The silence after the council's dismissal hung heavy, as though the air itself refused to exhale. Seraphina lingered by the high windows of the Alpha's hall, the cold moonlight washing her face in pale silver. Beneath her skin, her magic stirred uneasily, as if sensing the storm to come.
Behind her, Dominic's boots clicked against the polished stone. "They'll whisper until dawn," he muttered, voice low, dangerous. "They'll tear apart what's left of the peace if they think it benefits them."
"They don't trust me," Seraphina said softly, not turning to face him. Her voice held neither anger nor surprise. Only resignation. "Some look at me as though I were a savior, others as though I should be burned. Either way, I am not one of them. And perhaps I never will be."
Dominic's jaw flexed. His wolf growled beneath his skin, but the man in him battled it down. "You are my wife," he said at last. "That makes you one of us, whether they like it or not."
The words should have comforted her, but the way he spat them—like a decree rather than a vow—made her heart clench. She folded her arms across her chest, suddenly chilled. "Am I truly your wife, Dominic? Or only your prisoner, painted in bridal silk?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, caging her against the window with his towering frame. His eyes burned like embers, fierce and unyielding. "Do not mistake my restraint for indifference," he growled, his breath warm against her ear. "Every time I look at you, my wolf claws to claim you. To mark you. To take you until no one doubts who you belong to."
Seraphina's lips parted, a soft gasp leaving her throat. His hand lifted, fingers brushing against her jaw, forcing her gaze upward. The bond between them pulsed like a living flame, the air thick with hunger and frustration.
"Then why don't you?" she whispered, her defiance trembling beneath the heat of his stare. "If your wolf wants me so much, why do you hold back? Is it because of her?"
His expression darkened, his hand stilling on her skin. "Lyanna has nothing to do with this," he snapped.
But she saw it—the flicker in his eyes, the shadow of guilt. It wasn't love he bore for Lyanna, but years of loyalty, shared battles, unspoken promises that tangled around him like chains.
"Liar," Seraphina murmured, not with venom but with quiet sorrow. "You hold back because to claim me would be to betray her. And yet, to deny me…" She touched her chest, where her heartbeat raced against her palm. "It's tearing us both apart."
He should have stepped away. Should have released her before his control snapped. But her words, her nearness, the delicate curve of her throat—he couldn't resist. His mouth crushed against hers, devouring her like a man starved. She melted beneath him, her hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging through his tunic as if anchoring herself against the storm he unleashed.
The kiss deepened, wild, dangerous. His hands roamed her waist, her hips, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. A low growl vibrated in his chest, answered by the soft, desperate sound that escaped her lips.
"Tell me to stop," he rasped against her mouth, though his body betrayed him, pressing her harder against the cold glass.
"I can't," she whispered, breathless. "Don't stop, Dominic. Please."
Her plea shattered the last of his restraint. His mouth trailed down her throat, hot kisses marking the tender skin, each one a claim, a warning. Her fingers tangled in his hair, guiding him, surrendering to the fire that threatened to consume them both.
He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the heavy table strewn with council scrolls. In a single motion, he swept them aside, parchment scattering like fallen leaves. Setting her atop the polished wood, he broke the kiss only long enough to look into her eyes.
"You're mine," he growled, voice rough, primal. "Whether fate chose you or not, you're mine."
"Then prove it," she dared, her voice trembling but steady, laced with challenge and need.
He did. Their bodies came together with a ferocity born of denial and longing, every touch an argument, every kiss a surrender. The table creaked beneath them, but neither cared—lost in the storm of passion and bond, drowning in the fire they had denied for too long.
When it was over, they remained tangled in each other's arms, her head resting on his chest, his heart thundering beneath her ear. For a rare, fleeting moment, they were not Alpha and mermaid bride, not enemies bound by war, but simply two souls tethered by something greater than themselves.
But peace was fragile.
The doors creaked open, and a shadow slipped through the hall. A slender figure cloaked in midnight lingered just beyond the torchlight. Seraphina stiffened, instinct prickling her senses. Dominic, too, lifted his head, a growl rising in his throat.
"Who goes there?" His voice thundered across the hall.
The figure retreated quickly, vanishing before they could catch more than a glimpse of pale hair glinting in the dark.
Lyanna.
Seraphina's stomach twisted. If the princess had seen even a fraction of what just passed, the court would burn with scandal by dawn.
"She won't stay silent," Seraphina whispered, sliding from the table and pulling her gown back over trembling shoulders. "She'll twist this. Use it against us."
Dominic's jaw clenched, his wolf pacing with fury. "Let her try." But even as he said it, his gaze hardened. He knew the danger Lyanna posed.
And indeed, the poison seeped quickly.
By morning, whispers slithered through the corridors. Some spoke of Seraphina's song, of how she had saved them against Lyanna's last attack. But others hissed of corruption—that she bewitched their Alpha, that she seduced him with mermaid sorcery, enslaving his will.
In the council chamber, the elders pressed Dominic with sharp questions, their voices thick with suspicion.
"Her magic is unnatural," one snarled.
"She's no wolf. No Luna. She'll curse us all," said another.
Seraphina stood silent, shoulders squared though her heart quivered. She would not beg them to believe her.
Dominic's hand slammed down on the table, silencing the uproar. "Enough. She is my mate. She saved your lives when none of you could. If you doubt her, you doubt me. And I'll gut the next man who questions my command."
The hall fell silent, cowed by his fury. But Seraphina could see it in their eyes—the seeds of doubt had already taken root.
That night, as the moon rose high, Seraphina wandered the outer gardens alone, needing air, needing space from the suffocating stares. The night was cool, the fountain whispering softly. She closed her eyes, letting the water soothe her nerves.
But the peace didn't last.
A rustle in the bushes. The glint of steel.
Her instincts screamed just as a blade sliced toward her throat. She stumbled back, narrowly dodging, the assassin's dagger flashing in the moonlight.
Her song erupted before she could think, a sharp, desperate note that rippled through the air, freezing the attacker mid-strike. He howled, clutching his head, staggering under the force of her magic.
Then Dominic was there, a blur of fury and muscle, tackling the man to the ground. His claws extended, his wolf at the surface as he tore the dagger from the assassin's grip and pressed it against his throat.
"Who sent you?" he snarled.
The man coughed, spitting blood, his eyes glazed with fanatic rage. "The sea witch doesn't belong here. She'll drown us all."
Seraphina's breath caught, realization chilling her veins. This wasn't just one man's hatred. It was the beginning of something larger.
Lyanna's whispers were no longer whispers. They were weapons.
Dominic's gaze flicked to her, raw with rage and fear. For the first time, she saw not the Alpha, not the warrior—but the man terrified of losing her.
And for the first time, she understood just how dangerous their bond had become