Dallas POV:

The drop of blood bloomed on the white silk like a red rose opening in fast motion.

I touched my forehead, my fingers coming away slick and crimson. The pain was a sharp throb, but the silence in the room was louder.

Desmond was staring at the blood. His eyes had shifted color, the amber of his wolf bleeding into his irises. His chest heaved. The scent of my blood was triggering something primal in him, a protective instinct that fought against his logic. He dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as they hovered over me. "Dallas... what is this smell? It's... it's divine."

Antone, too, looked dazed. He licked his lips, swayed by the potency of the blood. "You're bleeding."

For a second, just a second, I thought they would help me. I thought the pack instinct—the duty to protect the injured—would override their greed.

"Desmond!" Chelsea shrieked, but he ignored her, his nose practically brushing my neck.

Realizing she was losing him to biology, Chelsea didn't just faint. She smashed a bottle of perfume from the display table onto the floor.

The glass shattered. A wave of synthetic, chemical rose scent assaulted the room, choking and overpowering the delicate aroma of my blood.

"My eyes!" Chelsea screamed, rubbing at her face, though the liquid hadn't touched her. "The glass! Desmond, help me!"

The spell broke. The chemical stench burned Desmond's sensitive nose, snapping him out of the trance.

Desmond stopped. He looked at me, bleeding on the floor, and then at Chelsea, who was wailing on the other side of the room.

The conflict on his face lasted less than a heartbeat.

"Chelsea!" Desmond turned his back on me. He rushed to her side, scooping her up in his arms. "Breathe, darling. I've got you."

"Get her out of here!" Chelsea sobbed into his shirt, pointing a shaking finger at me. "She ruined the dress! She's ruining everything! Her scent is making me sick!"

"Antone, get the car!" Desmond barked.

Antone looked at me one last time. He looked at the blood dripping onto the floor. Then, he looked at his brother carrying the ticket to the family's fortune.

"Right away," Antone said.

They left.

They actually left.

The bell chimed cheerfully as the door closed behind them, leaving me sitting in a pile of ruined tulle and my own blood.

The shop assistants stared at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. In the werewolf world, being abandoned by your Alpha while injured was the ultimate sign of worthlessness. It meant you were lower than a Rogue.

"Miss," one of the assistants said coldly. "You'll have to pay for that dress. And the cleaning of the carpet."

I didn't cry. The tears had dried up days ago.

I slowly stood up, using the mirror for support. My reflection was a stranger. Pale, bloody, wearing a gown meant for a celebration of love, now stained with the evidence of my rejection.

"I'll take it," I said, my voice hollow.

"Excuse me?"

"The dress," I said, wiping the blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. "I'll buy it. Pack it up. Don't bother cleaning it."

I pulled out the emergency credit card the pack had given me for 'travel expenses.' It was hush money, really.

I walked out of the store ten minutes later, a garment bag over my shoulder and a bandage on my forehead. I wasn't buying a wedding dress. I was buying a burial shroud for the girl I used to be.

Dallas Cole died on that floor.

I hailed a taxi. I wasn't going back to the estate. I was going to the harbor.

Dallas POV:

I had tried to avoid the party. I had packed my three suitcases—everything I owned in this world—and planned to head straight to the airport.

But Marcus Morgan had blocked the driveway with his SUV. "Change of plans," he’d said, tossing a dress bag at me. "The Simmons family sent a proxy. A lawyer. He wants to verify the merchandise before the wire transfer clears. You're going to the yacht."

So here I was, standing on the deck of a multi-million dollar yacht, the wind whipping my hair across my face. The bandage on my forehead was hidden by my bangs, but the headache persisted. I was being inspected like a prize horse.

Music thumped from the lower deck. Champagne flowed. The elite of the Morgan and Taylor packs mingled, their laughter sharp and biting. I stood in the shadows near the stern, clutching a glass of water I didn't drink.

"Enjoying the view?"

I stiffened. Antone.

He smelled of whiskey and desperation. He had tried to sneak into my room last night, claiming he wanted to 'say goodbye properly.' I had lied, telling him my heat cycle was starting early and was unstable—a condition that terrified males because it could mess with their own hormones. He had fled.

"Leave me alone, Antone," I said, looking out at the dark water. The yacht was miles from the shore now.

"You're making a mistake," he slurred, leaning against the railing next to me. "You think Simmons will treat you better? He's a beast. I'm the only one who cares about you."

"You care about owning me," I corrected. "There's a difference."

"Antone!" A sharp voice cut through the air.

Chelsea walked toward us. She was wearing a shimmering silver dress that looked like fish scales. She held a glass of champagne, her eyes glittering with something dangerous.

"Go get me another drink, Antone," she ordered.

Antone hesitated, looking between us, but the Beta instinct to obey a high-ranking female won out. He scurried away.

Chelsea stepped into my personal space. Up close, she smelled of citrus and rot.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" she whispered.

"I'm leaving, Chelsea. You won. You have the ring, the Alpha, the money. What more do you want?"

"I want him to stop looking at you," she hissed. Her face twisted. "Do you think I'm stupid? I see the way he looks at you. I smell the ozone on him when he's been near you."

My heart hammered. "I can't control that."

