63

Selene stood at the balcony of the Darkfang stronghold, gripping the cold iron railing as the wind howled through the mountains. Her mind was a battlefield, and her heart was losing.

She could still feel Kieran’s lips on hers, still hear the sharp intake of his breath when they had parted. A kiss stolen in the dark, a moment that should have meant nothing—but meant everything.

She wanted to hate him.

She wanted to forget.

But the past had its claws in her, refusing to let go.

A knock at her door shattered the silence.

Selene didn’t turn. “Come in.”

Lucian’s presence was unmistakable, his aura brushing against hers as he strode inside. “I thought I’d find you here.”

Selene exhaled sharply. “If you came to lecture me, don’t.”

Lucian chuckled, leaning against the doorway. “Not a lecture. A reminder.”

Selene finally turned, narrowing her gaze. “Of what?”

Lucian’s expression darkened. “That emotions make you weak.”

Selene’s jaw clenched. “You think I don’t know that?”

Lucian stepped closer, his voice lowering. “Then why do I still smell him on you?”

Selene stiffened.

Her chest tightened.

Lucian smirked, seeing right through her. “You can lie to yourself, Selene, but not to me.”

Selene exhaled sharply, pushing off the railing. “This war isn’t about Kieran and me.”

Lucian’s gaze sharpened. “Isn’t it?”

Selene turned away, gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white. “I was cast out. Humiliated. Rejected. This war is about making Bloodmoon pay.”

Lucian stepped behind her, his voice barely above a whisper. “And yet, you hesitate.”

Selene’s pulse pounded.

Lucian wasn’t wrong.

But he also didn’t understand.

Because this wasn’t just about war anymore.

It was about a past she had never truly let go.

A past that refused to stay buried.