I looked at her—really looked—taking in her defiant stance and the way her scent mingled so thoroughly with my mate's. I almost laughed. Then I turned to Rogan, whose expression had twisted into something complicated. I reached for the cloth on the table, calmly wiped my wrist where he'd grabbed me, erasing his touch, and smiled.
"Why don't you tell her?"
My voice was ice.
"Tell her exactly who I am. Tell her whether or not I have the right to slap a wolf who can't honor his mating bond."
Rogan's face cycled through shock, then confusion, then—as he took in my relentless stare and the Omega's defiant posture—something hardened. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from me, his Alpha presence flaring protectively around her instead of his bonded mate.
"Selene." His jaw tightened. "When it comes to bonds, both wolves share the burden."
He pulled the Omega behind him. By then, Aria had caught up and moved to my side, her own wolf bristling with protective energy. "You need backup?" she muttered low.
I shook my head, keeping my eyes on Rogan.
"Selene." He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full Alpha height. "We courted for five seasons. Bonded for two full cycles. Have you ever stopped to consider how many problems you brought to this mating?"
He met my gaze without flinching, his wolf showing no submission.
"Yes, I built my standing in this territory because of you. Yes, my rise to Alpha exists because of your bloodline's connections. But that doesn't give you—or the Nightclaw pack—the right to look down on me every single day."
He stepped closer, his scent washing over me, tainted now with her.
"I can apologize. I can return to our den with you."
His expression flickered with something that might have been struggle.
"But don't take this out on Lyra Vulpayne. She's innocent." Even now, he was making excuses for his Omega consort. "She's young—she can't have her scent-name destroyed before the Pack Council. Her grandfather is in poor health; he can't handle the stress of a formal censure. Whatever issues we have—"
His gaze slid from me to Aria, who was glaring at him like she wanted to shift and tear out his throat.
"—we can discuss in our private den."
I listened to him lay it all out so reasonably, every word designed to protect the Omega named Lyra, and I could have laughed.
Five seasons of courtship. Three cycles bonded.