Nine images followed, each one dripping with deliberate smugness.
The first showed an ombré ceremonial gown, its pale blue skirt cascading in layers like the sky at twilight, delicate silver threads embroidered across the hem catching the light with timeless elegance. Lyra recognized it instantly—she had fallen in love with it at a territory artisan's showing last year. Fenris had laughed and promised to commission it for her birthday, said he would escort her to the annual Pack Alliance gathering.
The second image was a pair of custom crystal-heeled slippers encrusted with moonstones and diamonds, the stones so densely set they blazed even in the captured light. Even in a still image, the shoes radiated obscene luxury—the kind that would steal attention from any gown, no matter how exquisite.
And the last few images...
Selene, her arm linked through Fenris's, the two of them standing before the polished mirror in his private chambers. On Selene's finger sat the ring that should have been Lyra's.
In the images, Selene's smile curved her eyes into crescents, sweetness practically spilling from her gaze as she nestled against Fenris's side. Her body language screamed intimacy, the kind of closeness reserved for true mates. The sight was almost obscene.
One final message followed:
"Sister, Fenris told me you spent two weeks designing this ring yourself. Every little detail represents your hopes for a beautiful mating bond. Do you not think it suits me perfectly? It is like it was made for me all along."
Lyra's fingertip hovered over the glowing surface. A faint sting flickered through her chest—so quick it might have been imagined.
She knew exactly what Selene was doing. Sending these images served two purposes: flaunt Fenris's favoritism, and provoke her into a humiliating meltdown that would give Selene even more ammunition.
Once, seeing this would have sent her wolf into a frenzy. She would have fought back, even if it destroyed them both, just to demand an explanation from her intended mate.
But now? Her travel chest was already half-packed in secret. One moon-cycle until she escaped this cage. These wolves, this life—they were already part of a past she was cutting away like dead flesh from a wound.
Her expression did not change as she tapped the surface. Her finger did not hesitate.
Three words, as casual as commenting on the weather: "Yes, lovely."