But even I felt my pulse spike when his eyes bled into molten gold.
He stepped toward me, a low growl vibrating from his chest, fangs peeking beneath his lip. I knew what was coming before he even moved.
His hand didn’t rise.
His claws did.
In a flash, his fingers shifted—razor-sharp, gleaming—and he struck. Pain ripped across my neck as his claws scraped my skin.
I staggered back, breath knocked out of me, heat blooming across the wounded skin. Gasps echoed through the hall. Every wolf froze, scenting blood—my blood.
The ballroom fell silent.
I slowly lifted my head, my pride in tatters. Brexon didn’t look regretful. Didn’t look conflicted. His expression was ice, his aura cold and unrecognizing.
Like I wasn’t the Luna who had stood beside him for cycles. Like I hadn’t carried his pup.
“It’s over,” he said, his voice void of emotion.
He pulled a rolled parchment from his cloak and tossed it at my feet. Severance papers.
The breaking of a mating bond.
My heart stopped.
But then—another gust of wind as something else scattered around me. Images. Illusions. Moon-glamoured projections that hovered before dropping to the floor.
Me. Naked. Twisted in beds with three different male wolves.