Chapter 3

Elara Vance POV:

I sat on the edge of my narrow bed in my simple room at the scholastics dorm. Moira had left hours ago, after fussing over me and ensuring the Pack Doctor had tended to my knee. The cool salve on my skin did little to numb the icy chill in my soul.

The day's events replayed in my mind on a torturous loop: the feel of his hands on me, the panic, the flawless lie, the pity in Moira's eyes, and the cold suspicion in Seraphina's.

My inner wolf paced, a low growl rumbling in its chest, craving its mate. I hated it for its weakness. I hated myself more. *Be quiet,* I snarled at it mentally.

I looked at my reflection in the small mirror on my dresser. A pale, haunted girl stared back, her doe-brown eyes wide with the look of a trapped animal. This had to end. The thought wasn't a fleeting wish; it was a hard, cold certainty forming in the pit of my stomach. This parasitic relationship was destroying me.

A faint scrape at the window startled me. My heart leaped into my throat. My room was on the second floor.

Then the scent hit me, that aggressive, possessive aroma of forest and earth. Ryker.

I lunged for the window, my fingers fumbling with the lock, but it was too late. His dark form slipped through the opening with the silent grace of a predator, melting into the shadows of my room. He was dressed in black, a specter in the moonlight. He saw the terror on my face and his brow furrowed.

"Why are you locking your window?" he asked, a note of displeasure in his voice, as if my room was his territory to command.

"This is my room!" The words came out in a ragged whisper, fueled by a surge of desperate courage. "Alpha, you need to leave."

He ignored my protest, his gaze dropping to my bandaged knee. "I came to check on your injury. The Pack Doctor's salves are too slow."

He reached into his pocket and produced a small, silver box etched with intricate markings. Inside was a dark green paste.

"This is a Healer's compound. Made for Alphas," he stated, the words an explanation and an order all in one.

He advanced on me. I backed away, step by step, until my back hit the cold wall. There was nowhere else to go.

Ryker knelt before me. Ignoring my rigid posture, he pushed up the hem of my nightgown, exposing the white bandage. His fingers, surprisingly gentle, scooped up some of the green paste and smoothed it over the wound. A warm, soothing energy seeped into my skin, and the dull ache in my knee vanished instantly.

My body relaxed against my will, but my mind screamed. His gentleness was more dangerous than his fury.

His hand didn't move away after applying the salve. Instead, his fingers began a slow, deliberate journey up my calf.

"Today... I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice rough. "I lost control."

I stiffened. It was the first time he had ever apologized. But I knew it was just a temporary truce with the beast inside him.

His touch grew bolder, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind my knee. I grabbed his wrist, my grip surprisingly strong. "Ryker, we can't do this anymore. You're getting a Luna."

He looked up, and in the dim light, his eyes gleamed like a wolf's. "Seraphina will be my Luna, but you are my mate. The two are not in conflict."

The shameless audacity of that statement shattered my composure. I shoved at him, but he was immovable. He rose in a fluid motion, trapping me between the wall and his hard body. He lowered his head, his intent clear.

Just as his lips were about to touch mine, a clear, cool female voice echoed directly inside my head.

*Ryker, darling, where are you? I can't sleep. I was hoping we could talk.*

It was a Mind-Link. It was Seraphina.

My blood turned to ice. A link that clear was usually only possible between fully marked and mated pairs. For Seraphina to have this access, even as an allied fiancée, meant Ryker had granted her a level of intimacy that was a profound betrayal.

I could hear her. Which meant he could hear her. And worse, if his own emotions were in turmoil, could she feel the echo of it through their connection?

Ryker froze, his expression turning thunderous.

His response, formed in his mind but audible in mine, was a masterpiece of casual deceit. *I'm in my study, handling some last-minute pack business, my love. Go to sleep. I'll be there soon.*

The lie, broadcast directly into my consciousness while his body was pressed against mine, was the cruelest irony. I looked into his stormy eyes, the words forming in my throat but never leaving my lips. Instead, I mouthed them, a silent, venomous accusation.

*You are a liar.*