Chapter 4
Rebecca’s POV Three days. That’s how long it had been since Maurine bore the punishment meant for Lucas—punishment I delivered with my own claws. Yet somehow, Maurine had taken his place. And now, everything felt off. My shoulder had been shredded by that vampire hoodlum’s bite, yet the wound healed… too fast. Faster than any wolf’s regeneration should allow. Something was wrong with me. I didn’t tell anyone. Not my father, not my pack, not even my friends. My wolf was restless lately, pacing in the back of my mind, and I couldn’t even speak to her clearly anymore. I felt foreign in my own body. So, I drove myself to the Moon Monastery. The sky was overcast, and a chill hung in the air. I parked just outside the high stone wall that wrapped around the sacred grounds, the spires of the Moon Priests’ haven stretching up toward the grey heavens. As I stepped out, gravel crunching beneath my boots, I caught a strange scent in the air—sage, pine, and… decay? “Child,” a raspy voice called. I turned sharply. An old woman stood just outside the gates, hidden beneath a long, hooded cape the color of ash. Her scent was… hard to place. Not wolf. Not human. Not vampire either. “Beware,” she said, grasping my hand with ice-cold fingers. “You are the light, but the dark is hungry. It has tasted you now. And it will not stop.” “What?” I yanked my hand back, my instincts prickling. “Danger follows you,” she murmured, eyes glazed with a sight that went beyond this realm. “Heed this, daughter of moonsilver. The shadows know your scent.” Before I could question her, she turned and disappeared into the woods. Creeped out and frustrated, I shook it off and climbed the monastery steps. But just as my hand touched the ancient door handle, something struck the back of my head—and everything went black. It was all darkness. I came to with the sharp burn of ropes against my wrists, my arms numb and bloodied. Blindfolded, my senses were in chaos, and my nose was filled with copper, sweat, and musk. Wolf musk. Claws tore across my skin. Again. Again. Again. Ninety-nine times. Each slash seared. Each one peeled back more than just skin. It peeled my dignity, my strength. My wolf whimpered. She couldn’t even rise. “You shouldn’t have punished her,” a gravelly voice said. “She’s precious. You… you offended the wrong person.” “Who… are you…” I rasped, spitting blood. He didn’t answer me. Just made a call. “She’s done,” he said, and I heard the voice clearly on the other end. [Leave her now.] It was Lucas. I knew that voice. Even through static and pain. My wolf knight. He ordered this. The person who was supposed to protect me, who took an oath to sacrifice his all for my life. He hurt me. By the time I was dumped on the side of the road like a discarded animal, I was drenched in blood and half-conscious. Yet I crawled. I shifted halfway and hailed a taxi, growling when the driver screamed at the sight of me. “Just drive,” I snarled. “Hospital.” In the emergency room, I lay in a sterile bed while the scent of antiseptic overpowered my senses. I overheard nurses whispering. “Did you see him? That man who brought the girl with a claw mark? Gorgeous. Held her hand the whole time.” “Poor thing. And that other girl? Looks like a dog mauled her. Wonder if she was rogue.” That was when I ripped the IV from my arm. I knew exactly who they were talking about. Even though my whole body felt numb, and I felt like dying, I limped into the hallway and saw them. Lucas… and of course, Maurine. He held her hand. He kissed her forehead like she was the most important person in the world. I turned before they saw me and slipped into the night, my heart numb and bleeding just as much as my skin. The next day, Lucas came. He didn’t say much. Just stared, his eyes clouded with something like guilt. Or was it even guilt? And yet, I didn’t speak. I didn’t snarl. I didn’t even slap him—though I should have. Before I could ask why, my phone rang. It was my Alpha father. Nothing came good whenever he would call me, and I was right. “You will attend the art banquet tonight,” he barked. “Maurine’s exhibit. The entire council will be there.” “No,” I said flatly. Why would he expect me to be there after what happened years ago? She was the reason why I stopped my passion! The only thing that made me happy. We were both art students back in the day, but Maurine stole my artwork and accused me of copying hers. I tried so hard to prove to everyone that she was lying but no one believed me. In the end, I quit painting. I never held a brush since. “You will,” he growled. Before I could argue, Lucas leaned closer. “Was about Maurine’s exhibit?” he asked. “Just show up. For me.” I stared at him. For her, you mean. Still… I went. It would be the last time anyway. The banquet was hosted at the Luna Gallery. Moonlight filtered through the glass ceiling, casting silver across the polished floors. Maurine stood at the center like some divine muse in a pale gown, soaking up praise. I stood in the corner in a deep crimson dress—one I used to wear when painting. It was now darker from the bloodstains I couldn’t scrub out. No one talked to me. No one looked at me. I was the ghost sister. Maurine smiled at the crowd. “It’s a shame the Thane Alpha is… well, not waking up,” she sighed dramatically. “But I need a stronger male anyway. Someone worthy of me, that’s why my Alpha father ended our engagement.” And that Alpha would soon be wedded to me. I scanned the paintings behind her. That was when I was suddenly stoned to where I was standing. What the fuck is this? My art. It was not even copies of my creations. The paintings in the hall weren’t imitations either. Those were my original pieces! Paintings I stored in the attic of our pack house. Every brushstroke, every bleeding color—I knew them like I knew my own heartbeat. She had stolen them. My claws itched to come out, and I was about to confront her but commotion happened. Suddenly, Lucas’s Beta entered with gifts—designer supplies with embedded moonstones, dresses, jewels, all for Maurine. Gasps filled the room. Heads turned. I felt like I was drowning in front of them. I staggered out for air. She stole my art. She even dared to invite me here, for what? To show me how thick-faced she was? Maurine followed me to the balcony. “Still breathing?” she said sweetly. “Pity your mother isn’t.” I stilled. Did she just mock my mother? “Maurine—” Before I could finish, she poured wine down her dress and screamed. “Rebecca! Why would you—!” It all happened to fast, I couldn’t even react. And in that scene, Lucas arrived, looking at me like I had sinned against him again. “Enough!” he growled at me. I stared at him… then smiled bitterly. Then I took my own glass, gripped it tightly, and threw the wine into her face. This time, I was the one who did it for real. “That’s for mocking my mother, you lying vulture.” Gasps rang behind us as I walked off, my heels clicking like thunder. While I was walking away, Lucas caught up, grabbing my arm. “Why do you always attack her—” “You want to know why?” I hissed. “She killed my mother. She framed me. She stole everything I loved—my art, my home, and now you. And you still protect her.” He blinked. “You’re lying.” “Of course you’d think that.” I ripped my arm away. “Take your space, Lucas. I’m done giving you chances.” Later that night, I was inside the cab when I saw them heading out using Lucas’s car. My instincts took over. “Follow them,” I told the driver. Maurine and Lucas were together after the exhibit. Of course they were. But they weren’t just going out for a walk. They were heading into the butterfly garden. Her dream place. The place she said she wanted to mark her mate. It was one of her ridiculous wishes. She wanted the man she would marry to do ridiculous things for her. As if she was living a fairytale. Through the glass, I saw them. Slowly, Maurine bit his neck. Not in a playful way. She marked him as if she was claiming him for real. Her teeth sank deep, and Lucas—he didn’t fight it. He tilted his head to the side, welcoming it. Eyes glowing. Body shivering with connection. However, she didn’t let him return the mark. But he pointed to his neck, touched the bleeding wound, and smiled. “I’m yours,” he uttered.