Chapter 67 The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
[Lysander]
"Commander Crowley," she breathed, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. "I'm so sorry—the nurse said it was alright to come in. I wanted to check on Mrs. Crowley..."
"Without knocking?" I kept my voice flat, reaching for the scrub shirt. "What do you want, Miss Blackwood?"
"I..." She seemed to collect herself, though her eyes kept flickering back to my exposed skin as I struggled with the shirt. "I wanted to see how she's recovering." Her voice dropped, becoming softer. "And on you. You went through the same ordeal."
She moved away from Nyx's bed—not toward the door, but toward me. Close enough that I could smell her scent—sickly sweet, like honey mixed with vanilla. Cloying. Deliberately so.
"Mrs. Crowley is stable," she said, her eyes still traveling over my half-dressed state.
"Ms. Verdant," I corrected curtly, finally getting the shirt over my head. I reached for the scrub pants, acutely aware that I was still just in a towel. "She kept her family name. And the doctors say she'll recover fully."
A flicker of something crossed Selene's face—interest, maybe calculation. "Oh? She didn't take your name?" Her tone was carefully neutral, but I heard the implication underneath. What kind of wife doesn't take her husband's name?
"The kind who's proud of her own family legacy," I said flatly. "And whose husband respects that."
"Oh." Selene's smile faltered, and her eyes went soft with what looked like hurt. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just... I suppose everyone has their own way." She looked down, voice dropping to something fragile. "Personally, if I loved my husband, I'd want to share his name. Show the world we're truly one, you know?" A small, sad smile. "But maybe that's old-fashioned of me."
The implication hung in the air: Nyx didn't love me enough to take my name.
I yanked the scrub pants on under the towel with more force than necessary. "If there's nothing else, Ms. Blackwood, I'd appreciate some privacy with my wife."
"Of course." Her voice went even softer, almost trembling. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong. I just worry about you, Commander." She blinked rapidly, as if fighting tears. "You look so tired. I only wanted to help..."
"I'm fine." I gestured toward the door with the pants still in my hand. "If you'll excuse me, I need to finish getting dressed."
"Of course." But she didn't move toward the door. Instead, she took another step closer. "I just wanted to say... what you did today was incredible. So brave. So strong." Her eyes traveled deliberately down my body again. "I can see why. You're clearly... very capable."
The way she said "capable" made it clear she wasn't talking about rescue operations.
"Miss Blackwood—"
"Selene," she corrected, moving even closer. Close enough now that if I stepped back, I'd hit the bathroom doorframe. "Please, call me Selene."
She was between me and the rest of the room. Between me and any easy escape route that didn't involve pushing past her while wearing only a towel.
"I should let you dress," she said, but her tone suggested the opposite. Her hand reached out, fingertips barely brushing my damp forearm. "But I couldn't help noticing something when I came in..."
Her eyes moved past me, toward where Nyx lay unconscious in the bed. Then back to me with calculation that made my skin crawl.
"Your wife," Selene said softly, her voice dropping to something almost intimate. "She's very lucky to have someone so devoted to her."
"I'm the lucky one," I said firmly, trying to step around her.
But she moved with me, maintaining the proximity. "Are you?" Her hand was on my arm now, fingers pressing gently against still-damp skin. "Because from what I saw on the mountain, when the medical team was treating her..."
She paused, letting the words hang.
"What are you talking about?" I tried to pull my arm away, but her grip tightened slightly.
"Her neck, Commander." Selene's eyes locked on mine. "Completely unmarked. No mate bond visible." Then her gaze dropped to my own neck—also unmarked. "Neither of you bear marks. After months of marriage."
My jaw tightened. "That's none of your concern."
"Isn't it?" She took another step closer, close enough now that her body was almost pressed against the towel. "A wife who truly loved her husband would want that permanent bond. Would be proud to wear his mark, to show the world he's hers."
Her free hand rose, fingertips trailing up my other arm. "But she hasn't marked you. And you haven't marked her. What does that tell me, Lysander?"
The use of my first name was presumptuous. Intimate. Wrong.
"It tells me," she continued, both hands on my arms now, her body definitely pressed against the towel, "that this marriage is political. An arrangement. She doesn't truly want you."
"Get your hands off me," I said, my voice low and dangerous.
"Why?" Her blue eyes gazed up at me with feigned innocence. "You're not really married. Not in any way that matters. No bond. No marks. No real connection."
One of her hands slid from my arm to my chest, palm flat against the damp skin above where I'd pulled on the shirt but hadn't yet buttoned it.
"You saved my future sister-in-law today," she breathed. "You risked your life. You're a hero, Lysander. Don't you deserve someone who actually wants you? Someone who would be proud to bear your mark?"
Her other hand moved to my waist, fingertips slipping just beneath the edge of the towel.
"Someone like me."
I grabbed both her wrists, yanking them away from my body with enough force to make her gasp. "I said get your hands off me."
"You're making a mistake—" she started.
"The only mistake here is you thinking this was appropriate." I released her wrists and stepped around her, finally putting distance between us. I moved toward the bed—toward Nyx—using my body to shield her unconscious form from Selene's view while I pulled on the scrub pants under the towel with quick, angry movements.
Selene's expression shifted—the soft, seductive mask cracking to show something cold underneath. "You're really going to turn me down? For someone who doesn't even want you enough to mark you?"
"Yes." I dropped the towel and finished buttoning the scrub shirt, now fully dressed. "And you're leaving. Now."
But Selene didn't move. Instead, her expression shifted—the tears vanished, replaced by something calculating. "Commander, everyone knows Ms. Verdant has been marginalized in her own pack. The Alpha favors her brother, not her." She took a step closer, voice dropping to something intimate, conspiratorial. "You're a war hero. You deserve real power, not... this."
I stared at her, stone-faced.
"My brother is Alpha of Shadowcrest," she continued, emboldened by my silence. "And he dotes on me. If you were with me instead—" Her hand reached toward my arm. "The alliance between our packs would give you real influence. Real respect. Everyone knows Moonblade will go to Tristan Verdant eventually. And from what I hear, you and he don't exactly get along."