But there was no trace of concern on his face—only blame, thick and undisguised. The moment he crossed the threshold, his voice cut through the room, heavy with impatience and anger. His Alpha dominance pressed against her like a physical weight: "Lyra, have you lost your mind? Selene is your half-sister by blood! This was nothing but a little squabble between pack-kin, and you're actually bringing the Enforcers into this? Are you trying to destroy her standing in the pack?"
"A little squabble?" Lyra leaned back against the headboard and slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. There was no retreat in her eyes—no Omega submission, only a cold, dead stillness. She tugged at the corner of her mouth, and the movement pulled at her wound, sending fresh pain shooting through her forehead. She didn't flinch. The sarcasm in her voice was impossible to hide: "She smashed a heavy ceremonial vase over my head. I needed thirteen stitches. I nearly died. And you're calling that a little squabble? Fenris, where exactly does your heart lie? In your eyes, is my life worth less than one of her fingers?"
Fenris's frown deepened, his expression turning thunderous. His Alpha tone left no room for argument, the command in his voice pressing against her instincts: "Fine, Selene was impulsive. I've already spoken to her about it, and I had her send you a message to apologize. We're all pack here—we see each other at every gathering. Taking this to the Enforcers won't do anyone's reputation any good. Especially yours. You just had that scandal with the scry-record leak. If you make this bigger, what Alpha would ever consider you for a mating bond?"
He paused, his voice carrying the weight of a command he expected to be obeyed: "Contact the Enforcers right now and withdraw your claim. We'll put this behind us. I'll have Selene visit you more often. Consider it compensation."