Chapter 4 (Seraphina's POV)

Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to my neck.

I instinctively raised my hand to cover the side of my throat, heart rate spiking.

Damn it—I couldn't see my own neck.

In my past life, I'd liked Damien, and he never turned away my closeness—kisses on the forehead, an arm around my shoulders, lips occasionally brushing past my ear. Back then, I'd thought those were the little sweetnesses of love.

Now those images made me nauseous.

But surely he hadn't actually left marks on me?

My fingers fumbled along the side of my neck. I couldn't feel anything.

"Don't panic." Ember's voice was calm. "There's nothing. Your skin is clean. That waste of space never touched your neck."

I relaxed slightly, but my hand still didn't come down.

Then I realized—he wasn't looking at my neck.

Caelan stood beside me, his gaze passing over me and landing on Grace downstairs.

"Who is she?" he asked.

His voice wasn't loud, but the entire hall went silent.

Then he frowned—very faintly, like he'd caught a whiff of something unpleasant.

"Her hair smells terrible."

I nearly laughed out loud.

Grace's face went white for an instant, but she recovered fast—always so fast. She lowered her head, baring her neck, switching her voice to that soft, harmless register.

"Alpha Ashworth, I'm Grace Wren, Seraphina's sister. I was just so worried about her. I wanted to take her home. I—"

"She is home."

He cut her off, tone flat, like he was stating the weather.

"See her out."

Two warriors stepped out from either side of the entrance hall. Grace's expression finally cracked with rage.

"Sera!" She was being escorted out by the warriors, arms held, still turning back to shout. "You'll regret this!"

I stood by the second-floor railing, expressionless, watching her get dragged out the front door.

The door closed.

Ember happily hummed a little tune inside me.

Breakfast was in a small dining room on the second floor. The table wasn't big—only two seats.

There was a lot of food. Smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, toast, fresh berries, a pot of hot milk. I didn't know what he usually ate, but this looked more like it had been prepared for me.

I sat down, doing my best to look graceful. Knife in the right hand, fork in the left—don't mix them up.

"Eat as much as you can," he said casually.

I held back my hunger and started with a slice of salmon.

Delicious.

Then the toast—also delicious.

And finally—the berries. Oh my God, this blueberry was bigger than my thumbnail!

I was screaming internally while trying to keep my face composed—I didn't want to look like a glutton.

But I noticed that whatever dish I glanced at a second time would get pushed toward me by a large hand with defined knuckles.

The berry bowl. A second serving of scrambled eggs. A small dish of honey.

I looked up at him. He was looking at his phone, expression unchanged, as if he'd done nothing.

"...Thank you," I said quietly.

He nodded without looking up.

After breakfast, he changed into a suit jacket and headed out.

"I'll be back tonight," he said, standing at the door. I wasn't sure why he felt the need to tell me.

Then he left.

Margaret escorted me back to my room. Silent the whole way. I didn't plan on talking to her either. I hadn't forgotten about the silver mesh from last night.

But at the door, she suddenly stopped.

"Miss Wren."

I didn't turn around.

"What happened last night was my oversight. The silver mesh was left over from before—I forgot to remove it." She paused. "Please don't take it to heart."

I turned to face her. Her expression was perfectly calibrated remorse—the curve of her lips, the angle of her brows, all calculated.

"As a gesture of apology," she continued, lowering her voice, "let me give you a piece of advice."

I waited.

"Before the full moon, do not go near the Alpha."

Something flickered in her eyes.

"The first three girls..."

She didn't finish.

Then she smiled faintly, turned, and walked away, the sound of her heels fading.

I stood in the doorway, nails digging into the doorframe.

She was trying to scare me. I knew she was trying to scare me.

But—how exactly did those three girls die?

Ember flicked her tail irritably. "Don't listen to her. He won't hurt us."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's our mate." She said it in the same tone you'd use to say the sun is hot.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Then froze.

There was a brown paper bag on the nightstand.

I walked over and opened it—inside were neatly folded clothes. A black hoodie, gray sweatpants, a few basic tees, and underwear.

The sizes were exactly right.

And they were my style. Not the lacy little dresses Grace liked putting me in, not the "proper" blouse-and-skirt combos my stepmother insisted on. These were things I would pick.

No card. No name.

"It's him," Ember said, tone certain.

"How do you—"

"His scent is on the outside of the bag. Very faint. Like he only touched it once."

I buried my face in the black hoodie.

Pine. Cold iron. And just a hint—very faint—of something like leather.

My heartbeat was abnormally fast.

I yanked my face back out.

What was I doing? I hadn't even exchanged more than ten sentences with this man.

Ember was rolling around laughing in my head.

"Shut up," I said.

I changed into the hoodie and sweatpants—they fit perfectly, the fabric soft—and decided to go downstairs for a walk. I couldn't stay cooped up in my room forever. I needed to get to know this place.

The first floor was much bigger than I'd imagined. Past the dining room was an open kitchen, and further in, glass doors leading to the backyard.

Before I made it to the backyard, someone blocked my path.

Short brown hair, round face, looked about early twenties. Omega—I could tell by her scent. She wore an apron, but her posture was far too casual—leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed, more like the lady of the house than the help.

She looked me up and down, head to toe, then settled on my face and smiled.

"So you're number four?"

I didn't respond.

"Younger than I expected." She tilted her head, her tone like someone sizing up a new pet. "How old are you? Seventeen?"

"Eighteen," I said. "Who are you?"

"Ivy. Margaret's daughter." She picked up an apple from the island and took a bite. "Grew up here. I handle the Alpha's daily needs."

The way she bit down on "daily needs" loaded every syllable with suggestion. Her eyes swept over me with a strange possessiveness.

Ember growled low inside me.

I looked at her, face blank.

"Oh." I said. "Must've been hard work. You won't need to bother anymore."

Ivy's smile froze for a second. The apple stopped at her lips.

Then she laughed again, louder than before.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, little girl." She set the apple down and stepped closer. "The last three said the same thing."

I didn't step back. Didn't respond.

I just looked at her until her smile started to look unnatural, then turned and went upstairs.

Not worth it.

Passing through the second-floor corridor, the study door was ajar.

I was going to walk right past.

But voices came from inside—not Caelan. It was the speakerphone on the desk phone. An unfamiliar man's voice, middle-aged, tone urgent.

"...the Wren Pack's sincerity, Alpha. My daughter is unruly. Please send her back as soon as possible."

Then Kieran's voice: "Beta Kieran speaking on the Alpha's behalf. The Alpha is not currently at the residence, but regarding the details of returning Miss Wren..."

I stood outside the study door, my heartbeat so loud I was almost certain any wolf in the corridor could hear it.

What was my father trying to negotiate? My price?

Or was he—

Negotiating to have me sent back?