The chamber is cold.

Araya stands in the center of the room, hands clasped in front of her, still wearing the ivory gown that feels heavier with each passing moment. The silk clings to her skin, damp with sweat despite the chill in the air. Candles flicker on the stone mantle, casting shadows that dance across the walls like restless wolves.

This is the Alpha's chamber. Jasper's chamber. Now hers too, supposedly.

But it does not feel like hers.

The bed dominates the room, draped in dark furs and thick blankets. A fire burns low in the hearth, crackling softly. The scent of pine and leather fills the air, sharp and masculine. Everything here belongs to him.

Araya inhales slowly, trying to steady the trembling in her chest.

The feast ended hours ago. The pack drank and laughed and sang, their voices echoing through the hall. Jasper sat at the head table, drinking steadily, his storm-gray eyes distant. He did not look at her once.

When the elder priest announced it was time for the bride and groom to retire, the pack erupted in crude cheers and howls. Araya's cheeks burned as Millie helped her from the hall, guiding her through the corridors to this room.

Millie squeezed her hand before leaving. "It will be alright," Millie whispered, though her hazel eyes were uncertain.

Araya nodded, unable to speak.

Now she waits.

She walks to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain. The moon hangs full and bright in the sky, casting silver light across the courtyard below. Wolves move through the shadows, their laughter faint and distant.

Araya presses her palm against the cold glass. Her reflection stares back at her, pale and hollow-eyed. The silver streaks in her raven-dark hair catch the moonlight, glinting faintly.

She looks like a ghost.

Serenya's words echo in her mind, mocking and sweet.

Araya lets the curtain fall and turns back to the room.

The door remains closed.

She sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing the silk of her gown over her knees. Her hands are still stained with dried blood from the thorns. She did not wash them. She wanted to remember the pain, to hold onto something real.

The fire crackles. The candles burn lower.

Time stretches.

Araya's heart pounds in her chest, a steady, trembling rhythm. She tells herself this is normal. That he is giving her time. That he will come soon.

But the door does not open.

She stands and paces the length of the room, her bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. The gown rustles with each step, heavy and suffocating. She considers removing it, changing into something simpler, but she does not know if that would be wrong. If he would be angry.

She does not know what he expects.

She does not know him at all.

The moon climbs higher. The fire burns lower.

Araya sits again, hands folded in her lap, waiting.

Her mind drifts to the ceremony, to the coldness in his eyes, to the words he whispered against her ear.

"This bond means nothing."

She squeezes her eyes shut, forcing the memory away.

Perhaps he did not mean it. Perhaps it was only nerves, or anger at being forced into this arrangement. Perhaps tonight will be different. Perhaps he will come, and they will talk, and she will understand him better.

Perhaps.

The door remains closed.

Araya's stomach twists. She stands again, moving to the small table near the hearth. A pitcher of water sits beside a basin. She pours some into the bowl and washes her hands, scrubbing away the dried blood. The water turns faintly pink.

She dries her hands on a cloth and looks at the door again.

Still closed.

The candles gutter, wax pooling at their bases. The fire is almost ash now, glowing faintly.

Araya's chest tightens. She crosses to the door and presses her ear against the wood, listening.

Silence.

No footsteps. No voices. Nothing.

She grips the door handle, hesitating. She should not leave. This is her place now. She is supposed to wait.

But the silence is suffocating.

Araya opens the door a crack, peering into the corridor beyond.

Empty.

Torches line the walls, their flames flickering in the draft. The stone floor stretches long and dim, disappearing into shadow.

She steps into the hallway, the silk of her gown whispering against the floor. The cold bites at her bare feet, sharp and unforgiving.

Araya moves slowly, following the corridor toward the main hall. Her pulse quickens with each step. She should turn back. She should return to the chamber and wait.

But something pulls her forward.

She hears voices ahead, low and murmured. Laughter, soft and intimate.

Araya slows, pressing herself against the wall. Her breath comes shallow and quick.

The voices grow clearer.

A woman's voice, light and teasing. "You're terrible, you know that?"

A man's voice, deep and familiar. "And yet you still come to me."

Araya's heart stops.

That voice.

Jasper.

She moves closer, her bare feet silent on the stone. The corridor curves, opening into a small alcove lit by a single torch. Two figures stand in the shadows, close together, their bodies silhouetted by the flickering light.

