Ariel~
The slap sent me sprawling across marble.
Pain exploded across my face—sharp, I tasted copper. Felt warmth trickling from my busted lip.
" Have some dignity," Davian spat.
Dignity?" The word comes out choked. "You're talking about dignity while she's in our bed?"
"Watch your mouth," he says calmly. Like he didn't just hit me. Like my cheek isn't burning. "Rosalind will be my Luna. My real Luna. Not some broken Alpha who can't even feel her own wolf anymore."
I press my palm to my face, feeling the heat, the swelling already starting. Tears stream down my cheeks and I hate myself for them.
"Davian, please. Don't do this."
My husband doesn't even look at me. He's too busy buttoning his silk shirt. The one I gave him. The one I bought by selling my mother's last piece of jewelry.
He's smiling now. But not at me.
Alpha Krevan's daughter giggles from our bed. She's naked under the sheets, blonde hair wild, skin flushed. I walked in on them twenty minutes ago. Walked in on my husband fucking another woman in the bed where I gave him everything.
"I gave you everything," I whisper. "My power. My magic—"
"And I'm grateful." He crouches to my level, grabs my chin roughly, forces me to look at him. "You made me strong, Ariel. Strong enough to rule real territory. Strong enough to attract a proper mate." His fingers dig into my jaw. "But that's all you were good for. Your power. Without it, you're nothing."
Each word lands like a punch.
"I loved you."
"No." His smile turns cruel. "You loved a fantasy.
The girl in the bed laughs. Actually laughs.
"Where am I supposed to go?" My voice is small. Hollow.
"Not my problem." He stands, brushing off his pants like touching me contaminated him. "You have one hour to leave my territory. If you're still here after that, I'll have you arrested as a rogue."
"You can't—"
"I'm Alpha here now. You're nobody." He turns his back on me and returns to her. "Guards!"
Two massive betas appear in the doorway.
"Escort this trespasser out. Make sure she takes nothing valuable."
"No!" I try to stand, to fight, but I have no wolf strength. No power. I'm just human now. Breakable. Nothing. "Davian, please! I'll do anything—"
He pulls the girl close and kisses her. Deep. Possessive. While I'm being dragged away.
"DAVIAN!"
The door slams shut.
---
They throw me out the servants' entrance.
I land in mud, hands scraping gravel. Rain soaks through my dress instantly. Behind me, the door locks.
For a long moment I just kneel there, shaking. Everything hurts. My face. My hands. The empty space in my chest where my wolf used to be.
You're nothing.
The words loop in my head, louder than the rain.
He's right. I have no power. No home. No future.
I'm already dead. Just haven't stopped breathing yet.
Rain pounds harder. I should move. Find shelter. Do something besides kneel in the mud like a broken thing.
But what's the point?
I don't know how long I knelt there in the rain.
Long enough for my knees to go numb. Long enough for the cold to seep into my bones. Long enough that when I finally tried to stand, my legs buckled and I fell face-first back into the mud.
That's when I laughed.
Actually laughed. Because it was funny, wasn't it? Yesterday I was a Luna. Today I couldn't even stand up.
The laugh turned into a sob. The sob turned into a scream.
I screamed until my throat was raw. Until no sound came out. Until I was empty.
And in that emptiness, something cold and hard crystallized.
A thought.
Davian took everything,so I'll take everything from him.
That's when I thought of Varder.
-------
The wizard of crow gates appear through the mist like a nightmare taking shape.
Massive. Black iron twisted into shapes that might be crows or screaming faces. The manor beyond is barely visible—all sharp angles and dark stone, more castle than home.
My heart hammers. Every instinct screams run. Because going to Varder Marlowe isn't just dangerous.
It's suicidal.
Everyone knows what he did fifteen years ago. The Blood Moon Massacre. An entire pack—thirty-seven wolves—challenged him for this territory. By dawn, all of them were dead. No claw marks. No bite wounds. Just bodies with their eyes gone and mouths frozen in screams.
