Chapter 7

• Camellia's POV
• The Ironclaw Pack held monthly gatherings, usually just for their inner circle.
• Ever since Esmond and I did that moonlit mate vow thing, I'd been dragged to every single one.
• Most pack members treated me okay since they saw Esmond as the future Alpha.
• However, the Daltons—Alpha Drogo's family—were always throwing shade.
• I used to tell myself I didn't care as long as Esmond loved me.
• But now? I could no longer deceive myself.
• The packhouse smelled like burnt pine resin and roasted venison tonight. Twelve wolf-head lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting flickery shadows.
• I sat frozen at the vanity while Esmond leaned against the doorframe, his stupid cologne of pine needles and lemon verbena stinging my nose.
• "Alpha Drogo's waiting," he said, adjusting that tacky Ironclaw pin on his black suit.
• The silver thorns etched into it made my eyes hurt.
• "I'm not going." I yanked off my pearl earrings. The clatter in the jewelry box echoed way too loud.
• Esmond's jaw twitched.
• "How long you gonna keep this tantrum up? I gave you space by ignoring your calls, but you're still acting like a brat."
• "It was not a tantrum. I want a rejection."
• He snorted. "Rejection? You haven't worked a day since we mated. Who's gonna pay your daily bills? I'm the future Alpha of Ironclaw. There'll always be temptations out there, but those werewolves won't affect your position as Luna. Can't you act more mature?"
• Looking at his aggressive demeanor, I couldn't reconcile it with the man who had promised never to hurt me during our mating ritual.
• Maybe… this was his true self—selfish, arrogant, and condescending.
• "If your idea of maturity is tolerating your cheating, I'm sorry. I can't. I'll file a rejection request with the LA Werewolf Council," I said.
• Hearing the word "rejection" again, the last bit of Esmond's patience snapped.
• He suddenly grabbed the back of my neck, his canines pressing against the temporary mark as he sneered, "The Shadowfang Pack's funding for this month hasn't come through yet, has it? I heard your father's left leg, bitten by a rogue, is starting to fester. His wolf is so weakened—it's hard to say how much longer it'll last."
• His leather glove ground against my spine. "Darling, I wonder what would happen to the Shadowfang Pack if I stopped the funding..."
• "Esmond, if it weren't for me giving you that patent, you wouldn't have been able to secure your position in the pack," I said angrily.
• He dismissed my words with a nonchalant expression. "Who'd believe that now?"
• "Esmond, you're just an asshole!" I gritted my teeth.
• My nails dug into my palm. The taste of blood spread across my tongue.
• Deep down, Lyra was howling to tear his throat out.
• But I just stood still as he zipped up my emerald satin dress.
• For Dad. For my Shadowfang pack.
• Moon moss glowed blue under our feet on the path to the gathering square. Patrol wolves bowed like creepy sycophants. "You look divine tonight, Luna Camellia," one oozed.
• I fake-smiled through gritted teeth.
• "Lyra, what should I do? What should we do?" I sighed in my mind.
• The crowd suddenly parted as twelve servers carried a whole roasted stag.
• Violet flowers tangled in the antlers made my stomach flip—the same kind that'd been in Lionel's hair that night.
• Whispers buzzed, "The youngest Dalton's back..."
• "He's wearing the Alpha's fang collar..."
• Esmond's arm locked around my waist like a vise.
• His pine scent turned acidic.
• Then I saw him.
• Lionel sauntered through the crowd, military jacket half-unbuttoned to show old scars across his tan chest.
• The ancient Alpha fang necklace glinted against his collarbone, clinking with each step.
• Esmond growled low, "How dare he wear Alpha Drogo's—"
• "Bloodline doesn't lie," I muttered, remembering the moonlight in his messy blond hair that night.
• Esmond's fingers dug into my wrist. "I'm your mate!" His eyes glowed wolf-gold.
• Pain triggered my Shadowfang dominance aura. Nearby pack members crouched whimpering.
• "Try me," I hissed. "How fast can I shift here? Three seconds? Five?"
• He let go fast—knew I'd wreck his precious gathering.
• But he still glared at me viciously.
• However, Lionel was already passing by. His black-gloved finger brushed my back, and my dress zipper slid down an inch.
• "Feisty as ever," his whiskey-warm voice ghosted my ear. "Just like under the hotel sheets."