“Please watch over them.”
Unwilling to part with the twin pups, Selene passed Aaron and Liam into Sarah’s arms before leaving the den.
It had been a moon since she last set foot in Blackthorn territory, yet the memory of that night still burned. Adrian and his mother had sent endless messages, pleading for her return; when Selene ignored them, Cassandra had even stormed into her dwelling, raising chaos. Selene had moved deeper into the forest that morning, leaving her children with Sarah out of fear that Adrian–or worse, his sire–might try to take them. Pushing open the door to the gathering lodge, she had hoped to find Damien and speak of everything. Instead, a young wolf rushed toward her.
“Lady Selene,” he said breathlessly, “the Alpha’s heir and the steward have ridden east for an urgent parley. Only you remain to face this matter.”
Her gaze sharpened. “What matter?”
“A guest of great renown was to meet Damien this morning,” he stammered, shifting the wildflowers in his arms. “But he departed without warning, and left word only that we should offer apologies.”
Before Selene could answer, the air shifted. A striking woman entered, flanked by guards with the bearing of seasoned wolves. She slipped off her black–framed spectacles, her eyes brushing Selene’s before turning away with open disdain. Selene’s shoulders stiffened.
“Announcing Lady Melissa Sinclair,” the steward whispered, awe and unease mingling
in his tone..
“The Sinclair princess?” another gasped.
Melissa ignored their murmurs. “Your Alpha may delay, but I will wait.” Her words, calm as ice, silenced further protest. Then her gaze found Selene, and she crooked. two fingers.
Selene did not move. Melissa’s smile turned sharp. “I despise roses. Replace them with carnations. And see them set in Damien’s chamber.” She swept past, her guard brushing Selene’s shoulder hard enough to sting.
When Selene entered the chamber, Melissa already sat in Damien’s carved oak chair, regal and untouchable. Fine furs draped her form, jewels glinted at her fingers, and she idly turned the pages of a leather–bound tome before speaking.
“Unlike those born low, clawing their way upward with temptation,” Melissa drawled, “I was given everything by my father’s name. These trinkets are fit for beggars–bring me
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guards with the bearing of seasoned wolves. She slipped off her black–framed spectacles, her eyes brushing Selene’s before turning away with open disdain. Selene’s shoulders stiffened.
“Announcing Lady Melissa Sinclair,” the steward whispered, awe and unease mingling
in his tone.
“The Sinclair princess?” another gasped.
Melissa ignored their murmurs. “Your Alpha may delay, but I will wait.” Her words, calm as ice,
silenced further protest. Then her gaze found Selene, and she crooked
two fingers.
Selene did not move. Melissa’s smile turned sharp. “I despise roses. Replace them with carnations. And see them set in Damien’s chamber.” She swept past, her guard brushing Selene’s shoulder hard enough to sting.
When Selene entered the chamber, Melissa already sat in Damien’s carved oak chair, regal and untouchable. Fine furs draped her form, jewels glinted at her fingers, and she idly turned the pages of a leather–bound tome before speaking.
“Unlike those born low, clawing their way upward with temptation,” Melissa drawled, “I was given everything by my father’s name. These trinkets are fit for beggars–bring me
something worthy.”
Two servants scrambled to obey. Melissa’s eyes lingered on Selene. “Why stand there like a fool? Place the flowers in the vase.”
Selene’s grip on the stems tightened, but she moved silently, treating the woman as nothing more than another arrogant wolf of noble blood.
Melissa’s lips curled. “Uncle Maximus spoke of your defiance. Now I see. After all your disgrace, you still show your face.”
Selene’s tone cut cold. “And who are you?”
Melissa’s smile widened with triumph. “Melissa Sinclair. Damien’s betrothed.”
The name struck like a blow. Selene staggered back, her elbow catching the vase. It
n across toppled, the stone floor, the sound ringing through the chamber.
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Chapter 40
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.