Araya recognizes the woman's silhouette immediately. The cascade of honey-blonde hair. The elegant curve of her spine. The silk gown that clings to her like a second skin.

Serenya.

Araya's breath catches, sharp and painful.

Serenya leans into Jasper, her hand resting on his chest. Jasper's hand curves around her waist, pulling her closer.

Araya cannot move. Cannot breathe.

Serenya tilts her head back, her lips brushing Jasper's jaw. "She's probably still waiting for you," Serenya murmurs, her voice dripping with amusement. "Poor thing."

Jasper's voice is low, almost a growl. "Let her wait."

Serenya laughs, soft and cruel. "You're heartless."

"I'm practical."

Serenya's fingers trail down his chest, teasing. "She'll never satisfy you, you know. She's nothing. Wolf-less. Weak."

Jasper does not respond.

Araya's chest tightens, pain radiating through her ribs like claws tearing flesh. The silver thread she has been searching for, the bond she hoped would form, feels like it is burning away to ash.

She should leave. She should turn and walk away before they see her.

But her feet will not move.

Serenya presses closer, her lips finding Jasper's. The kiss is slow, deliberate, meant to be savored.

Araya's vision blurs. She stumbles back, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

Her heel catches on the hem of her gown. She stumbles, catching herself against the wall. The movement is loud, too loud.

Jasper's head snaps up.

Araya's pulse roars in her ears. She turns and runs.

Her bare feet slap against the stone floor, the sound echoing through the corridor. She does not look back. She does not stop.

She reaches the chamber and slams the door behind her, chest heaving.

The room is colder now. The fire is dead. The candles have burned out.

Araya presses her back against the door, sliding down until she sits on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. Her hands shake. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps.

She waits for the door to open. For Jasper to follow. To demand an explanation. To be angry.

But the door remains closed.

Minutes pass. An hour. Maybe more.

Araya does not move.

The moon sinks lower in the sky, its light fading.

And then she hears it.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, moving down the corridor.

Araya's breath stills. She presses her ear against the door, listening.

The footsteps grow closer.

His scent drifts through the gap beneath the door. Pine and leather. Sharp and unmistakable.

Jasper.

The footsteps stop.

Araya holds her breath, waiting for the door to open.

But it does not.

The footsteps continue, moving past the chamber, fading into the distance.

Leading away.

[Araya's POV]

The door opens.

Araya lifts her head from where she sits on the floor, back pressed against the cold wood. Her heart lurches, hope and dread twisting together in her chest.

Jasper steps inside.

His storm-gray eyes sweep the room, landing on her. His expression does not change. No surprise. No concern. Just cold assessment.

"Get up," Jasper says.

Araya pushes herself to her feet, legs unsteady. The silk gown clings to her, wrinkled and heavy. Her bare feet are numb from the cold stone.

Jasper closes the door behind him. The lock clicks, sharp and final.

He does not look at her as he crosses to the table and pours himself a drink from the decanter. Amber liquid splashes into the glass. He drinks it in one swallow, then pours another.

Araya stands frozen, watching him.

"Did you enjoy your walk?" Jasper asks, his voice flat.

Araya's breath catches. He knows. Of course he knows.

"I..." Araya's voice falters. "I was waiting."

Jasper sets the glass down with a sharp clink. He turns to face her, leaning back against the table, arms crossed over his chest.

"You were spying," Jasper says.

"No. I just... I heard..."

"What did you hear, Araya?"

Araya's throat tightens. She cannot speak. Cannot form the words.

Jasper's jaw tightens. He pushes away from the table and crosses the room in three long strides. He stops in front of her, close enough that Araya has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

"Answer me," Jasper says.

"I heard you," Araya whispers. "With her."

Jasper's expression does not change. No shame. No guilt. Just cold indifference.

"And?" Jasper asks.

Araya's hands curl into fists at her sides. "And you're my mate. My husband. You should be here. With me."

Jasper's lips twitch, almost a smile. "Should I?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The question hits like a slap. Araya stares at him, unable to answer.

Jasper leans in, his voice dropping low. "Because some priest said words under the moon? Because your father needed to marry you off before you became too much of an embarrassment?"

Araya flinches.

Jasper straightens, turning away. "This bond is a formality, Araya. Nothing more."

"Then why go through with it?" Araya's voice cracks. "Why marry me at all?"

