Chapter 3
Holden didn’t go home after the council meeting.
Again.
He stayed in the private bedroom behind his office—standard privilege for high-ranked Alphas, warded with silver glyphs and shadow-lined curtains to block the moonlight. The place was silent, cold, and perfectly detached from everything that once meant anything to him.
By late afternoon, Beta Joe knocked gently and peeked inside.
"Alpha, sorry to bother," he said, hesitating. "Alpha Shaw just called. He brought back two boxes of moon-sugar pastries from the border clans—part of a healing witches’ recipe. He said they’re for your mother."
Holden, still hunched over his desk, paused. His pen hovered midair.
"I’ll go myself," he muttered.
Joe blinked. "I could grab them—"
"No." Holden’s voice cut like glass. "I’ll handle it. I’m dropping them at the Old Manor tonight."
Joe nodded. And then, like a fool, added, "Maybe Luna could join you? The old Madam still loves her like a daughter—"
Holden’s head jerked up.
His stare alone was enough to freeze blood.
"You didn’t learn from last night?" he said darkly. "Wanna stop being Beta, Joe? Try Omega life for a day—fetching and scraping till your bones break?"
Joe dropped his eyes instantly.
"My apologies, Alpha. I overstepped."
I watched from beyond the veil, the last threads of our mate bond still binding my spirit to his.
Joe—he remembered. A year ago, when his mate was bleeding out mid-pregnancy, I’d personally carried her to the forest healer.
Maybe that’s why he still dared to care.
But Holden didn’t.
Not anymore.
That evening, Holden didn’t head straight to Alpha Shaw’s.
Instead, he made a detour—
to Talia Marlowe’s apartment.
She opened the door as if she hadn’t been waiting all day.
Tight jeans, oversized sweater, hair twisted up in an artful mess—every inch designed to scream: I’m effortlessly yours.
"Holden," she breathed. "You look… exhausted. You shouldn’t be out running errands alone."
He grunted and stepped inside.
Talia took his coat, fingers brushing his arm.
"You’re always carrying the Pack on your back," she said sweetly.
"No one sees how hard it is. Not even her."
Not even me.
Holden didn’t say anything.
He just sat down heavily on the edge of her sofa, running a hand through his hair.
"You know," Talia continued, sitting beside him, just close enough to press against his side,
"maybe what you had with Claire… wasn’t what the Moon really intended."
Her voice was honeyed, dangerous.
"You need someone who understands what it really means to support an Alpha."
Holden stared at the floor.
He didn’t deny her.
Didn’t say Claire was still his Luna.
Didn’t say her name at all.
He stayed.
Didn’t leave.
When Talia offered nightroot tea and a blanket, he accepted without a word.
Later, he drifted into sleep on her couch.
And that’s when the dream began.
Blood. Everywhere.
The Pack House corridors drowned in it.
And in the center, Claire stood—
her Luna gown torn and soaked, mate mark burned to ash.
"Why didn’t you come back for me?"
Her voice broke like glass.
"Why did you let her touch you?"
Holden opened his mouth—
but silver poured out instead of words.
"You let me die."
She stepped closer. Her eyes glowed with the Moon’s fury.
"You let the bond rot."
In her hand, she held the shredded mate tether—
burning, twisted, dead.
She threw it at his feet.
"You’re cursed, Holden Carter."
He woke with a gasp, sweat pouring off his skin.
Talia was at his side instantly.
“Holden! You’re okay. You were just dreaming.”
He sat up, chest heaving.
"I saw her," he whispered. "Claire. Covered in blood."
Talia’s smile wavered—just slightly—before smoothing out again.
"You’ve been through so much… maybe the Moon Goddess is testing you."
Holden shook his head.
"It wasn’t a test. It felt like a curse."
Talia leaned in.
"Or maybe it’s guilt. Maybe Luna is trying to show you… that some bonds weren’t meant to last."
She laid her hand gently over his.
"I’m here, Holden. I’ll always be here."
He didn’t pull away.
And I watched from the place where souls unravel.
Not even anger.
Just a grief so deep it no longer burned—
it froze.
