Chapter 6 (Seraphina's POV)

I stood up.

The gauze on the sole of my foot had shifted against the sofa, but I didn't care.

"I'm not leaving."

My voice came out louder than I'd intended. In the quiet, wrecked study, it was practically a shout.

He was already on his feet, back to me, one hand braced on the desk split in two. The sweat stains on the back of his shirt hadn't dried yet, his shoulder blades drawn tight.

"I'm your mate," I said. "What just happened proved it—I can bring you back. I can help you. You clearly need me."

He turned around.

There was nothing in those gray-blue eyes. The flash of softness I thought I'd seen—gone without a trace.

"This isn't up for discussion."

His voice was flat, like reading out a clause that required no debate.

"On the full moon, I lose control completely. I won't recognize anyone."

"So what?" My nails dug into my palms. "You're going to send me away just because of that?"

"I'm not sending you away." He paused. "Margaret will arrange for you to stay at the pack safe house for one night. You'll be brought back at dawn."

"What's the difference—"

"The difference is you come back alive."

He glanced at me. Just once. Then walked past me, out of the study, up the stairs.

His silhouette disappeared around the corner.

I stood there, the wound on the sole of my foot throbbing faintly.

Behind me came the sound of heels crunching over broken glass. Margaret walked up beside me, not looking at me, her gaze fixed on the cracked study door.

"Listen to the Alpha," she said softly. "Go to the safe house."

I said nothing.

"Last full moon," she paused, "he injured nine warriors. Two of them still haven't fully recovered."

I turned to look at her. Her face looked years older in the hallway light, the lines around her eyes deeper than during the day.

That expression—I couldn't quite name it—like fear, like a warning, like... something I didn't fully understand.

She didn't like me. That much I was sure of. But right now, she genuinely seemed to be looking out for me.

I didn't answer. I walked back to my room barefoot.

After the door closed, I sat on the edge of the bed, chin propped on my knees.

Ember paced restlessly back and forth in my consciousness, like a flame trapped in a cage.

"He needs us," she said. "A mate's presence stabilizes the full moon frenzy. It's instinct. Every wolf knows this."

"But he said he won't recognize me."

"..."

"Ember. What if he really doesn't recognize me?"

She went quiet.

That was very unlike her.

I hugged my knees tighter, forehead pressed against my arms. My mind started churning through things I didn't want to think about.

My past life. When he charged into Cross territory to save me—had anyone tried to stop him? Had anyone said, "Alpha, it's too dangerous, don't go"?

Did he listen?

Of course he didn't.

A silver bullet through the heart. Still calling my name as he died.

I didn't even know what his voice sounded like when he said my name.

The next day dragged on.

I spent almost the entire day in my room. Ate, showered, folded and refolded the clothes he'd given me. The cuts on my feet were mostly healed—wolf constitution.

At six in the evening, Margaret knocked.

"The car is downstairs, Miss Wren. Please gather your belongings."

I opened the door.

She stood there, posture impeccable, holding a jacket—probably meant for me to wear to the car.

"I'm not going."

Her hand stiffened.

"Please pass that along to the Alpha," I said.

Silence. About three seconds.

Then she drew a deep breath, and that "I knew it" expression surfaced.

"I won't pass it along," she said, tone even. "Because the Alpha will banish me from the territory."

"Then blame it on me." I leaned against the doorframe, watching her. "Tell him I'm ungrateful and disobedient."

I smiled.

"You never wanted me here anyway, right? I refuse to leave, and if something goes wrong, he can blame me. Nothing to do with you."

Margaret stared at me.

Her eyes stayed on my face for a long time. Longer than ever before.

I couldn't read what was in them. Dislike? Resignation? Or some faint trace of... something I didn't want to acknowledge as respect?

She said nothing. Turned and left.

The jacket stayed on the floor outside my door.

When the moon rose, I was sitting on the second-floor hallway floor.

Back against the wall, knees drawn up, wearing the black hoodie he'd given me. It was huge on me—the hem covered past my thighs, and even with the sleeves rolled twice, they were still too long.

I hugged my knees and tilted my head back to stare at the ceiling.

From the third floor came the sound of chains clinking.

He'd locked himself up.

Moonlight streamed through the window at the end of the hallway, silver-white light pooling on the carpet. Ember was curled up inside me, abnormally quiet, like she was waiting for something.

At first it was just the chains rattling. Rhythmic, like some large animal pacing back and forth in a confined space.

Then the sounds changed.

Tearing. The shrill scrape of metal being strained to its limit. One growl after another, faster and faster.

The floorboards shook. Dust sifted down from the ceiling cracks, settling in my hair.

A roar.

The entire house trembled. A crack split open in the wall, running from the third floor all the way down to the ceiling above my head.

The chains broke. I heard it—the sharp snap of metal stretched past its limit and giving way.

Then silence.

Three seconds.

Then footsteps. Heavy, accompanied by claws scraping against the floor, coming down from the third floor.

Silver appeared at the top of the stairs.

Massive. Bigger than any wolf I'd ever imagined. His shoulder height reached nearly to my chest. Silver fur gleamed cold white in the moonlight. His chest and jaw were an even paler silver-white, like moonlight had solidified into his coat.

Ice-blue eyes.

Locked directly onto me.

Ember exploded inside me.

Not fear. Not a warning. Just one word, repeated, frantic, like a heartbeat itself:

Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.

I didn't run.

My hands were shaking. My knees were buckling. The wall against my back was the only thing holding me up.

But I didn't run.

I slowly stood. Bracing against the wall, pushing myself upright inch by inch.

He towered over me. I had to tilt my head so far back my neck ached just to meet his eyes.

Ice-blue. No human reason. Pure wolf instinct.

He took a step forward. The floorboards groaned under his paws.

Another step.

Hot breath hit my face—his breathing, carrying something wild and primal. Pine and cold iron were still there, but buried under a heavier, wolfish musk.

I raised my hand.

My fingers trembled, but I lifted them anyway, reaching toward his nose.

"You're so beautiful," I said.

My voice was so soft, like I was afraid of startling something.

His pupils contracted sharply.