulous about his possessions. Any disturbance would be noticed.

"I need to put it back exactly where it was," I murmured, kneeling to retrieve the fallen book. It had landed open, the pages splayed against the hardwood. As I moved to close it, a single phrase caught my eye: "Injury #97: Shoulder dislocation during training."

My blood ran cold. That was yesterday. The 'accident' where Delta Wilson had apologized profusely for throwing me too hard.

I shouldn't read it. I should put it back. But my trembling fingers betrayed me, turning to the previous page.

"Injury #96: Food poisoning from altered medication. Subject bedridden for three days. Minimal permanent damage, but sufficient energy transfer achieved."

The room spun around me. That was last month, when I'd been so violently ill that even the pack healer had been concerned. Marcus had stayed by my bedside, his face a mask of concern.

I clutched the journal to my chest and backed away from the shelf, my mind racing. This couldn't be real. This had to be some kind of mistake.

---

Night had fallen by the time I dared to open the journal again. Locked in my room—not our room, never our room, despite being his mate for three years—I sat cross-legged on my bed, the leather-bound book heavy in my lap.

My hands shook as I turned to the first page, dated three years ago. The very day Marcus had announced me as his mate to the pack.

"Contract initiated. Subject: Charlotte Williams, adopted daughter of Alpha Richard Williams. The contract requires 99 injuries through the mate bond to transfer life force to the intended Luna. Injury #1: Staged rogue attack during territory patrol."

I pressed my hand to my mouth, remembering that day. The 'lucky escape' that had left three parallel scars across my back. How Marcus had found me, carried me home, tended to my wounds himself.

All lies.

Page after page documented every 'accident,' every illness, every training mishap. Each one numbered. Each one planned. Each one inflicted by the man who was supposed to love and protect me above all others.

And worse—much worse—was the name that appeared throughout the entries. Isabella. My sister. My beautiful, perfect sister whom I'd loved despite her coldness toward me.

The journal slipped from my numb fingers as a wave of nausea hit me. Ninety-seven injuries. Only two more to go before whatever sick contract was fulfilled.

I needed air. I needed to think. Wrapping myself in a shawl against the autumn chill, I slipped out of my room and down the back stairs that led to the gardens.

The night air did little to clear my head as I wandered among the roses, their scent cloying and suffocating. I paused as voices drifted from the gazebo ahead. One deep and familiar—Marcus. The other soft and musical—Isabella.

I ducked behind a tall hedge, my heart pounding so loudly I feared they would hear it.

"Just two more injuries until the contract's complete," Marcus was saying, his voice low and intimate in a way it had never been with me. "Then we'll be free to announce our true mating."

"I've waited so long," Isabella replied, her voice thick with emotion. "Having to watch you pretend with her..."

"It's almost over, my love," Marcus murmured, and through the gaps in the foliage, I saw him pull my sister into his arms, his lips claiming hers with a passion he'd never shown me.

I pressed my fist against my mouth to stifle the sound that threatened to escape. My mate. My sister. The ninety-seven scars on my body. The contract.

As they embraced in the moonlight, something inside me shattered and reformed—harder, colder, and utterly unforgiving.