"He ceased feeling anything for you long ago!"
"Selene! He doesn't want you!"
Aria was still sprawled on the ground, but that didn't silence her snarls: "I'll tear you both apart—you oath-breaking traitor and your pathetic heat-bait!"
She scrambled to her paws, ready to launch herself at them again. But suddenly... I felt nothing. No fury. No desperation. Just a hollow calm settling over me like fresh snowfall.
I crossed the distance and drew her behind me, positioning myself between her and Rogan. His expression shifted to wariness, his wolf-gold eyes narrowing.
"Apologize to my packmate."
Rogan stared at me as though I'd gone feral.
"Rogan." I'd expected this moment to shatter me—to feel my heart being crushed until I couldn't draw breath. But watching someone else burn with protective rage on my behalf, watching someone fight for me... it cleared my head instead. "Apologize to my packmate."
"You've lost your mind!"
The words barely escaped his throat.
I swung my leather satchel and cracked it across his skull. Then I seized the Omega by her hair and slammed her face into the corner of the table.
"Rogan Ashfen."
My voice was winter ice.
"I will not let this go."
Then I turned, took Aria's arm, and walked out of the waystation den.
She'd only been part of the administrative den for six moon-cycles. I'd trained her myself, guided her from her first day among us.
Now she sat beside me in my traveling carriage, her face creased with worry. But I simply stared at the scent-tagged missives arriving on my communication stone, perfectly calm, as Rogan's messages flooded in:
[Selene! You went far beyond acceptable bounds today!]
[Do you have any idea—someone captured your little display at the waystation and spread it through the pack networks! If this reaches the Council, how is Lyra supposed to show her face?!]
[Send word immediately to clarify this situation. Do that, and I'll pretend nothing happened.]
[Selene, don't forget—your parents have retired from pack leadership. Your entire bloodline depends on MY position now. I'm not the Alpha I used to be!]
Then a bond-request flickered across the stone's surface.
From the Omega Rogan had been so desperate to shield.
Lyra Vulpayne.
She sent mirror-orb recordings. Scent-memory captures. And a message:
[Selene, Rogan stopped feeling anything for you long ago. Staying bonded to you was merely obligation.]