Chapter 9 "Your Little Whore With Your Cum On Her Face"
Lyra's POV
"If you're looking for Dorian," she purred, "he's a bit... preoccupied at the moment."
My wolf howled, a raw, tearing agony ripping through me, clawing at my insides until I could barely stand. He'd been with her. Right there, in broad daylight, screwing her like I didn't exist.
"I need to speak with him," I forced out. "Clara sent me."
She waved a hand toward the double doors. "Go on. I'm done with him... for now."
Don't break, Lyra. Don't let that bitch see you crack. My wolf's voice steadied me as I squared my shoulders and shoved past her, ignoring the smug lilt in her parting shot: "Oh, and Lyra? Knock first. He's... recovering."
The implication burned like acid as I pushed through the doors, bracing for the worst.
Dorian lounged behind his massive desk. His silver hair was mussed, his scent tangled with Seraphina's in a way that made my teeth grind. He didn't even look up from his damn document.
"I thought I said I didn't want to be disturbed," he snapped.
"Clara sent me," I shot back. "Medical Council meeting's at ten. You're expected to represent the foundation."
He finally looked up, his eyes narrowing. "You're shaking like a fucking leaf, Lyra. What, scared the Reject ritual's coming up? Or is this about something else?" His gaze flicked over me, cruel and knowing. "Jealous, maybe?"
"Jealous?" I spat. "You think I give a shit about your little whore parading around with your cum on her face?"
Surprise flickered across Dorian's face. But I was too hurt, too angry to believe it. Of course they'd been together. The evidence was written all over both of them. His surprise was probably just annoyance at being called out so bluntly.
The moment passed, and his expression twisted into revulsion. "I never knew you were so vulgar,"
"My personal life is not your concern." he said coldly.
"It's fucking pathetic, Dorian. You're humiliating me in front of the whole pack, screwing her while we're still bound!"
He shot up from his chair. "You don't get to talk about respect, Lyra, You, who tried to trap me with that fake-ass pregnancy? You, who's been milking my mother's sympathy with your bullshit sob stories? Don't fucking lecture me about humiliation when you've been playing the victim card for months!"
"I never lied about the baby!" I screamed. "I was set up, and if you'd pulled your head out of Seraphina's ass for two seconds, you'd know that!"
"Enough!" he roared. "I'm done with your lies, Lyra. First the fake heartaches, then the so-called miscarriage, now what? Another fucking stunt to keep me on your leash?"
"Don't you dare bring up the child," I whispered. "You have no right! "
He stepped back, raking a hand through his hair. "What is this, Lyra? Some bullshit because your wolf can't handle me with my fated mate? You've got no claim on me. None. You never did."
"Clara sent me about the meeting," I said, forcing my voice steady. "That's it. I don't give a shit about your fated mate or your disgusting little display."
He scoffed, grabbing a folder from a drawer. "Tell Clara I'm not going. Here's the formula documentation for the council. They don't need me there." He thrust the folder at me, forcing me to step closer.
As I reached for the folder, he held on. "Seraphina's my fated mate, Lyra. Always has been. You feel it, don't you? That bond? It's real. Not some arranged bullshit like ours."
Our fingers brushed, and a traitorous spark shot through me. I yanked the folder free, stepping back. "I hope you and your love are thrilled together," I hissed."I hope you'll both be very happy."
His face turned to stone. "Get the fuck out."