And crows. Thousands of them. Feeding.
The only survivor was a child who'd hidden in the woods. She told the Council that Varder never shifted. Just stood there while shadows poured from his skin and crows erupted from his mouth. Wave after wave of black wings until the screaming stopped.
The Council sent enforcers to arrest him.
All three vanished. They found the bodies a week later, half-eaten.
After that, the Council decided Marlowe was his. Anyone stupid enough to challenge the Wizard of Crow deserved what they got.
Since then, he's ruled with an iron fist. Crowned the king of warewolves, all the other Alpha's in the territory worship the floor he treads. No one knows how many wolves answer to him or what happens behind these gates, he has no guards and any form of security personnel, daring anyone with malicious intents to duel with the Wizard of crows.
But here's what I'm counting on: Varder Marlowe hates his brother.
Everyone knows it. No one knows why. But that hatred is real, deep, and fifteen years old.
And I'm betting he'll want what I'm offering.
The chance to destroy Davian.
I straighten my spine. Square my shoulders. I will not show fear. Even if I'm terrified. Even if every cell in my body screams to run.
I reach for the bell.
My hand shakes. I steady it.
This is insane. He's going to kill you.
I pull the bell anyway.
The sound echoes like a death knell.
Nothing happens.
Then, slowly, the gates scream open. Metal on metal, like something in pain.
No guards. No servants. Just darkness beyond the gates.
I force my feet to move.
The courtyard is black stone and dead roses. The manor doors stand open. Golden light spills out, warm and inviting in a way that feels like a trap.
I climb the steps and push through the doors.
The entry hall takes my breath. Dark wood. Crimson velvet, the furniture boasting of their regality.
Then I hear it.
A sound that makes me freeze.
A woman's moan. Low and breathy. Coming from deeper in the manor.
My face burns. I should leave. Come back. This is—
But my feet move forward anyway. Toward the sound. Toward the partially open door at the end of the hall where golden light spills out.
I shouldn't look.
I look anyway.
And my breath stops.
The room is magnificent—all dark wood and rich fabrics, And in the center, in a high-backed chair that looks more like a throne, sits a man.
Varder Marlowe.
He's nothing like his brother.
Davian is handsome. Golden. The kind of face that makes you trust him before he destroys you.
Varder is dangerous.
taller than Davian—with black hair falling past his shoulders. Sharp features, too sharp, like someone carved his face with a blade and forgot to smooth the edges. Even sitting, even in the middle of—
My eyes drop to the woman kneeling between his legs.
She's beautiful. Dark hair cascading down her bare back. Her head moving in a rhythm that makes my stomach clench with something I don't want to name.
And he's watching me.
Not her. Me.
His eyes are blue.The blue of winter ice over deep water. And they're locked on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
His hand rests in the woman's hair, guiding her movements, but his attention is entirely on me. His expression is utterly unreadable. Not pleasure. Not surprise. Just... assessment. Like I'm a problem he's trying to solve.
I should run. Should flee. Should never have come here.
But I'm frozen. Rooted to the spot. Watching him watch me while another woman services him.
His jaw tightens slightly. The only sign that he's close. Then his lips curve into something that might be a smile.
"Well," he says, and his voice is silk over steel, soft but sharp. "This is unexpected."
The woman between his legs falters, starting to pull back, but his hand tightens in her hair. A silent command.
Continue.
She does.
And he keeps staring at me.
Heat floods my face, my neck, lower. I should look away. But I can't.
"You're bleeding," he says conversationally, like there isn't a woman's mouth on him. Like this is a perfectly normal way to meet someone. "And covered in mud. And standing uninvited in my home." His head tilts, the movement too smooth, too bird-like. "Who are you?"
My mouth is dry. My carefully rehearsed words have evaporated.
"I—" My voice cracks. I force steel into it. "I need to speak with you. About your brother."
