Selene struck the cold stone floor hard, the smugness draining from her face in an instant, replaced by something bone-chillingly dark. She braced herself against the tiles and slowly pushed herself upright, brushing dust from her dress. Her eyes locked onto Lyra like a viper's, dripping with venom. "Lyra Ashenvale, who do you think you are now? How dare you shove me!"
She turned to the pack-guard waiting in the corner of the den, her voice carrying the weight of absolute command. "Kael Ashenvale. Hold her down."
Kael exchanged a glance with his partner, hesitating as he looked at Lyra crouched on the floor gathering the broken pieces, then back at Selene's murderous expression. He opened his mouth to ask something, but Selene's glare cut him off before a single word could escape.
"Don't forget," Selene said, her tone dripping with threat, each word calculated to strike at their concerns, "you're paid with the Alpha's coin. You serve Blackmoor territory. Think carefully about who matters most to him right now."
The pack-guards fell silent for a beat. In the end, they recognized which way the wind was blowing. They moved quickly, flanking Lyra and seizing her arms, forcing her down onto the cushioned seat and pinning her there.
Lyra watched the scene unfold before her. Then, suddenly, she laughed—a raw, broken sound, hoarse and desolate. Fresh tears mingled with the ones that hadn't yet dried, rolling down her cheeks. "So everyone knew. Everyone knew that in Fenris's heart, you're the one who matters most, Selene. I was the only fool. The only one still clinging to some pathetic fantasy, telling myself that his care for you was just... for my sake."
That pitiful delusion hadn't even finished crumbling when Selene turned and walked to the carved wooden table. She picked up a ceremonial dagger meant for ritual offerings. The blade cleared its sheath with a flash of cold light, and she approached Lyra step by step, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.
Shhk—