Chapter 2

When Brantley walked in, I was mid-way through changing my bandages. His commanding presence instantly filled the room, his Alpha aura pressing heavily on me. His eyes flickered with something—maybe concern—as they landed on my wound, but he quickly masked it, his voice cold and detached. 'Is the tomato soup ready? Ella needs something to eat.'

'We're out of veggie stock, and I’m not exactly in top shape to cook,' I replied, wincing as the antiseptic burned my skin.

Brantley hesitated for a beat, his muscular frame looming over me before slipping into his usual mocking tone. 'Can’t handle whipping up a meal with just a little cut on your hand?'

'Ugh, what a useless Luna I’ve got. Can’t even manage the pack house, let alone anything else.'

For five years, I’d been the perfect Luna. If Brantley got hungry at 3 a.m., I’d roll out of bed to make him a midnight snack. If Ella, his Delta and secretary, craved pastries from the bakery across town, I’d be in line at 5:30 a.m. to get them. But today was the first time I ignored my Alpha’s demands.

I stayed silent, catching him off guard. His dark eyes narrowed, arms crossing over his chest, tattoos shifting with the movement. 'Why so quiet today?' he asked, sliding a piece of spiced honey cake in front of me. 'I got this just for you.'

I’d seen that cake an hour ago in Ella’s Instagram story. 'The bakery sent the strawberry flavor, my least favorite. I’ll let the dog have it,' she’d said. What she didn’t want had become something 'specially bought for me.'

A bitter taste rose in my throat. Even now, Brantley still didn’t remember my allergy to strawberries.

'No, thanks. I’m not a fan,' I said, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest.

As Brantley fumbled with the bandages, his grip slipped, and I jerked my hand back instinctively, sending the cake crashing to the floor. Cream splattered everywhere, the vibrant strawberries now a messy blur.

Brantley’s temper flared, his Alpha tone sharp and cutting. 'Even if you don’t like it, don’t waste food like this!'

'It’s just a minor injury, yet you’re making a scene and disrupting everyone.'

I sighed and struggled to my feet, my body protesting with every movement, the pain in my injured arm flaring up. The smell of strawberries made me nauseous as I started to clean the mess.

Brantley watched my awkward movements with an icy glare, cutting in impatiently. 'Stop overacting. I’ll call a cleaning service later, okay? You’re just fishing for sympathy, aren’t you? Is it so hard for me to ask you not to strain yourself?'

'Are you jealous of Ella again? She works hard, so why is it a problem if she wants some tomato soup? What’s going on in that head of yours all day? Can’t you just do your part?'

I’d lost count of how many arguments Brantley and I had. Ever since Ella came into the picture, we clashed every other day. I’d question him about the lingering perfume on his clothes, and he’d accuse me of being nosy.

From the day we were mated, Brantley had made it clear my role was to be a supportive Luna. He belittled my looks and skills compared to Ella, mocking that my only worth was in the kitchen. My value, he said, was confined to the walls of the pack house.

Whenever he saw me upset, he’d give me that superior, pitying look. But this time, I didn’t want to argue.

The fresh scent of strawberries made my nose itch, and soon my breathing grew labored. As my airways tightened, Brantley assumed I was crying again.

'It’s always the same with you, isn’t it...'

His words trailed off as he noticed the rash spreading across my face. Just before I collapsed, I managed to choke out two strained words: 'Allergic... reaction...'

The last thing I saw was Brantley’s expression shifting from annoyance to shock, his Alpha aura faltering for the first time. But it was too late. The room spun, and everything went black.