Amaris
The Luna's chambers were cold.
Too large. Too empty. Too silent.
I stood at the threshold, not daring to step inside, though it was supposed to be mine now. The marble floor stretched out like a frozen sea, the moonlight spilling through the tall glass windows in long, pale streaks. A fire had been lit in the hearth, but it gave off no warmth.
Everything smelled like him.
Like pine and ash and iron.
The scent of the Alpha was meant to comfort a mate, to settle her nerves, to lull her into the safety of the bond.
But all I felt was dread.
"Don't just stand there like a statue," a voice called from behind. "It's not a museum."
I turned slowly.
She swept in like a storm in heels.
Calista.
Mistress. Lover. Usurper.
Dressed in a robe of silk and blood-red velvet, her golden cuffs shimmered in the firelight. She didn't knock. She didn't pause. She didn't ask permission. She moved like the room belonged to her—and perhaps it did.
"It's so bare," she commented, wrinkling her nose as she inspected the space. "No personal touches. No flowers. No fragrance." She picked up one of the ceremonial candles and scoffed. "So plain. Then again… that does suit you."
She didn't wait for a reply. I said nothing, as I'd been trained.
"Don't worry, little omega. You won't be here long enough to redecorate." She turned her gaze on me then, hazel eyes glittering with amusement. "He's not going to keep you. You do know that, don't you?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Words were knives in a place like this—dangerous to wield when you were unarmed.
Calista took a step forward. Then another. Until we were face to face.
"You think the Moon chose you? That the Goddess favors you?" She laughed, quiet and cruel. "She gave you a curse, not a gift. Kael won't lay with you. He won't touch you. And he certainly won't love you."
I looked at the fire. Anywhere but her.
She leaned in closer.
"He's mine," she whispered. "He always has been. And tonight, when he comes to you, just remember—he'll be thinking of me."
She turned sharply, her hair whipping behind her like a blade, and clapped her hands.
Two servants entered the room, carrying lengths of crimson silk, fresh pillows, and bottles of rose oil.
"What are you doing?" I asked, the words out before I could stop them.
She smiled over her shoulder, sweet and poisonous.
"Preparing your bed, of course," she said. "He deserves the best for his first night with his… bride."
The word dripped with mockery.
She moved through the room like a queen overseeing a coronation, directing the servants to scatter rose petals across the sheets, to set a basin of warm water at the foot of the bed, to lay out the barely-there gown she'd chosen.
It was sheer.
Invisible.
Not meant for dignity.
"You'll wear this," she said, holding the fabric up like a prize.
I didn't move.
She stepped closer, holding it out.
"Put it on."
I took it with numb fingers, throat tight, stomach hollow.
"Good girl," she cooed.
When she left the room, she didn't close the door behind her.
The gown clung to me like water.
I stood before the mirror, arms crossed over my chest, trying not to shiver. My hair had been brushed smooth, my lips stained with wine-red gloss, my pulse steady only because I forced it to be.
The door creaked again.
And she returned.
Calista.
This time alone.
No servants. No silk. Just her and a glint in her eyes that made my skin crawl.
"Sit," she ordered, pointing to the bed.
I did.
She stepped closer, binding my wrists with silk ties to the headboard with a surprising gentleness—like this was a ritual. A gift.
Then she pulled a black strip of cloth from her robe.
"Close your eyes."
"No—"
"Do it," she snapped.
I obeyed.
The blindfold settled over my eyes.
The world disappeared.
My breathing grew shallow. My body tense.
I heard the door open again. Then footsteps.
Heavy.
Male.
Kael?
My heart thudded wildly.
A hand touched my knee. Warm. Rough. Not Kael's.
Then fingers brushed up my thigh, over my hip, higher.
I flinched, jerking against the restraints.
"Stop," I gasped.
The hand didn't stop.
Fingers cupped my breast. Lips brushed my collarbone.
Tears spilled hot down my cheeks.
"Stop—please—"
Then a voice cut through the silence.
"That's enough."
My blindfold was ripped away.
I blinked into torchlight.
Kael stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, face unreadable. The servant beside me backed away, head bowed, silent.
I was crying, naked, tied, humiliated.
Kael stepped closer, leaned down.
His voice was so soft it felt like poison in velvet.
"You're mine now," he whispered. "Obey. Or it'll be worse."
Then he turned his back on me and left me there—
trembling, ruined, and alone.