Chapter 3

Alpha Damien Blackwood didn’t hesitate for a heartbeat.

His clawed fingers tightened around his obsidian communicator, summoning his Beta enforcer, Zane, with a growl that rattled the den’s oak beams.

“Station guards at every threshold. Ensure she doesn’t set a paw outside without my scent-mark,” he ordered, sparing me a glance that could’ve frozen a river.

Lilith Ravenscroft, the rogue she-wolf, preened beside him, her tail flicking with smugness. “Don’t fret, Damien. Arabelle’s too proud to disgrace her pack by fleeing,” she purred, though her amber eyes gleamed with challenge.

As they departed for the Mate Registration Office, their combined scents—a cloying mix of Alpha authority and rogue musk—lingered like a curse.

The moment the iron door slammed, I shifted into my wolf form, claws shredding the silk gown Damien had bought me. *No omega chain will bind me*, my wolf snarled.

The Silver Moon Bridal den smelled of moonflowers and starched linen, but the Gamma owner, Elder Mora, froze when my shadow fell across her threshold.

“Miss Hawthorne… you’ve come for the ceremonial pelt?” Her ears flattened, betraying her unease.

“Where is it?” I demanded, scenting the air. Under the floral haze lingered a foul rogue stench—Lilith’s.

Elder Mora’s tail between her legs, she activated the den’s memory crystals.

The shimmering hologram revealed Lilith draped in my ivory moon-pelt, its silver-threaded runes glowing faintly against her charcoal fur.

Damien stood transfixed, his Alpha aura flaring as he murmured, “The Moon Goddess herself couldn’t have woven a more fitting pelt for my luna.”

Lilith’s laugh was a low, victorious trill. “Do I look like I belong by your side, Damien? Like I was born to rule your pack?”

His response was a low growl of approval, his snout brushing her neck—*my neck*, the place where he’d once promised to leave his mating mark.

I turned away, jaw clenched. “Send the pelt’s cost to Damien’s account. In gold moonstones,” I said, voice steady. “And inform him I’ll be wearing something far more fitting for my *true* Mate Bond Ceremony.”

Elder Mora nodded, relief scenting her fur. “Of course, Miss Hawthorne. Though I must warn you—Lilith demanded the pelt be altered. She said—”

“I don’t care what she said.” I bared my teeth slightly. “Damien will reimburse you for the alterations. And the emotional distress.”

By the time I stormed into my loft, Zane and two Beta guards flanked the entrance, their hackles raised.

“Alpha’s orders: confined to the den until the Ceremony,” Zane intoned, though his scent reeked of uncertainty.

He’d always respected me—once. Now, he was just another lackey in Damien’s crumbling empire.

My phone buzzed with a transfer notification: 10,000 moonstones—exactly the pelt’s cost. Damien’s message was terse: *Waste this on something worthy. Lilith’s pelt suits her. You’d only soil it.*

I laughed hollowly, pocketing the device. So he thought me defeated?

Let him believe it.

While he played pretend luna with Lilith, I had a far more pressing errand: contacting Ethan Hawthorne—the True Alpha my parents had chosen for me years ago.

The parking den was silent, save for the low hum of my electric moon-cycle.

But as I approached my designated stall, a sleek Nightshade-class hovercar occupied the space, its doors emblazoned with Damien’s pack insignia.

The driver’s side window rolled down, revealing Lilith’s smirking face.

“Oopsie, Arabelle. Damien gifted me your spot. He said you’d understand—after all, a future luna needs prime parking,” she cooed, waving a scarlet Mate Bond Certificate.

The official seal glimmered, confirming their temporary bond.

I said nothing, merely activated my cycle’s cloaking feature and sped into the night.

Let them think I was retreating. The truth? I had a ceremony to plan—and a True Alpha to confront.