Something flickers across his face. His hand tightens in the woman's hair again, and I see the moment it hits him. His jaw clenches. His breathing changes.
But those blue eyes never leave mine.
"My brother," he says, and the words sound rotten in his mouth. Then his expression shifts—satisfaction, release—and I realize I just watched him come while staring at me.
The knowledge makes my face burn hotter.
"Enough," he says softly to the woman.
She pulls back immediately, wiping her mouth. He waves a hand dismissively, and she gathers her clothes and leaves without a word. Without even looking at me.
Then it's just us.
Varder stands, adjusting himself with unhurried movements. He's tall. Lean. Moves like violence contained in skin. Scars mark his hands, disappearing under his collar—the kind only claws leave.
He circles me slowly. Predator assessing prey.
"You're one of Davian's," he says. Not a question. "Let me guess. A packmate? An ally?" He stops in front of me. "A spy?"
"His wife." The words come out harder than I intend. "Or I was. He threw me out this morning."
Silence.
Then Varder laughs. It's cold and sharp and wrong, like breaking glass.
"Oh, this is rich." He resumes his circling. "My dear brother's discarded Luna, crawling to my door covered in mud and blood." His eyes rake over me. "Let me guess—he tired of you? Found someone better?"
"He used me." I lift my chin, force myself to meet his eyes. "Took my power through a transfer ritual, then threw me away like garbage." I said bitterly.
Varder stops. Studies me like I'm a specimen under glass.
Your power." His eyes narrow. "You were an Alpha."
"Yes."
"And you gave it to him." His voice is carefully neutral now, but something dangerous flickers in those blue eyes. "Why?"
The shame is thick in my throat, but I force the words out. "Because I was too powerful. Stronger than him. And a Luna can't be more powerful than her Alpha." I laugh, bitter and broken. "It's not proper. Not acceptable. The pack would have scorned me. Other Alphas would have questioned his authority. Our marriage would have been a joke."
"And now you're here. "Why? What could you possibly think I'd do for you?"
"I want revenge," I say clearly. "I want to destroy Davian. Take everything from him the way he took everything from me. And I think you want that too."
His expression doesn't change. "Bold assumption."
"Everyone knows you hate him."
"I hate many people."
"Not like this." I take a step closer. "Whatever he did to you—whatever drove you into isolation fifteen years ago—you've been waiting. Planning. I can help you."
"Help me?" His laugh is sharp. "You're powerless. Broken. You have no wolf, no magic, no allies. What could you possibly offer me?"
I force my hands to unclench. Force my voice steady.
"I was in his bed for two years," I say. "In his confidence. I know his fears. His weaknesses. The things he whispers in the dark." I meet those cold blue eyes. "I know things you don't about him"
Silence stretches.
Varder's eyes bores into me with so much intensity, I nearly look away.
"You're offering to help me destroy the person you also want destroyed," he says slowly. "Interesting."
He moves closer. Too close. I can smell his Cologne.
"But I have a problem, little wolf." His voice drops to something intimate and dangerous. "You walked in here and saw me with another woman's mouth on my cock. And you know what I noticed?"
His hand reaches out, not touching, just hovering near my throat.
"The way your breathing changed. The way your pupils dilated. The way you couldn't look away." His eyes bore into mine. "You were aroused."
"That's not—"
"Don't lie." His hand drops to his side. "Your mind says you're here for revenge. Your pride says you'll do whatever it takes. But your body?" His smile is predatory. "Your body tells a different story."
My face burns. My heart hammers. Because he's right.
Watching him—watching that—did something to me. Something shameful and undeniable.
"You're afraid of me," Varder continues, his voice soft and terrible. "Terrified, even. And yet some dark part of you is drawn to that. Excited by it."
He leans in close. His breath ghosts across my ear.
"Tell me, Ariel."
He knows my name. Of course he does.
If I buried my face between your thighs right now, wouldn't I find you wet and wanting?"