"I know what you are," Chelsea said, her voice dropping to a lethal quiet. "You're his Fated Mate. He didn't tell me, but I figured it out. The rejection... it didn't fully work, did it? The bond is still there."

She took a step closer, forcing me back against the railing. The metal dug into my spine.

"As long as you're alive, he'll never be fully mine. He'll always wonder. He'll always feel that pull."

"I'm going to Seattle," I said, gripping the railing. "I'll be hundreds of miles away."

"Not far enough."

Chelsea smiled, and it was the last thing I saw before she lunged.

She didn't use wolf speed. She just used the element of surprise. She shoved me, her hands slamming into my chest with all her strength.

My center of gravity tipped. My heels slipped on the wet deck.

I flailed, grabbing at the air, grabbing at her dress.

"No!" I screamed.

I went over the rail. My hand caught the fabric of her expensive gown, and with a shriek, she was yanked forward with me.

We plummeted.

The dark water rushed up to meet us.

SPLASH.

The cold was instantaneous. It was a shock that paralyzed my lungs. The ocean swallowed me whole, the salt stinging my eyes.

I kicked, fighting the heavy fabric of my dress, fighting the current. Bubbles chaotically swirled around me.

Above me, through the distortion of the water, I saw two splashes.

Two figures diving in.

Desmond and Antone.

Hope, foolish and fragile, flared in my chest. Desmond was an Alpha. He was a strong swimmer. He was my mate. Instinct would drive him to me.

I reached up, my hand breaking the surface for a split second, gasping for air before a wave slapped me back down.

"Help!" I choked out, swallowing saltwater.

I saw them surface. They were ten feet away.

Dallas POV:

Time seemed to slow down. The water was freezing, numbing my limbs, dragging me down like lead weights were tied to my ankles.

I treaded water, my head barely above the waves. I saw Desmond. He had surfaced, shaking the water from his hair. He looked frantic.

"Dallas!" he shouted? No.

"Chelsea!"

He swam right past me.

He was so close I could have reached out and touched his foot. He didn't even look. His eyes were locked on the shimmering silver dress floating twenty feet away.

"I've got you!" Antone yelled, swimming alongside his brother.

They both converged on Chelsea, who was thrashing and screaming, keeping herself perfectly afloat. They flanked her, supporting her, cooing words of comfort.

I stopped kicking.

The realization hit me harder than the freezing water. It wasn't just a rejection of a title. It wasn't just a political move.

They didn't care if I lived or died.

Desmond, the man the Moon Goddess had designed for my soul, was swimming away from me while I drowned.

"Help..." the word was a whisper, lost in the roar of the ocean.

My legs gave out. The cold had seeped into my bones. I looked at the yacht, at the lights, at the three figures moving away from me toward the ladder.

Let it end, a voice inside me whispered. It was my wolf. She sounded tired. We have no pack. We have no mate. Let us sleep.

I stopped fighting. I let the air leave my lungs.

I sank.

The water closed over my head, silencing the world. It was peaceful down here. Dark. Quiet.

I was drifting into the abyss when a rough hand grabbed my hair.

Pain flared, waking me up. I was hauled upward, coughing and sputtering. A life preserver was shoved over my head.

"Gotcha, missy!" a gruff voice yelled.

It wasn't Desmond. It was a crew member. A human deckhand with a cigarette dangling from his lip. He hauled me toward a small rescue dinghy.

Two hours later, I was sitting on a hospital bed in the harbor clinic. I was wrapped in three wool blankets, but I couldn't stop shivering.

The door opened. I expected a doctor.

Instead, Marcus Morgan walked in. He didn't ask how I was. He didn't look relieved.

"The plane is waiting," he said.

I stared at him, my teeth chattering. "I almost... died."

"Chelsea is in shock," Marcus said, brushing imaginary lint off his suit. "My sons are with her. You caused quite a scene, Dallas. Dragging the future Luna overboard? You're lucky I don't finish what the ocean started."

I looked at him. Really looked at him. I saw the rot in his soul.

"I'm ready," I said. My voice was raspy, damaged by the salt.

"Good. The car is outside. You go straight to the tarmac. No goodbyes."

"I don't have anyone to say goodbye to," I said.

I stood up. My legs were weak, but my resolve was iron. I walked out of the room.

Down the hall, I saw them.

Desmond and Antone were standing outside a private room. Desmond was pacing, his hands in his hair. Antone was talking to a nurse.

Desmond turned. He saw me.

He froze. For a moment, relief washed over his face. He took a step toward me, his mouth opening to speak.

"Mr. Morgan?" A nurse poked her head out of the room. "Miss Taylor is asking for you. She's very distressed."

Desmond stopped. He looked at the nurse. Then he looked at me.

I didn't wait for his choice this time. I knew what it would be.

I turned my back on him and walked toward the exit signs. I pushed through the double doors into the rainy night.

I climbed into the black sedan waiting at the curb.

"To the airport," I told the driver. "And don't stop."

I pulled out my phone. I opened my contacts. Desmond. Antone. Morgan Estate.

Select All. Delete.

As the car sped away, I felt a physical snap in my chest. It was the last thread of the bond, stretching until it broke.

I wasn't Dallas of the Morgan Pack anymore. I was nobody. And I was going to Seattle to marry a monster.