"I'm vicious?" Lyra's fists clenched around the bedsheet beneath her, knuckles white, the fabric crumpling into a twisted mass. All the grievances, the rage, the pain she'd buried for so long erupted at once. Her voice tore from her throat, nearly a scream, tears falling like broken strings of pearls: "Fenris! You took Selene's intimate scry-records and claimed they were mine! You threw me to the wolves across the howl-network—let every pack in the territory call me a shameless Omega, say I was tainted, drag my name through the mud! You publicly announced the rejection of our intended bond! And you have the nerve to call me vicious? You've thrown me under the claws nine times to protect her—destroyed my reputation, my dignity, my standing in every pack—and you don't think that's vicious?!"
Her voice cracked with sobs, but every word remained razor-sharp, slicing through his pretense: "If you care about Selene so much, why did you ever claim me as your intended mate? What was I to you? A stepping stone for your bond with her? Entertainment when you two got bored with each other?"