6

Mary Ann The Alpha suite felt more like a cage than a sanctuary. A kind-faced older omega named Greta had led me here after the reception finally wound down, chattering softly about how the rooms had been freshly prepared for the new Luna. I nodded along, smiling when I was supposed to, but my mind was miles away. The grand double doors clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed pressed down on me like a heavy blanket. I stood in the middle of the massive bedroom, taking it all in. Dark wood furniture, deep navy and silver accents, a bed so large it could have fit half my old pack house. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Ironclaw forest, moonlight spilling across the plush rugs. It was beautiful. Luxurious. And completely empty of the one person who was supposed to be here with me. Modric wasn’t coming back. I’d waited for nearly an hour, perched on the edge of an armchair in my wedding gown, listening for footsteps in the hallway. Nothing. The spark from our kiss still lingered faintly on my lips, a mocking reminder of what the mate bond wanted. But my husband had chosen to disappear again—probably back to Velvera or some dark corner where he could forget this sham of a marriage. I reached behind me, fingers struggling with the delicate buttons and zipper of the gown. No one was here to help. No gentle hands from my mother, no teasing laughter from friends. Just me. After several frustrating minutes, I managed to shimmy out of it, the lace pooling at my feet like a discarded dream. I stepped free in just my silk slip, the cool night air raising goosebumps on my arms and across the generous curves of my hips and thighs. I caught my reflection in the tall mirror and paused. My body had never been small. Full breasts, soft belly, thick thighs—the same body Modric and his friends had ridiculed for years. Teenage me would have been over the moon right now, standing in the Alpha’s bedroom on her wedding night to the boy she’d crushed on so hard it hurt. She would’ve imagined him walking through that door, eyes hungry, finally seeing her as more than “Fat Luna.” That girl was gone. I sank onto the edge of the bed and let the tears come, quiet and private. They slipped down my cheeks in hot trails, my shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I cried for the dreams I’d buried, for the humiliation that still stung, for the lonely future stretching out ahead. But I didn’t let it last long. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, drew in a deep, steadying breath, and stood up. “No more,” I whispered to the empty room. “That weak girl died the day she left the Academy. I’m Luna now. I’ll do my duties—help the pack, support the alliance, be the bridge they need. But I won’t expect anything as his wife. No affection. No love. Nothing.” I slipped into a simple nightgown, the soft cotton comforting against my skin, and climbed into the huge bed. The sheets smelled faintly of cedar and something sharper—Modric’s scent. It wrapped around me, stirring my wolf again, but I pushed it down. I curled up on the far side, leaving the other half untouched, and stared at the wall until exhaustion finally pulled me under. Dawn crept in with soft gray light filtering through the windows. I heard the door open, quiet footsteps crossing the room. Modric. I kept my eyes closed, breathing slow and even, pretending to be deep asleep. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat on the edge of the bed. I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and unreadable. He didn’t speak. Minutes stretched out before he stood again, moving around the room with careful, controlled movements. He noticed. I was sure of it—the perfectly made side of the bed where I hadn’t touched a single pillow, the way I’d left his space completely untouched. A strange tension filled the air, like discomfort rolling off him in waves. Part of me wanted to open my eyes and confront him, to demand where he’d been all night. But what good would it do? I stayed still, listening as he changed clothes and splashed water on his face in the adjoining bathroom. When he came back out, the room felt smaller. His scent was stronger now, mixed with fresh sweat and the outdoors. He paused near the bed again. I could almost hear him thinking, wrestling with whatever thoughts kept him from touching me or even speaking to me on our wedding night. The door opened and closed once more. He was gone. I waited a few minutes before sitting up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My body ached from the tension of the night, but my mind felt clearer. This was survival. I would build a life here on my own terms. Later that morning, as I stood by the window brushing out my hair, I heard Modric’s voice in the hallway just outside the suite. Low and commanding, speaking to one of the servants. “Prepare another room for the Luna,” he said flatly. “She’ll be more comfortable there.” The words hit like a slap. I froze, the brush still tangled in my curls. Another room. Separate. Of course. He couldn’t even stand sharing space with me for one full night. My wolf whimpered, but I silenced her. No expectations, I reminded myself. No weakness. I would be the best Luna this pack had ever seen, curves and scars and all. And if Modric Volkov wanted distance, I’d give it to him—while guarding my heart like the fragile thing it still was. But as his footsteps faded down the hall, that traitorous spark from our kiss flickered again, whispering that distance might not be as simple as he thought.