Chapter 2

When the elevator doors slid open, Beta Joe was already standing there, looking nervous as hell.

"Meeting starts in three minutes?" Holden asked flatly, not even bothering to glance at him.

Joe nodded quickly.

Holden strode past, but after a few steps, he paused, his voice sharp.

"What else?"

Joe hesitated, tugging at his sleeves.

"Uh... Luna hasn't shown up at the Pack House for a few days. Some paperwork’s still stuck with her..."

Luna. Me.

The Pack owed me its survival. My father had saved Silverclaw from ruin, and Holden had been bound to me under the Blood Moon, sealing a mate bond he never truly wanted.

Holden’s jaw flexed, muscles ticking in anger.

Joe rushed on, desperate.

"Alpha, you know how it is. Mates fight, it happens. Bring her some flowers, say something sweet. Luna’s not the type to stay mad. She'll come around."

He even smiled, hopeful.

Holden’s face didn’t move, cold as stone.

His voice dropped, dangerous.

"Stick to your own damn job."

Joe flinched.

"But... the paperwork—?"

Before he could finish, Holden slammed his fist into the metal doorframe so hard it echoed down the hall.

"Papers?" he barked. "You think this Pack needs her? Think again."

His laugh was bitter, cruel.

"She’s dead weight," Holden snapped. "Bring the files to me. Now."

Joe scrambled away, too terrified to argue.

Holden stormed into his office, ripped off his tie, and tossed it carelessly onto the couch.

For a long moment, he stood there, hands braced on his hips, chest heaving.

The mate bond should have been searing him for what he said.

But he shoved the pain down like it meant nothing.

He finally sat in front of the glowing screen, preparing for the council meeting.

The door creaked open again.

Talia Marlowe slipped in, soft and smooth, a picture of sweet concern.

"Holden..." she murmured, shutting the door behind her.

"You’re working yourself too hard. You shouldn’t be alone tonight."

Holden didn’t tell her to leave.

Talia crossed the room, her heels clicking lightly against the floor.

Her scent—a mix of honey and something sharper—coiled through the air.

"If it’s about Luna," she said, hesitating just enough to seem vulnerable,

"I know it’s not my place... but maybe she was never the right Luna for you."

Holden’s golden eyes flickered, dangerous.

Still, he didn’t correct her.

Talia edged closer, perched delicately on the arm of his chair.

"You deserve someone who truly understands what it means to stand beside an Alpha," she whispered.

Her fingers brushed across his shoulder, lingering far too long.

Holden didn’t move.

Didn’t push her away.

Didn’t growl.

And somewhere in the shattered pieces of my soul, the mate bond screamed.

"You don’t have to be lonely, Holden," Talia breathed.

"Not when you have options. Not when you have me."

Her voice dripped with false innocence, and her eyes glistened as if tears were about to fall.

Holden’s wolf growled low inside him, but he stayed silent, face tired.

Finally, he muttered,

"Get out before the meeting starts."

No anger.

Just exhaustion.

Talia rose gracefully, smoothing her dress.

At the door, she glanced back over her shoulder.

"I’ll be waiting," she said with a soft smile.

"As long as it takes."

And he let her go.

Said nothing.

Did nothing.

Letting everything rot.

Outside the windows, the Blood Moon hung heavy and low, bleeding cold light over the city.

And between life and death, I floated.

The mate bond tethered my broken spirit to Holden, a thin fraying strand that refused to snap.

Spiritual Tethers, the old wolves called it.

For Fated Mates, death was not an end.

Unless the surviving mate willed the bond severed—an agony few could bear—

or unless Goddess Luna herself intervened, a rare miracle.

But Holden hadn’t cut me loose.

And Luna had not come.

So I remained.

Trapped.

Torn between a dying love and the Hunting Grounds that waited beyond.

Every cruel word Holden spoke.

Every time he let Talia touch him.

It battered the tether, shredded my soul piece by piece.

And then, from somewhere deep within the void,

a voice brushed against my fading mind—softer than moonlight, older than stone.

"Child of sorrow," it whispered.

"Hold fast. The Moon does not forsake her own."

The voice faded into silence.

I clung to it like a drowning wolf to driftwood.