Jasper does not answer. He walks to the bed, sitting on the edge, pulling off his boots.

Araya watches him, chest heaving. "You could have refused. You're the Alpha. No one could have forced you."

Jasper looks at her, his storm-gray eyes cold and flat. "Your father owed me a debt. This was payment."

The words cut deeper than any blade.

Araya's vision blurs. She blinks hard, refusing to let the tears fall.

Jasper stands, pulling off his coat and tossing it onto the chair. He unbuttons his shirt, his movements mechanical, efficient.

"Come here," Jasper says.

Araya does not move.

Jasper's eyes narrow. "I said, come here."

Araya's feet move before her mind can stop them. She crosses the room slowly, every step feeling like walking toward the edge of a cliff.

She stops in front of him.

Jasper reaches for her, his hand gripping the back of her neck. His fingers are cold, firm, possessive. He pulls her closer, his other hand finding the laces of her gown.

He unlaces them roughly, pulling the silk loose. The gown slides from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

Araya stands before him, exposed, trembling.

Jasper's gaze sweeps over her, clinical and detached. He does not speak. Does not offer comfort. Does not kiss her.

He pushes her back onto the bed.

Araya's breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Her hands grip the furs beneath her, nails digging into the fabric.

Jasper moves over her, his weight pressing down, suffocating. His hands are rough, efficient, taking what he wants without asking.

There is no tenderness. No warmth. No love.

Only duty.

Araya closes her eyes, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out. Pain flares, sharp and immediate, tearing through her. She gasps, her body tensing.

Jasper does not stop. Does not slow.

Araya's chest tightens, her breath coming in ragged pulls. She feels used. Hollow. Like something being taken apart piece by piece.

But beneath the pain, beneath the humiliation, something stirs.

A spark.

Faint, barely there, flickering like a dying ember.

The bond.

Araya feels it, thin and fragile, stretching between them. A thread of silver light, trembling in the dark.

Jasper must feel it too. His breath hitches, just for a moment. His grip tightens.

But he does not stop.

When it is over, Jasper pulls away. He stands, dressing quickly, his movements sharp and angry.

Araya lies still, staring at the ceiling. Her body aches. Her chest feels raw, carved open.

Jasper pulls on his shirt, buttoning it with swift, precise movements. He does not look at her.

Araya turns her head, watching him. "Jasper..."

"Don't," Jasper says, his voice cold.

Araya's throat tightens. "Please. Just..."

"I said, don't."

Jasper grabs his coat and strides toward the door.

Araya sits up, pulling the furs around her. "Where are you going?"

Jasper does not answer. He opens the door and steps into the corridor.

"Jasper, wait."

The door closes behind him.

Araya scrambles from the bed, wrapping the fur around her shoulders. She crosses to the door and pulls it open, stepping into the hallway.

The corridor is dark, lit only by the flickering torches.

Jasper's footsteps echo, distant and fading.

Araya follows the sound, her bare feet silent on the cold stone. His scent lingers in the air, pine and leather, sharp and unmistakable.

She moves quickly, her heart pounding.

The footsteps turn a corner, disappearing into the shadows.

Araya rounds the corner, following his scent.

[Araya's POV]

Araya's bare feet whisper against the cold stone as she follows Jasper's scent through the winding corridors of Ironfang Keep. The fur wrapped around her shoulders does little to ward off the chill that seeps into her bones. Her body still aches from what happened in the chamber, a dull, throbbing reminder of his touch.

The torches flicker as she passes, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Jasper's scent grows stronger with each step. Pine and leather, sharp and unmistakable, leading her deeper into the keep.

Araya's heart pounds in her chest. She should turn back. She should return to the chamber and wait, as a proper Luna would. But something pulls her forward, something desperate and aching that refuses to let go.

The corridor branches. Araya pauses, listening.

Voices drift from the left passage, low and murmured. Intimate.

Araya moves toward them, pressing herself against the wall. The passage narrows, opening into a small alcove lit by a single torch. The same alcove from earlier.

Araya's breath catches.

Jasper stands with his back to her, one hand braced against the wall. Serenya faces him, her honey-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her green eyes bright with satisfaction. Her silk gown clings to her curves, the fabric shimmering in the torchlight.

Serenya's hand rests on Jasper's chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his shirt.

"You came back," Serenya murmurs, her voice soft and pleased.

