Chapter 3: Her Body Completely Still

Tristan's POV

The bass vibrated through my bones as I sat in the VIP section of the bar. Red lights bathed everything in a bloody glow while the scent of expensive perfume, sweat, and alcohol hung heavy in the air. I rotated the crystal tumbler in my hand, watching the amber liquid swirl against the sides.

"Fucking bond-breaking ritual," I muttered, downing the remaining whiskey in one burning gulp.

The image of Lysandra handing me the scroll kept flashing through my mind. She'd had them for months. Months. Planning her escape while playing the dutiful wife. The thought made my blood boil.

My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, a low growl rumbling through our shared consciousness. Ever since I'd married that woman, my inner beast had been acting strangely—drawn to her in ways I couldn't comprehend. A wolfless werewolf, a genetic defect, yet my wolf seemed fascinated by her.

"You're a traitor," I told him silently. "She manipulated my father with that innocent act, made him believe she was the one from that damn prophecy."

Two years ago, my father had summoned me to his study. I still remembered the grave expression on his face as he told me I needed to marry and mark Lysandra as my mate, a girl from a low-ranking Gamma family.

When I'd refused, he'd dropped the bomb—there was a prophecy, one passed down through generations of Alpha bloodlines. He wouldn't tell me all of it, only that Lysandra was crucial to preventing some coming disaster.

I clenched my jaw. She had somehow discovered that prophecy and used it to elevate herself from nobody to potential Luna of the Silverblood Pack. The ultimate social climber.

I signaled the server for another drink. "That scheming bitch prepared severance request behind my back, thinking I wouldn't sign. Did she expect me to beg her to stay?" I laughed bitterly. "I crushed her little game and now she has to live with the consequences."

The hatred I felt toward Lysandra burned in my chest, a constant reminder of how I'd been forced to mark her. The bond that formed was incomplete, one-sided at best. She bore the weight of it more than I ever would.

That’s how it worked—when the marking wasn’t mutual, the marked one felt everything, while the one who did the marking could block it out, especially if they wanted nothing to do with their so-called mate. And I didn’t. That’s why I knew—when the severance ritual came, she’d be the one in agony. Not me.

Still, my wolf disagreed, fighting me whenever I tried to explain how worthless she was.

"Tristan," a soft voice cut through the haze of alcohol. "I’m sorry she’s putting you through this."

I looked up to see Selene standing before me, her red dress clinging to every curve of her body. The scar on her right arm—proof she'd saved my life when we were children—stood out starkly against her pale skin. She slid into the booth beside me, pressing her warm body against mine.

I’d told her about the severance ritual earlier tonight—spat it out between clenched teeth, too angry to keep it in. I shouldn't have said anything, but the fury had needed somewhere to go.

And now here she was.

Where Lysandra was plain and unremarkable, Selene was breathtaking—lush curves, perfect features, and a confidence that radiated from her core.

I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "Don't be. It's exactly what I wanted."

Selene's nails traced circles on my thigh. "You deserve a real Luna." She leaned closer, her lips brushing my ear. "Only I know how to please a true Alpha. I'll be your perfect Luna."

My wolf snarled in response, baring teeth inside my mind. I ignored him, focusing instead on the alluring woman pressed against me.

Selene's tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stared directly into my eyes. "Come upstairs with me." Her hand slid toward my belt, her intentions crystal clear.

I grabbed her wrist, bringing her hand to my lips. "Lead the way."

The private suite upstairs was dimly lit, with a plush king-sized bed dominating the space. As soon as the door closed behind us, Selene turned and pressed her body against mine, her lips finding mine in a hungry kiss.

She guided me to the bed, straddling my lap as she loosened the ties of her dress. The fabric slipped down, revealing her naked shoulders and the tops of her breasts. She ground against me, eliciting a primal response from my body.

But as she reached for my belt, my wolf exploded into fury.

NO! SHE IS NOT YOUR MATE!

The force of his rejection was so strong it made me physically wince. I'd never felt him react so violently before.

"What's wrong?" I tried to suppress him, to regain control. "She's perfect—exactly what we need."

She is NOTHING! If you sleep with her, I will take over your body. You know I can.

My wolf's threat was real. As a future Alpha, the connection between man and wolf was stronger than in ordinary werewolves. If he wanted, he could force a shift, even against my will.

"Tristan?" Selene's voice pulled me back. Her dress was now completely open, revealing her naked body beneath. "Don't you want me?"

I gently pushed her off my lap, standing up. "I like you, Selene. But this isn't the right time. You deserve better than a quick fuck in a club."

She pouted but allowed me to help her back into her dress. "Don't make me wait too long."

Fifteen minutes later, I was in the back of my car, heading home. The driver, sensing my mood, remained silent.

When I arrived home, I spotted a figure struggling with a large suitcase at the front gate.

Perfect timing. After the frustration of the entire evening, gift-wrapped and waiting.

"Going somewhere?" I called out, my voice slicing through the night air.

Lysandra froze, her back still to me. Her shoulders tensed beneath her thin jacket.

"I already told you," she replied without turning.

The Alpha in me roared to life, rage coursing through my veins. How dare she dismiss me so casually? The ground seemed to tremble as I released my Alpha voice: "Told me WHAT?"

She flinched, her body responding instinctively to the power in my command. When she finally turned to face me, her eyes were red-rimmed but defiant.

"I'm leaving your house and the Silverblood Pack," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to stay here anymore."

I let out a low, humorless laugh. "Not yet, you're not."

She started to cry, her shoulders shaking slightly as tears stained her cheeks. I didn't care.

"You don't get to run until after the Severance Rite. After that—crawl to whatever pathetic excuse for a pack will take in a wolfless reject like you."

I strode toward the entrance, determined to put as much distance between us as possible. She wasn't worth another second of my time or emotion.

Behind me, her quiet sobs suddenly ceased. A heavy thud followed—the sound of a body hitting the ground.

I turned, expecting to find yet another of her dramatic ploys for sympathy. But the sight that greeted me sent an unexpected jolt of alarm through my system.

Lysandra lay crumpled on the ground, her suitcase toppled beside her. Her face was deathly pale in the moonlight, her body completely still.