Chapter 3

Elara Nightwind POV:

Ryker filled the doorway, his Beta and Gamma flanking him like loyal hounds. The scent of celebratory ale rolled off them in waves, a stark contrast to the sterile tension in the room.

His gaze swept past the scroll on the table, landing on me with dismissive impatience. "Elara, what is this?" he demanded, his voice a low growl. It was the Alpha command, the tone he used when he expected instant obedience. "The entire pack is waiting."

He was annoyed that I had interrupted his moment of glory. It didn't even occur to him that something might be seriously wrong. In thirteen years, he had never once considered my feelings important enough to cause a true disruption.

I didn't answer. I just looked at him, at this man who was my mate, my husband, and a complete stranger. My mind flickered back to another night, another duty. Our Mating. There had been no passion, no tenderness. It was a cold, clinical act to seal the bond, a political necessity. He had performed his duty and then rolled away from me, his back a wall of muscle and indifference.

I remembered how hard I tried after that. I thought if I could just be the perfect Luna, the one he wanted, maybe he would see me. I studied pack politics until my head ached. I forced myself to socialize with the other Alphas' mates, mimicking their confidence, their easy laughter. I buried my own nature-the quiet girl who loved the solitude of the forest and the company of old books-and tried to become someone else.

I shattered my own soul and tried to reshape it into a mosaic he might find beautiful.

But all I got for my efforts was his back more often than his face. He spent more and more nights away, training or "on patrol." His words, when he did speak to me, grew sharper.

"My Luna is more interested in her herbs than in our alliances," he'd once sneered at a dinner with a visiting pack.

He was angry that I, an orphan from a dead pack, brought him no political power, no valuable family connections. Each casual, cruel remark was another crack in the fragile soul I had rebuilt for him.

The final straw had been three years ago, after his mother, Lyra, passed away. That's when Seraphina Blackwood had slithered into our lives. Their flirtation was an open secret, a humiliation I was expected to endure with quiet dignity. The day I smelled her perfume on the sheets of our bed was the day the last piece of the woman I was trying to be crumbled into dust.

In the rubble of that shattered self, I found a flicker of the original me. And from that day on, I stopped planning for him. I started planning for myself.

My gaze returned to the present, to the arrogant, clueless man standing before me. There was nothing left inside me for him. Not love, not hate. Only a vast, empty wasteland.

The Beta, a practical wolf named Marcus, was the first to notice the scroll. He stepped forward, his eyes scanning the ancient script. I saw him suck in a sharp breath.

"Alpha," Marcus said, his voice tight. "You need to see this."

Ryker's brow furrowed in annoyance. He finally deigned to look at the table. His golden eyes scanned the heading, and the arrogant smirk on his face froze, then vanished. It was replaced by a look of stark, utter disbelief.

"Rite of Rejection."

He snapped his head up, his gaze locking with mine. His inner wolf let out a furious roar, a wave of pure possessive rage that slammed into me through the Mate Bond. It was a force that would have brought any other wolf to their knees.

I didn't even flinch. My own wolf, Lyra, had built a wall of ice around my heart, and his fury simply shattered against it.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ryker's voice was dangerously low, vibrating with a power he was struggling to contain.

I didn't let his aura intimidate me. I took a step forward, toward the table. I raised my hand and tapped a single finger on the parchment.

"It means, Alpha Stonecrest," I said, my voice clear and steady, using his formal title for the first time.

"Our bond is over."