The room was too quiet.
Selene sat on the edge of the mattress, fists clenched, muscles tight. She hadn't moved from the spot in hours not since he left.
The bond was a low throb under her skin. A weight. Not warm like stories said it would be. This was different. Wrong.
She touched the mark at the back of her neck. It still burned.
Claimed. Like property. Like a possession.
By a man who looked at her like he was already planning her funeral.
Her wolf stirred uneasily in her chest.
Don't trust him. Don't trust the bond.
The door clicked.
She shot to her feet, defensive.
He entered without looking at her, dressed in black again. His hair was wet freshly showered. No blood this time, but the scent of violence still followed him.
Darius Valtore, the Alpha of the Blackfang Syndicate.
The man who marked her with a touch and a lie.
"You're still here," he said.
"I'm not a ghost yet," she snapped.
He didn't answer. Just stepped to a tall cabinet, pulled out a file, and flipped it open like she wasn't even in the room.
Selene narrowed her eyes. "Why haven't you killed me yet?"
That got his attention.
Slowly, he closed the file and looked up. "Still thinking about it."
"Then think faster."
He moved toward her in three slow steps, stopping just inches away. His presence sucked the air from the room.
"You don't give me orders," he said, voice like steel dragged over gravel.
"And you don't scare me."
A beat of silence.
Then he smiled, just barely. "That's your first mistake."
Before she could reply, pain shot down her spine. Her knees buckled.
He'd triggered the bond.
Agony lanced through her not from touch, but from dominance. Her wolf whimpered. Her body shook.
"Stop—" she gasped, falling to one hand. "I didn't choose this—"
"Neither did I," he growled. Then, just as quickly as it started, he released her.
She coughed hard, trying to sit up.
Darius knelt in front of her. "Listen carefully, Selene. You're here because I was ordered to bring you in alive. Nothing more. There is no happy ending, no bond song, no fairy tale. You're marked, not mated. Understand?"
She spat blood to the side. "Then unmark me."
He stood. "It doesn't work that way."
"Then kill me and get it over with."
He looked at her like she was made of glass and poison all at once.
"I will," he said. "Eventually."
Later that night, Selene was alone again.
She paced the room, testing every inch. The windows didn't open. The doors were solid steel, hidden behind carved wood. Cameras blinked silently from the corners.
A gilded cage. Beautiful, but still a prison.
Her skin prickled every time Darius walked past the hallway beyond her door. She could feel him. The bond didn't just connect souls—it tracked heartbeats, moods, footsteps. No matter how far he went, something in her stayed tethered.
She hated it.
She hated him.
But she hated herself more—for the way her body reacted when he was close. It wasn't desired. It was full. Something ancient, instinctive.
She tried to claw the mark off her neck.
She didn't cry.
But her nails came away bloody.
At dawn, she was woken by a loud bang. Her door flew open.
Not Darius.
A woman entered, short and wiry, with pale eyes and a scar across her mouth. She tossed Selene a bundle of clothes.
"Bath's ready," she said flatly. "You're to be presented tonight."
"Presented to whom?"
The woman smirked. "Council. They want to see the Moonblood girl who survived the brand."
Selene stood slowly. "Tell them to go to hell."
The woman shrugged. "Your mate said the same thing. Didn't work out great for him either."
The shower was scalding, the dress too tight, and the collar around her neck made her want to rip someone's throat out.
But by the time she was brought downstairs to the main hall, Selene looked exactly like what they wanted: a prize wrapped in defiance.
The room was full of Alphas.
Old. Rich. Powerful. Men who made decisions with fangs and gold. Darius stood at the head of the table, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
"Gentlemen," one of the councilmen said. "This is her?"
"Moonblood," another whispered. "Cursed. Dangerous."
"She should be destroyed."
Selene lifted her chin. "Try it."
There was a pause. Then a chuckle.
But Darius didn't laugh.
He stepped forward, standing at her side. "She's under my claim. No one touches her."
The head councilman leaned forward. "Even you can't protect her forever, Valtore. You know what she is. What she'll become."
Darius didn't flinch. "Then I'll kill her myself."
Selene didn't react.
But deep inside, something broke.
She wasn't afraid. Not of death.
She was afraid of what it would mean to need him before it came.