"I needed air," Jasper says.

"Is that what you call it?" Serenya laughs, the sound light and teasing. "I thought you'd stay with her longer. Make it convincing, at least."

Jasper's jaw tightens. "It's done."

"Poor thing," Serenya says, tilting her head. "Was she crying?"

Jasper does not answer.

Serenya's fingers trail down his chest, lingering at the buttons of his shirt. "You're cruel, you know. I like that about you."

Araya's chest constricts, pain radiating through her ribs like claws tearing flesh. She presses her hand over her mouth, stifling the sound threatening to escape.

Serenya leans closer, her lips brushing Jasper's jaw. "Tell me you missed me."

Jasper's hand moves to Serenya's waist, pulling her against him. "You know I did."

The words hit Araya like a physical blow. Her knees buckle, but she forces herself to stay upright, gripping the wall for support.

Serenya's smile widens. "Say it again."

"I missed you," Jasper murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Serenya's eyes gleam with triumph. "That's better."

Araya's vision blurs. The bond she felt earlier, that fragile thread of silver light, feels like it is burning away to ash. She wants to scream. She wants to tear herself away from this alcove and never look back.

But she cannot move.

Serenya's hand slides up to Jasper's neck, pulling him down. Their lips meet in a slow, deliberate kiss. Not hurried. Not desperate. Savored.

Araya's breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Her nails dig into the stone wall, scraping against the rough surface.

Serenya pulls back slightly, her lips still close to Jasper's. "She'll never satisfy you, you know. She's nothing. Wolf-less. Weak. Pathetic."

Jasper's hand tightens on Serenya's waist.

Araya waits. Waits for him to deny it. To push Serenya away. To tell her that the bond means something, even if it is painful and twisted.

But Jasper says nothing.

Serenya's smile turns cruel. "You could have had anyone. Any strong, beautiful wolf in the pack. But instead, you're stuck with her."

Jasper's storm-gray eyes remain fixed on Serenya. His expression is unreadable, cold and distant.

"She won't last," Serenya continues, her voice dropping to a purr. "She'll break. And when she does, you'll finally be free."

Jasper's thumb brushes along Serenya's jaw, a gesture so tender it makes Araya's stomach twist.

"Maybe," Jasper says quietly.

Serenya laughs, soft and satisfied. "I knew you'd see reason."

Araya's legs give out. She stumbles back, her shoulder hitting the wall. The sound is soft, but in the stillness of the corridor, it echoes.

Jasper's head snaps toward the sound.

Araya freezes, her heart hammering in her chest.

Jasper's eyes narrow. He steps away from Serenya, moving toward the corridor entrance.

Araya turns and runs.

Her bare feet slap against the stone floor, the sound echoing through the empty halls. She does not care who hears. She does not care if Jasper follows.

She just runs.

The corridors blur around her, torchlight streaking past in flashes of orange and shadow. Her lungs burn. Her legs tremble.

She does not stop until she reaches the chamber.

Araya slams the door behind her and leans against it, chest heaving. Her breath comes in ragged, broken sobs. She slides down to the floor, pulling the fur tighter around her shoulders.

The room is still dark. The fire is still dead. The candles are still burned out.

Nothing has changed.

Except everything has.

Araya presses her hands over her face, trying to muffle the sound of her crying. Her body shakes with the force of it, every sob tearing through her like a wound reopening.

He took her body. He bound her with duty and obligation. But he gave his affection, his tenderness, his words, to Serenya.

Araya's half-sister.

Her own blood.

The betrayal cuts deeper than anything Jasper could have done alone. This is not just cruelty. This is deliberate. Calculated.

Serenya wanted this. Wanted Araya to know. Wanted her to suffer.

And Jasper let it happen.

Araya lifts her head, staring at the closed door. Her silver-blue eyes burn with unshed tears.

She waits for the door to open. For Jasper to come back. To say something. Anything.

But the door remains closed.

Minutes pass. An hour. Maybe more.

Araya does not move.

The moon sinks lower in the sky, its light fading through the window.

And then she hears it.

Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate.

Moving down the corridor.

Not toward the chamber.

Away.

His scent drifts through the gap beneath the door. Pine and leather. Sharp and unmistakable.

Jasper.

The footsteps fade into the distance.

Araya closes her eyes, her chest hollow and aching.

He is not coming back.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.