He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. "You mentioned once that you loved sunblooms for their brightness and loyalty, hoping Alpha Blackmoor would always be faithful to you. It's wonderful to see you two finally completing the mating bond."
He'd mixed them up. Mistaken Selene for the woman Fenris had actually claimed as Intended Mate all those years ago.
Selene's expression darkened, something cold and sharp flickering in her eyes. Her fingers dug into Fenris's arm.
Fenris's brow furrowed. "Enough," he cut in. "Replace all the red moonblossoms with golden ones. Redesign the entire ceremony ground according to her preferences."
Alaric blinked, looking out at the acres of blooms in full flower. "But Alpha, these are already—"
"Bring in the pack workers." Fenris didn't even glance at the flowers. "Tear it all out."
Lyra stood in the shade of a nearby tree, watching red petals drift through the air like scattered confetti.
Memory pulled her back to the day he'd claimed her. This same field, moonblossoms arranged in a heart shape, Fenris on one knee with a bonding pendant catching the moonlight. His voice, calling her name over and over: "Lyra, I'll be good to you forever!" "Lyra, will you be my mate? If you say yes, it'll be the happiest moment of my life!"
Those promises had once lit up her world like stars.
Now they fell with the petals, shattering into nothing.
She reached into her traveling pack and pulled out the small collection of keepsakes—the carved token, the fang-pendant, the figurine. One by one, she set them in the grass at her feet, like laying to rest a time that had long since rotted from the inside.
Then she turned and walked away without looking back.
One hour before departure.
Lyra arrived at the border crossing with her traveling pack slung over her shoulder.
Registration. Scent-clearance. Departure gate.
Ten minutes until the caravan left, her identity token hummed.
A message from Fenris, with an attached image: "Ceremony design is finalized. Take a look—let me know if anything needs changing."
She opened the image. The grounds were drowning in golden moonblossoms, and the ceremonial gown in the preview was exactly Selene's style—a golden flowing dress that hugged every curve.
Lyra let out a quiet scoff. No pain. No longing. Just the clean, sharp edge of release.