That date had passed two weeks ago, unnoticed by him but etched in my bones like a scar. He tried again, inputting the wrong date—Freya’s birthday. My stomach turned. His jaw clenched. After another failed attempt, he threw the box back at me.
“I don’t care what you bought. Throw it out,” he snapped. “You don’t deserve to spend my money.”
No, I thought, I don’t deserve to be treated like this by a man who once swore he’d protect me through every full moon.
I wanted to tell him that, but I said nothing; instead, l clutched the box tightly to my chest as I retreated to the guest room. Behind me, Freya suddenly moaned dramatically and whimpered that she felt faint.
As if on cue, Draven rushed to her side, scooping her into his arms and carrying her upstairs.
The echo of her giggles faded, replaced by the heavy silence of the packhouse. Downstairs, I overheard him instruct the housekeeper, “Prepare something rich in iron tonight. The ones Madam used to like.”
Madam.
I wasn’t sure whether he meant me or her. The word had lost all meaning.
When I opened the guest room door, my breath caught.
My suitcase had been ransacked, clothes torn, and my journals ripped to shreds. Some of the pages were wet with something red, not blood, but something else. Perfume. It was Freya’s scent.
She’d marked my belongings like a wolf marking her territory.
I gathered what I could, placing the last of my documents inside the safe deposit box. My wolf stirred in my chest, restless, but too weak to rise.
Not yet.
As I zipped up my coat, the door creaked open. Freya leaned against the frame, her arms folded, her pregnant belly prominent under a sheer silk robe.
“Well, well,” she smirked. “Still pretending to be calm, even though I’ve pissed all over your place in this pack. Honestly, Rayven, you’re impressive.”
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my skin.
She giggled.
“You know, Alpha Draven didn’t take you to the hospital last month when your father was dying after the rogue attacked your parents…”
Her lips curled wickedly. “Because I had a beauty appointment. He said my face was more important than that old man’s last breath.”
She waved her phone at me. A picture flashed—her and Draven wrapped together in furs, snow in the background. I slapped it out of her hand.
She gasped and shoved me. My body slammed into a bookshelf with a thud. Glass shattered beneath me, and pain spiked through my spine.