Chapter 2

The ballroom of the Argent Guild was a breathtaking spectacle of light and sound. It was a world away from the rustic, wood-paneled halls of Veridia. Here, crystal chandeliers, each the size of a small carriage, dripped light like frozen stars, their glow reflecting off the polished marble floor. The air hummed with palpable power, a heady mix of a hundred different magical signatures, and smelled of expensive perfume, champagne, and ambition. The gentle melody of a string quartet wove through the sophisticated chatter of the guests.

For the first time in my life, I felt...seen.

Sophie had worked her own brand of magic on me. The dress she'd found was the color of a midnight sky, a deep, shimmering indigo that clung to my curves before flaring out at the floor. It left my shoulders bare, and my hair was swept up in an elegant twist, revealing the long, pale column of my neck. I wore no jewelry save for a pair of simple silver earrings. I felt elegant, powerful, and utterly terrified.

But as I walked into the gala, a hush fell over the small group nearest the door. Whispers followed me like the train of my gown.

"That's her... the elemental from Veridia."

"I heard she can freeze fire."

"An Alpha's mate, competing? Unheard of."

The whispers weren't filled with pity or scorn, but with a grudging, curious respect. My acceptance into the Conclave had given me a status I'd never earned in my own pack. It was intoxicating. I allowed a small, confident smile to grace my lips, my posture straightening. For tonight, I wasn't just Mark's mate. I was Clara, a contender.

I saw him across the room, standing with a group of stern-faced Alphas. Mark. He looked magnificent in his tailored black suit, the very picture of power and authority. His eyes found mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something I hadn't seen in years. A flicker of possessiveness. A tightening of his jaw as he watched another Alpha, a handsome man with eyes like molten gold, smile at me and offer a slight bow.

*So you notice me now?* I thought, a bitter satisfaction curling in my gut. *Now that other men do? Now that I have a value outside of you?*

He started towards me, his path a direct, uncompromising line through the crowd. People parted for him, as they always did. My heart began to beat a frantic, nervous rhythm against my ribs. I didn't know what he would say, what he would demand. Would he be angry? Would he try to claim me, to reassert his dominance in this public forum? The thought was both terrifying and, to my shame, a little thrilling.

He was halfway across the room when it happened.

A low, violent tremor shook the very foundations of the ancient building. It wasn't an earthquake; it felt deeper, more magical, like the world itself was groaning in protest. Gasps of alarm rippled through the crowd. Champagne glasses rattled on silver trays, and the string quartet faltered into a discordant screech.

My eyes shot upwards. High above, one of the massive chandeliers, its frame laden with ancient, power-infused crystals, was swaying violently. A sickening grinding sound echoed through the hall as its centuries-old mooring began to tear away from the ceiling.

It was directly above us.

Not just me. In a cruel twist of fate, the chandelier's deadly arc was centered on the very patch of marble where Mark, Isabella-who had appeared at his side as if summoned-and I were all standing.

***

Time didn't slow down. It fractured.

My mind processed a thousand details in a single, horrifying heartbeat. The terrified scream that tore from Isabella's throat. The shower of dust and plaster raining down from the ceiling. The collective, indrawn breath of the entire ballroom. The way the light from the falling crystals refracted, casting a thousand panicked rainbows across the floor.

Mark stood between us. Between me, his mate, and Isabella, his obsession.

My wolf screamed in my mind, a primal cry of terror and a desperate, instinctual plea. *Mate will save us. He will protect us.*

But I saw his eyes. I saw the split-second calculation, the flicker of choice. There was no hesitation. There was no conflict. There was only instinct.

His instinct was not for me.

In a movement that was brutally fast and devastatingly clear, he moved. But not towards me. He shoved me. Hard. His hand, the hand that once held mine with such tenderness, slammed into my shoulder. It wasn't a push to get me out of the way of the main chandelier. It was a violent, thoughtless expulsion. He threw me aside, directly into the path of a secondary shower of heavy, crystal-laden debris and splintering wood that rained down from the initial impact zone.

He didn't do it to save me. He did it to clear his path.

The world became a kaleidoscope of pain and betrayal. As I stumbled backwards, my ankle twisting beneath me, my last conscious sight was of Mark. He leaped, his body a powerful, protective shield, and wrapped himself around Isabella. He cradled her to his chest, his back turned completely to me, absorbing the minor impacts of the falling plaster to protect the woman he truly valued.

He never even looked back.

My name was not on his lips. My safety was not in his thoughts. I was an obstacle, a piece of furniture to be shoved aside in his frantic rush to save what was precious to him.

Then the world exploded. A piece of the ornate ceiling, heavy as a tombstone, slammed into my side. The pain was a white-hot supernova, blinding and absolute. The sound of shattering crystal, of screaming, of my own bones breaking, was the last thing I heard before the world dissolved into an endless, silent darkness.