NINE

SARA'S POV

My heart shattered when I witnessed Darragh finally find a mate after years of secretly praying to the Goddess that it would be me.

The pain cut deeper seeing that his chosen one was some entitled werewolf princess, born with a silver spoon in her mouth, never having to struggle for anything in her life. Everything I had fought for, she'd been handed freely.

What truly destroyed me was watching their interaction. My cousin—the same man who had confided in me for years about his disdain for the Goddess's matchmaking—seemed completely content with this Luna bound to him. The bond I had hoped would be mine.

It felt like the Goddess herself was mocking me, and I refused to accept it quietly. This new Luna seemed insecure, the type who could easily fall prey to doubt. So when Darragh left to handle pack affairs—as he always did when not obligated to stay for formal events—I seized my opportunity to plant seeds of uncertainty.

I expected her to crumble immediately. Instead, she looked me directly in the eyes and asked with unsettling calmness:

"Has Alpha Darragh had other fated mates?"

I wasn’t prepared for her question.

My throat tightened, my mind scrambling for something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make it obvious that her question had rattled me.

"This isn’t the first time a woman has shown interest in Darragh," I said, forcing my voice into something calm, dismissive. "It’s irrelevant that there’s some bond involved."

Ciara’s lips curled, her head tilting slightly like she could see right through me.

“So that’s a no, then.”

I clenched my jaw, but she didn’t stop there.

"I’m sure the Alpha can do the talking," she said, her tone light, amused even. "But his actions tell me differently."

She placed a hand over her chest, fingers resting just above her heart, like she was making some grand declaration.

"It might be new, but what he feels for me is real." She met my gaze head-on, unwavering. "Perhaps it has nothing to do with the bond. Maybe Darragh is genuinely attracted to me."

I swallowed hard, fighting the sting in my chest.

That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

Darragh didn’t believe in fate. He didn’t trust the bond. He had spent years rejecting the idea that one person could be destined for another.

But tonight, he had danced with her. He had looked at her like she was something to be treasured. And now, this entitled Luna was standing here, telling me she knew Darragh better than I did.

I hated her.

I hated the way she spoke, the way she carried herself, the way she acted as if she had already won.

She smiled, and I wanted to wipe it off her face.

"I care that someone who has been hurt by Darragh cares enough to warn me," she said, her voice soft, almost kind. "But I think I’ll be fine."

I inhaled sharply, but she wasn’t done.

"No man will be the death of me in this life."

Her voice was steady, assured, and every word felt like a dagger to the chest.

"But Darragh has done me a favor," she continued, tilting her head slightly, "and I’m willing to test the waters with him."

I pressed my lips together, fingers tightening at my sides.

And then she stepped closer.

The smile on her lips didn’t waver, but something in her eyes changed.

"As a girl’s girl myself," she said, voice dripping with something too sweet to be real, "I have to say—jealousy is not a good shade on you, Miss Saraphina."

My breath caught.

She had seen right through me.

I forced a laugh, tilting my head like her words meant nothing. Like she hadn’t just cut me open and laid me bare.

But she wasn’t fooled.

She knew.

And I hated her for it.

I forced a breath through my nose, past the heat creeping up my neck. She was testing me, watching me like a wolf circling prey, waiting for me to snap, to show my hand in front of all these strangers.

I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

I smiled instead, mirroring her saccharine tone even better. “Jealousy?” I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “That’s a strong word for someone I just met.”

Ciara didn’t flinch. Her smile remained, unwavering. “I find that people who aren’t jealous don’t have to clarify that they aren’t.”

My fingers curled around my drink, the glass cooling my palm as I held my stance.

“This is cute,” I said, voice light, playful, though the bitterness I swallowed down tasted sharp. “You think this is some battle between us, don’t you? Like we’re two women fighting over a man.”

She tilted her head, waiting, letting me talk.

