LUNA'S POV
I'm going to throw up.
Rain hammers the limousine roof like angry fists. Through the tinted window, Blackwood Estate glows like a castle from a fairy tale—the kind where the princess gets her heart ripped out and served to her on a silver platter.
"Breathe, Luna." Dante's voice cuts through my panic. His hand finds mine in the darkness. "You're shaking."
Of course I'm shaking. The last time I stood in that house, I was twenty years old and stupid enough to believe in happy endings. Now I'm twenty-five, and I know better.
"I'm fine," I lie.
Dante squeezes my fingers. "You don't have to do this. We can turn around right now. Screw the treaty."
I almost laugh. Dante Volkov—ruthless Alpha of the Volkov Pack, my husband of four years—offering to start a war just so I don't have to face my past. It should be romantic. It would be, if our marriage wasn't a carefully crafted lie.
"The rogue attacks are getting worse," I say, forcing steel into my voice. "Both our packs need this alliance. We both know that."
"I know." His gray eyes study me in the dim light. "But I also know what he did to you."
I, Kieran Blackwood, reject you as my mate.
The memory slams into me like a physical blow. Kieran's voice, cold as winter, announcing to a thousand wolves that I wasn't good enough. That I was weak. Wolfless. Worthless.
My hand moves to my chest, where the phantom pain of a severed mate bond still aches on bad days. Except the bond never actually broke. It should have. Rejections are supposed to sever the connection completely, leaving both wolves free to move on.
But ours didn't. And I've spent five years wondering why.
"Ready to make him regret everything?" Dante asks, his lips curving into that dangerous smile that makes other Alphas nervous.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin. The blood-red gown I'm wearing cost more than my father's house. My silver-blonde hair is swept up, exposing the diamond collar at my throat—Dante's mark of ownership, visible to every wolf in that ballroom.
"I've been ready for five years."
The car door opens. Rain immediately soaks my driver's face, but he doesn't flinch as he offers his hand. I step out into the storm, and Dante's arm wraps around my waist, pulling me close. To anyone watching, we look like the perfect couple.
We've gotten very good at pretending.
The estate's massive doors swing open as we approach. Warm light spills onto the wet stone steps, and I can hear music, laughter, the clink of champagne glasses. A party. Of course Kieran would turn a war council into a social event.
My heels click against marble as we enter. The foyer is exactly as I remember—vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers, oil paintings of dead Alphas staring down with judgment.
Then we step into the ballroom, and everything stops.
The music dies mid-note. Conversations cut off like someone sliced through them with a knife. A hundred wolves turn to stare, and I feel their shock ripple through the room like an electric current.
Luna Ashford. The failure. The rejected.
I can practically hear them thinking it.
But I'm not that girl anymore. My wolf—the one everyone said would never come—stirs beneath my skin. She's magnificent. Powerful. A True Luna, born once every century, with silver fur that glows like moonlight.
I let just enough of her presence leak out. Not a threat. Just a reminder.
I. Am. Dangerous. Now.
The crowd parts like water, creating a path straight through the ballroom. And at the end of that path, standing beside a table full of political allies and fake smiles, is him.
Kieran Blackwood.
My breath catches despite five years of practice at hating him.
He's taller than I remembered. Broader. His black hair is slightly longer, curling at his collar. He's wearing a perfectly tailored suit that probably costs as much as a car, and his blue eyes—those devastating blue eyes that once looked at me with something like wonder—are currently fixed on me with an expression I can't read.
Then he moves. Just a small gesture, reaching for his champagne glass.
His hand closes around it. Squeezes. The crystal shatters, cutting his palm. Blood drips onto the white tablecloth, bright red against pristine linen.
But Kieran doesn't seem to notice. He's staring at me like I'm a ghost. Like I've risen from the dead specifically to haunt him.
Good, my wolf purrs. Let him suffer.
"Luna Ashford," someone whispers. The name spreads through the crowd like wildfire. "She's back. With Volkov. They're married."
I keep my face blank as Dante guides me forward. Every step feels like walking through fire. The mate bond—that stupid, impossible connection that should be dead—suddenly roars to life.
It slams into me with the force of a freight train. Want. Need. Recognition. My wolf screams at me to go to him, to complete what was started five years ago, to claim what's mine—
I shove it down brutally. Kieran is not mine. He made that very clear.
We're ten feet away now. Close enough that I can see his chest rising and falling too fast. Close enough that I can scent him—pine and winter and something uniquely Kieran that makes my traitorous body remember things it shouldn't.
His Beta steps forward, a tall man with sharp features. Marcus Stone. I remember him from before.
"Alpha Volkov, Mrs. Volkov. Welcome to Blackwood Estate."
Mrs. Volkov. The title tastes like ash in my mouth.
"Marcus." Dante's voice is smooth, unbothered. "Thank you for the invitation. Though I'm surprised your Alpha is too... distracted... to greet us himself."
Kieran finally moves. He sets down what's left of his shattered glass and walks toward us. Every wolf in the room holds their breath.
Three feet away. Two feet. Close enough that the bond is screaming.
His eyes meet mine, and I see five years of regret, longing, and something desperate flash across his face.
Then his gaze drops to my left hand. To Dante's ring on my finger.
Something in Kieran's expression breaks.
"Luna," he says, and his voice is rough, like he hasn't said my name in years. Like it hurts.
"Mrs. Volkov," I correct coldly.
Behind me, a woman's voice cuts through the tension—sweet as poisoned honey.
"Well, well. Little Luna Ashford, all grown up. Tell me, did you finally find a wolf desperate enough to want damaged goods?"
I turn. Morgana Vale smiles at me from across the room, her perfect face twisted with malice.
And before I can respond, before anyone can stop me, my power explodes outward in a wave of silver light.
The chandeliers shatter. Windows crack. And every wolf in the room—including two Alphas—drops to their knees.
In the sudden, shocked silence, Dante starts laughing.
"Gentlemen," he says cheerfully, "I believe you've severely underestimated my wife."