Chapter 8 8
For three years. Three whole years I’d been with Logan Antonio, son of the Alpha of the Nightshade Pack. My mother had laid down the law when I was a seven: Never trespass into Nightshade territory. Do not even look at anyone from that pack. And especially, especially, do not go near the Alpha’s family. They are not our acquaintance. That was all I was ever told. I didn’t know what ancient grudge, what bloody history, lay between our packs. I just knew it was forbidden.
And likewise, Logan said he was told to stay away from me.
We’d met anyway. It was at one of those inter-pack mating balls I’d begged my mother to let me attend when I was sixteen. I was naive, hoping against hope that the magic of the full moon would awaken my dormant wolf and I’d see my fated mate across the crowded room, that my life would finally make sense.
But I didn’t get a wolf. I didn’t get a mate. I got Logan. He was there with his pack, all cocky swagger and a smile that felt like a challenge. We’d had a stupid face-off over a spilled drink—his fault—and instead of a fight, it had sparked… this.
Later, he got transferred to the city’s high school, a neutral zone. And we… we somehow fell in love.
The memories, now poisoned, rose up through the steam. I saw us in the old, abandoned mill on the edge of the forest, our secret spot. The way he’d bring human junk food—sour candy and greasy pizza—and we’d laugh about how it was probably killing our superior wolf constitutions. I remembered the sound of his laugh, deep and unguarded, when it was just us.
One memory hit harder than the others.
It was last winter. I’d been miserable after a brutal, public dressing-down from my mother about my "uselessness." I’d sent him a reckless, crying text: I wish you were here.
An hour later, my phone buzzed. Look out your window. My heart had nearly stopped. He was at the very edge of our territory, just beyond the western tree line, a dark shape in the falling snow. It was an insane risk. If a patrol had caught him… I’d thrown on boots and a coat and run out, intercepting him before he took another step. I’d dragged him back into the shadows of the unclaimed part of the city close by, my fear for him eclipsing my own misery.
“You idiot,” I had whispered, kissing his cold face. “You can’t just come here.”
He had just grinned, snowflakes catching in his lashes. “You asked me to.”
And his promises. Oh, his promises.
Sitting on the hood of his car under a blanket of stars, he’d trace the lines of my palm and talk about the future. “When my dad hands over the Alpha title next year,” he’d say, “the first thing I do is make you my Luna. I don’t care about old rules. I don’t care if we’re not fated mates on some moon’s schedule. You’re it for me.”
Just a few days ago, we were talking about it, making silly plans. What color would the mating ceremony robes be? Would we have a human-style cake?
He’d kissed my forehead. “It’s you and me, Ari. Against everyone.”
And now he breaks my heart like this. With Angel. With those cold, casual words. She lured me in. She’s so innocent, she’d never suspect.
I wiped at my face with a wet hand, the tears and bathwater blending. A strange calm settled over me, colder than the ice in my mother’s gaze. The hurt was still there, a raw, open wound, but something else was coiling around it. Anger, yes, but sharper than that.
Purpose.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly, watching the steam swirl.
It’s enough. The crying, the remembering, the feeling like a fool. It’s enough.
But I won’t let him get away with this.
My voice was quiet in the steamy room, but it didn’t shake.
“You’ll have to pay one way or another, Logan Antonio. Later… or sooner.”