"But that’s not what this is, Ciara," I said smoothly. "I care about my cousin, and I don’t want to see him tangled in something that will only hurt him or you." I lowered my voice just slightly. "You say no man will be the death of you, but you don’t know Darragh. He won’t kill you. He won’t even need to."

I took a slow sip of my drink, letting the words settle between us before adding, "He’ll just forget you."

Something flickered in her expression, something sharp, but she didn’t let it show for long.

“But you aren't Darragh. You keep telling me what Darragh will do,” she said, her voice still sickly sweet, but there was steel behind it. "But what about what I will do?"

I raised a brow.

She stepped closer, just a breath away now, her tone soft, intimate—like we were sharing a secret.

“I will make sure he doesn’t forget me.”

The conviction in her words sent a chill up my spine.

I swallowed, but before I could answer, she leaned back, smiling wider, all charm and confidence.

"Have a good night, Saraphina," she said lightly, stepping past me without looking back.

I turned slightly, watching her go, my grip tightening around the stem of my glass.

I hated her.

I hated that she didn’t waver.

And I hated, more than anything, that she might be right.

I watched Ciara weave through the ballroom toward her mother, her steps sure, her posture still regal despite everything. My jaw ached from clenching it.

Darragh doesn’t believe in mates.

I kept telling myself that, over and over, like it would make a difference.

My throat burned. I needed another drink.

I downed what remained in my glass in one go, barely tasting it, and turned toward one of the passing waiters with a tray of champagne. I had barely taken a step when a figure stepped into my path.

Ronan O'Donoghue.

He held two glasses, his smirk lazy, his eyes alight with something I didn’t like.

“Hello, beautiful.”

I scoffed, chuckling in mockery. “You sure are in heat tonight,” I said, plucking a drink from his hand and shoving my empty glass into the other. “Well, I’ll tell you—” I lifted the glass slightly, “—not interested.”

I turned, already dismissing him, lifting the drink to my lips—

And then, I stopped.

I barely tasted the liquid before my body rejected it, a sharp, instinctual repulsion settling deep in my gut. I didn’t think. I spat the sip back into the cup, my lips curling at the acrid bitterness. The only positive thing about being born to a witch mother was the sensitivity I had to magic.

Slowly, I turned back toward Ronan, watching the flicker of shock cross his face.

I smiled.

“Oh… a magic brew,” I mused, twirling the glass slightly. “What does this do?”

Ronan blinked. “What are you talking about?”

I hummed, stepping closer, voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous. “You have ten seconds before I make this everyone’s problem.”

His jaw tensed.

“Two…”

His eyes darted to the people around us.

“Four…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said smoothly, but I caught the slight shift in his stance.

“Six…”

His grip on his remaining glass tightened.

“Eight—”

“It’s a potion,” he blurted out.

I smirked, stepping even closer. “That much I know.”

Ronan exhaled through his nose, glancing around again. He lowered his voice. “It’s magic to induce the mate bond.”

I stared at him for a moment, letting his words settle in my mind. Then, slowly, my smile widened.

“You wanted me… to be mates… with the likes of you?”

Ronan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Not really.”

I arched a brow.

He sneered. “I wouldn’t look at you even on a bad day.”

I let out a short laugh. “And yet, here we are.”

His jaw ticked.

I took another slow sip of the drink—not enough to swallow, just enough to taste—and spat it back in the glass again, smiling at him sweetly.

“What’s the real reason, Mr. Ronan?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I want to get close to your cousin and his new mate.”

I tilted my head. “And I was supposed to be your ticket in?”

He didn’t answer right away, but I saw it in his expression. The calculation. The irritation.

“Ah,” I murmured, stepping even closer, lowering my voice to a near whisper. “Because he humiliated you.”

Ronan’s nostrils flared.

His silence was answer enough.

I shook my head, tapping my finger against the rim of my glass. “And what do you want with her?”

Ronan’s eyes darkened, his smirk curling back into something predatory.

“I want the girl as my mate.”