The Moonstone Wing lived up to its name. Waking at dawn, Selene was met with a view of swaying white flowers glowing in the morning light, a sight so serene it felt disorienting. They seemed like solidified moonlight, pure and tranquil, a stark contrast to the mansion's prevailing severity.
But the peace was fragile, shattered by reality.
The bruise on her arm had darkened, a stark reminder of the previous night's peril. As she rose, she found a set of new, exquisitely tailored clothes laid out for her. The perfect fit, arranged undoubtedly by Lucian, felt less like kindness and more like the meticulous provisioning of a asset.
Her door was unlocked. Venturing cautiously into the adjoining sitting room, she found an elaborate breakfast, both Western and Eastern, laid out on the table, steam still rising. A middle-aged woman with a kind face and simple uniform was quietly setting out dishes.
"Good morning, Madam. I am Matron Wu. I will be attending to you," the woman said with a smile that held just the right amount of deference, devoid of overt curiosity.
"Good morning, Matron Wu," Selene nodded, striving to acclimatize to the title of 'Madam.' She sat, picking at the food without appetite. "Does… Mr. Thorne usually breakfast here?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.
Matron Wu deftly refilled her glass with warm milk. "The Master usually takes his meals in his rooms or his study, at irregular hours. He is a very busy man, Madam. You will grow accustomed to it."
The words gently, firmly, drew a boundary. Selene understood. Lysander did not intend for their paths to cross privately. Their 'marriage' was strictly for public performance.
After breakfast, she tried to step outside the Moonstone Wing for air. The moment she passed through the archway leading to the main gardens, Lucian materialized like a shadow.
"Miss Selene." He was, as always, clad in efficient black, his tone even. "If you require anything, you may instruct me or Matron Wu. The training grounds and some undeveloped areas lie behind the main house. For your safety, I advise against unaccompanied walks."
"I just wished to walk in the garden," she said.
"I will accompany you," came the non-negotiable reply.
It was protection, and it was surveillance. Selene didn't argue, walking ahead in silence. The gardens were vast and immaculately designed, but every step was shadowed. The sun was bright, yet it couldn't warm the chill settling within her. She was a caged bird with clipped wings, her sole purpose to offer her blood upon demand.
In the afternoon, she asked Matron Wu for sketching paper and pencils. It was her only way to find calm. Sitting by the window, she began to sketch the white flowers, the soft scratching of graphite on paper temporarily holding the gloom at bay.
But the tranquility was broken again.
As evening fell and Lucian was briefly absent, two young women—dressed fashionably but with the sharp-eyed gaze of Lycans—'happened' upon Selene sketching in a secluded corner of the garden. They were daughters from a lesser clan, seizing the chance to inspect the human bride while their elders met with Lysander.
"So, this is the human Lysander brought home? Doesn't look like much," the one in a red dress said, her eyes sweeping over Selene with undisguised contempt.
"An orphan, I hear? Married for money, no doubt," the other, in blue, added with a light laugh that carried clearly. "Even if he needs a... well, you know, must he choose one so… common?"
The barbs stung like needles. Selene's grip tightened on her pencil, her knuckles whitening. She lifted her head, her cool gaze sweeping over them calmly, devoid of either anger or fear.
"Do you take issue with Mr. Thorne's choice," she asked, her tone one of pure inquiry, "or with the title of Mrs. Thorne?"
Her response caught them off guard. There was no fluster, no shame, only a quiet, almost cold challenge. The title 'Mrs. Thorne' on her lips sounded natural, assured, as if it were her birthright.
The red-clad woman stiffened, ready to retort, but the one in blue stopped her with a sharp look, nodding toward Lucian, who was striding purposefully toward them.
"Let's go," the blue-clad woman muttered, shooting Selene a venomous glare before pulling her friend away.
Lucian arrived at Selene's side, his brow slightly furrowed as he watched them retreat. "Are you all right, Miss Selene?"
"I'm fine," Selene said, lowering her eyes to her unfinished sketch, her voice flat. "The mosquitoes were just particularly loud."
A flicker of surprise, quickly masked, passed through Lucian's eyes. "I will instruct the guards to restrict access to the Moonstone Wing grounds for non-residents."
Selene nodded, saying nothing more. She bottled the humiliation and fury. She knew showing weakness here was an invitation to be devoured. She had to grow accustomed to the hostility, and find a way to armor herself.
Night fell once more.
Fresh from her bath and wrapped in a soft robe, Selene was preparing for bed when a quiet knock came at her door. It was Lucian, his expression grimmer than usual.
"Miss Selene. The Master's condition is… unstable. Your presence is required."
Selene's heart plummeted. Memories of the previous night flooded back, the bruise on her arm seeming to throb in sympathy. She took a steadying breath. "Very well."
Following him to Lysander's private wing—more heavily guarded than the study, the air thick with tension—she entered his bedroom. It was vast and austerely furnished, but now crackled with chaotic energy. He wasn't fully transformed, but paced like a caged, agitated lion. His shirt was open at the collar, his breathing ragged, his eyes swirling with unstable embers of green, a visible war raging within him against the beast.
Seeing her, he stopped dead, his gaze locking onto her, filled with agony and a desperate, almost hungry need.
"Come here." The command was a raw, guttural scrape from his throat.
Fighting the instinct to flee, she walked toward him. With each step, the heat radiating from him and the心悸的 sense of contained violence intensified.
When she was a pace away, his hand shot out, capturing her wrist. The grip was firm, bruising, but lacked last night's destructive intent. He pulled her closer, dipping his head to press his face roughly against the skin of her neck, inhaling deeply as if drawing a stabilizing essence from her very presence.
Selene stood rigid, feeling his scorching breath on her skin, a tremor running through her. He didn't bite. He just held there, her proximity alone seeming to act as a balm.
Time stretched. The violent heaving of his chest gradually eased. The green fire in his eyes receded like a tide, his ragged breaths deepening into long, slow draws of air. He still held her wrist, but his grip had loosened.
Finally, he released her, stumbling back a step to lean against the cold wall, his hair damp with sweat, his face etched with exhaustion and… something else, complex and unreadable.
"You…" he looked at her, his gaze clear now, but more profound than ever before, "are… effective."
This time, he hadn't needed her blood. Her mere presence, her scent, had helped him quell a surge of instability not even tied to the full moon.
Selene rubbed her wrist, his heat and the ghost of his grip still imprinted on her skin. She watched this powerful, vulnerable man, her mind in turmoil. Her usefulness was greater than she had imagined. Was that a good thing, or did it make her predicament more perilous?
"You will sleep here tonight," Lysander stated suddenly, gesturing to a plush divan situated at a respectful distance from the massive bed. "Henceforth… if this occurs again, you will come."
It was not a request, but a decree.
Selene was stunned. Share his room? It signified an escalation of her duties, a tighter, more intimate binding to the dangerous beast.
Yet, looking into his unyielding eyes and recognizing that this unique 'ability' was currently her only shield, she gave a silent, reluctant nod.
That night, Selene lay on the unfamiliar divan, listening to the sound of Lysander's breathing evening out into sleep from the bed across the room. Sleep eluded her.
Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, gently bathing the room, and the two occupants, each lost in their own thoughts.
She was not just a prisoner in the Moonstone Wing. Now, she slept at the very edge of the beast's lair.
But perhaps, it was also here, in the lion's den, that she would begin to find her footing.