Chapter 4

Camellia's POV Sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting the veins bulging on his neck. His Alpha aura swelled with rage. I understood his shock. Werewolves can't resist their mates. But now? Lyra saw him as a threat. Lyra no longer recognized him as our mate. "You felt it," I spat, wiping blood from my mouth. "Our mate bond's hanging by a thread since you screwed that she-wolf." "No way!" Esmond bellowed. His healing skin glistened under sunlight—damn Alpha regeneration. Suddenly he lunged, pinning me again. "Then we'll remake the bond. Right. Now." My body froze, then bucked harder. "Get your hands off me!" He ignored me, his fingers teasing my sensitive spots. "You want this too, don't you?" "Don't make me hate you." He froze, just as his gaze dropped to mine. His pupils constricted involuntarily. "Lyra doesn't recognize you anymore," I hissed. "You killed us the moment you cheated." His eyes were wrestling with turmoil. After what felt like an eternity, he stomped off the bed and stormed out. The door slam rattled my bones. Three days passed without a word. I left dozens of voicemails about finalizing the rejection—radio silence. By weekend, I was browsing job listings in the packhouse living room when the door creaked. Esmond strode in, looking haggard. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. "Let's talk about the rejection," I said calmly, setting down my coffee. His jaw twitched. "Rejection's off the table. We're attending the Pack gathering tonight. Be ready by seven." The Ironclaw Pack held monthly gatherings, usually just for their inner circle. Ever since Esmond and I did that moonlit mate vow thing, I'd been dragged to every single one. Most pack members treated me okay since they saw Esmond as the future Alpha. However, the Daltons—Alpha Drogo's family—were always throwing shade. I used to tell myself I didn't care as long as Esmond loved me. But now? I could no longer deceive myself. "I'm not going." "How long you gonna keep this tantrum up? I gave you space by ignoring your calls, but you're still acting like a brat." "It was not a tantrum. I want a rejection." He snorted. "Rejection? You haven't worked a day since we mated. Who's gonna pay your daily bills? I'm the future Alpha of Ironclaw. There'll always be temptations out there, but those werewolves won't affect your position as Luna. Can't you act more mature?" Looking at his aggressive demeanor, I couldn't reconcile it with the man who had promised never to hurt me during our mating ritual. Maybe… this was his true self—selfish, arrogant, and condescending. "If your idea of maturity is tolerating your cheating, I'm sorry. I can't. I'll file a rejection request with the LA Werewolf Council," I said. Hearing the word "rejection" again, the last bit of Esmond's patience snapped. He suddenly grabbed the back of my neck, his canines pressing against the temporary mark as he sneered, "The Shadowfang Pack's funding for this month hasn't come through yet, has it? I heard your father's left leg, bitten by a rogue, is starting to fester. His wolf is so weakened—it's hard to say how much longer it'll last." His leather glove ground against my spine. "Darling, I wonder what would happen to the Shadowfang Pack if I stopped the funding..." "Esmond, if it weren't for me giving you that patent, you wouldn't have been able to secure your position in the pack," I said angrily. He dismissed my words with a nonchalant expression. "Who'd believe that now?" "Esmond, you're just an asshole!" I gritted my teeth. My nails dug into my palm. The taste of blood spread across my tongue. Deep down, Lyra was howling to tear his throat out. But I just stood still as he zipped up my emerald satin dress. For Dad. For my Shadowfang pack. "Alpha Drogo's waiting," he said, adjusting that tacky Ironclaw pin on his black suit. The silver thorns etched into it made my eyes hurt. Moon moss glowed blue under our feet on the path to the gathering square. Patrol wolves bowed like creepy sycophants. "You look divine tonight, Camellia," one oozed. I fake-smiled through gritted teeth. The crowd suddenly parted as twelve servers carried a whole roasted stag. Whispers buzzed, "The youngest Dalton's back..." "He's wearing the Alpha's fang collar..." Esmond's arm locked around my waist like a vise. Then I saw him. Lionel sauntered through the crowd, military jacket half-unbuttoned to show old scars across his tan chest. The ancient Alpha fang necklace glinted against his collarbone, clinking with each step. Esmond growled low, "How dare he wear Alpha Drogo's—" "Bloodline doesn't lie," I muttered, remembering the moonlight in his messy blond hair that night. Esmond's fingers dug into my wrist. "I'm your mate!"