Chapter 2

The basement storage room reeked of mildew and old grain. I pressed my back against the damp stone wall, counting the seconds between water drops that fell from a crack in the ceiling. Three days had passed since Richard's death. Three days since I'd become the pack's official curse.

My stomach cramped with hunger. The single meal they'd thrown down yesterday—stale bread and watery soup—hadn't been enough. But begging for more would only invite their cruelty.

Footsteps echoed above. Heavy, deliberate. The door creaked open, spilling harsh light into my prison.

"Get up, harbinger." The guard's voice dripped contempt. "Luna Seraphina demands your presence."

I struggled to my feet, joints stiff from the cold floor. My ceremonial gown, once white and pristine, now hung in tatters, stained with dirt and dried blood. The guard wrinkled his nose as I passed.

"Cursed," he muttered, making the sign against evil.

The word followed me through the pack house corridors. Whispered by servants. Hissed by warriors. Even the pups scattered when they saw me coming, their mothers pulling them close.

"Cursed."

"Death-bringer."

"Should have been her instead."

I kept my eyes down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. My wolf—if she even existed—remained silent as always. No strength to draw from. No companion in my misery.

The artisan wing buzzed with activity. Seamstresses bent over their work, preparing for... something. My heart sank as realization dawned.

Seraphina stood at the center, her black mourning dress a stark contrast to the bolts of silver fabric surrounding her. Beside her, Sophia twirled in front of a mirror, admiring her reflection.

"Ah, the harbinger arrives." Seraphina's voice cut like ice. "You will take your sister's measurements. Every detail must be perfect for the ceremony."

"What ceremony?" The words escaped before I could stop them.

Sophia's laugh tinkled through the room. "My mating ceremony, of course. With Daniel." She smoothed her hands over her curves. "Richard's twin brother arrived yesterday. Isn't it romantic? Like fate itself brought him to me in our time of grief."

Twin brother. The words echoed hollowly in my mind. Richard had never mentioned a twin.

"Get to work," Seraphina snapped. "And don't you dare curse this union with your touch."

I knelt beside Sophia, pulling out the measuring tape with trembling fingers. The other artisans watched, their expressions ranging from pity to disgust.

"Careful with those death hands," one muttered.

"Should burn sage after she leaves," another whispered.

Sophia stood perfectly still, but her eyes glittered with malice. "You know," she said conversationally, "Daniel says the strangest thing happened during the attack. He felt Richard's death through their twin bond, even from miles away. Rushed here as fast as he could."

I wrapped the tape around her waist, trying to ignore the way my hands shook.

"Of course, he was devastated." Sophia's voice dripped false sympathy. "Until he scented me. His wolf recognized me instantly as his true mate. Isn't that wonderful? Richard's death brought me my destiny."

The tape slipped from my numb fingers.

"Pick it up," Seraphina commanded. "Unless you want to return to the basement without supper."

I retrieved the tape, continuing my work in silence. Each measurement felt like another nail in my coffin. Each adjustment of fabric, another reminder of what I'd lost—and what I'd never truly had.

Days blurred together after that. Serve breakfast. Clean the training grounds. Fetch supplies. Always with whispers following, always with accusing stares. At night, I'd collapse in my damp prison, too exhausted to cry.

But tonight was different.

I'd been summoned to clean the Alpha's study after midnight—punishment for accidentally breaking a plate during dinner service. The house lay quiet, most of the pack asleep.

I pushed open the study door to find Daniel bent over territorial maps, planning new patrol routes. His dark hair fell across his forehead exactly like Richard's used to.

"Come in," he said without looking up. "Make it quick."

I began dusting the bookshelves, keeping my distance. But as he reached for another map, his sleeve rode up.

My breath caught.

There, on his right wrist, curved a distinctive crescent scar. The same scar Richard had gotten during our honeymoon run through the Northern Territories. The same scar I'd traced with my fingers as he told me about the rogue wolf that had attacked him.

The duster slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor.

Daniel's head snapped up. Our eyes met, and in that moment, I saw the truth. The same cold calculation. The same barely concealed irritation when he looked at me.

"Richard?" The name escaped as a whisper.

His expression shifted, all pretense dropping away. The familiar hatred blazed in those dark eyes as he rose from his chair.

"Stay silent," he warned, voice low and dangerous, "or I'll destroy you. And this time, I'll make sure you stay buried."