Chapter 3

Freya POV:

The memory of our bonding ceremony was etched into my mind with the clarity of shame. I stood before the pack in the traditional white furs of a new Luna. Alan was beside me, his hand in mine, but his eyes were scanning the crowd. As the Elder chanted the ancient rites, preparing for the final, binding act-the Marking-a choked sob echoed through the silent hall.

Fiona. She was standing in the front row, also in a white dress, tears streaming down her face. She opened a Mind-Link to everyone, her voice a desperate, childish wail. "Alan, are you abandoning me?"

He froze. His fangs retracted. The entire pack watched as their Alpha faltered, torn between his destiny and his obsession. It was his Beta, Philip, who finally broke the spell. Philip strode forward, his face a mask of grim resolve, and forcibly escorted the weeping Fiona from the hall.

Only then did Alan complete the ceremony. He rushed it, his bite clumsy and shallow. The mark on my neck was so faint it was barely visible, a pathetic symbol of his divided heart.

Our wedding night was a farce. I waited for him in our chambers, but he spent the entire night on the balcony, his mind linked with Fiona's, soothing her hysterics. He only came inside as the sun was rising, his eyes exhausted. "She's just an innocent, broken little wolf, Freya," he'd explained. "She doesn't understand."

In the beginning, I pitied her. I truly did. I would even go with Alan to visit her, bringing her rare healing herbs from my personal garden to soothe her 'fragile' wolf spirit.

But pity quickly soured into suspicion. Fiona's grief didn't feel like grief. It felt like possession. Her eyes, whenever they landed on me, were filled with a cold, undisguised hostility. She saw me not as a Luna to be respected, but as a rival to be defeated.

The final illusion shattered one stormy night. Alan was away on border patrol when he mind-linked me, his voice laced with worry. "Fiona's wolf is unstable again. She has a high fever. Can you please check on her?"

Of course. I was the caring, understanding Luna. I saddled my horse and rode through the torrential rain to the secluded cottage the pack had provided for her.

I found her door unlocked. The room wasn't the sickbay of a frail invalid. It was a den of luxury. Empty wine bottles and plates of expensive food littered the tables. And Fiona herself was lounging by the fire, not in a sick-robe, but in a silk nightgown so sheer it was practically transparent.

When she saw me standing in the doorway, dripping wet, her face fell. The look wasn't one of a sick wolf grateful for aid. It was the pure, unadulterated disappointment of a seductress whose intended target had failed to arrive.

In that instant, I knew. She wasn't sick. She had never been sick. She had been waiting for my Alpha. My mate.