Chapter Three

The Luna's Dilemma

Asher’s shirt clung to his back, still damp from sweat and Lila’s teeth. He’d buttoned it wrongly—third button jammed into the fourth hole—and the collar reeked of her. Wild mint and sex. The guards outside his mother’s study didn’t blink, but their nostrils flared.  

“Let them smell it”, he thought, slamming the door open hard enough to rattle ancestral portraits.  

Selene stood silhouetted against floor-to-ceiling windows, dusk bleeding into the room like a fresh bruise. She didn’t turn. “You look like a dockside whore.”  

“Charming.” He collapsed into a leather armchair, boots thudding onto her prized mahogany desk. “Miss me at the ball?”  

Her reflection sharpened in the glass. “You humiliated Vera Blackthorn. Sabotaged our alliance. And for what? A half-breed who can’t even—”  

Asher’s growl vibrated the brandy decanter. “Finish that sentence. I’m curious how far you’ll dig your grave tonight.”  

She turned slowly, midnight-blue gown swallowing the fading light. Her gaze raked him head to toe—the bitten lips, the scratches peeking above his collar. When she smiled, it was all bone. “Tell me, did you at least use protection? Or are we hosting a bastard’s christening next moon?”  

He lunged, chair screeching. “Don’t talk about her.”  

“Why?” Selene swept around the desk, cold fury rolling off her in waves. “Because it’s true? Because your precious mate—” the word dripped venom, “—is the daughter of a traitor who got six good men slaughtered?”  

“Her father’s crimes aren’t hers.”  

“Aren’t they?” She slammed a dossier on the desk. Photos spilled out—Lila at thirteen, shivering in a too-thin shift during her first shift; Lila at sixteen, scrubbing floors in the packhouse kitchens; Lila last winter, feral and half-shifted during a Bloodfang raid. “Weakness is a disease, Asher. It spreads.”  

He flipped the photos face-down, hands shaking. “She’s stronger than you think.”  

“Is she?” Selene leaned in, jasmine and poison. “When the council demands proof of her worth? When the Bloodfangs come sniffing for your throat? Will her strength save you then?”  

The bond flared hot behind his ribs. He could still feel Lila’s nails carving rivers into his back, her broken whispers of “more, harder, yes—”

“The bond chose her,” he said hoarsely.  

“The bond is a tool!” Selene’s composure snapped. She gripped his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Your father told the same pretty lies. ‘Destiny. Fate. Love.’ And where did that leave us? Alone. Begging neighboring packs for scraps while he drank himself to death mourning a dead woman!”  

Asher wrenched free. “I’m not him.”  

“Aren’t you?” Her laugh was brittle. “You’ve inherited his selfishness. His recklessness. That girl will ruin you.”  

He paced to the fireplace, fists clenched. Flames mirrored the gold in his eyes. “You’d have me shackled to Vera Blackthorn. A knife-wife who’d slit my throat if Dante whistled.”  

“Better a knife you see coming than one pressed to your back in bed.”  

The grandfather clock ticked. Somewhere below, servants scrub champagne off ballroom tiles.  

Selene softened her tone, a blade sheathed in silk. “End it. Tonight. I’ll have the healers brew moontea, suppress the bond. We’ll tell the packs it was a… youthful indiscretion.”  

Asher stared at the fire. Lila’s scent still clung to him.  

“She’ll fight you,” he said quietly.  

“Let her.”  

He turned. His mother stood framed by dying light, every inch the Ice Queen who’d rebuilt their pack from ash. For a heartbeat, he saw her as she’d been after his father’s death—hollow-eyed, clutching his bloody shirt, screaming at the moon to give him back.  

“No.”  

Selene went very still. “What did you say?”  

“I said no.” The bond surged, hot and sweet. “You want Vera? Marry her yourself. Lila’s my mate.”  

“Alpha,” she corrected icily. “You’re not just a boy f**king his way through the servant’s quarters. You’re responsible for hundreds of lives. Or have you forgotten?”  

“Funny.” He grabbed his jacket, voice rising. “I don’t recall voting you eternal dictator.”  

“You insolent—”  

“You’re terrified!” he roared, chest heaving. “Terrified, I'll be happy. Terrified I won’t need you anymore—”  

The slap cracked like gunfire.  

Asher touched his stinging cheek, stunned. Selene’s hand trembled mid-air, her breathing ragged.  

Silence.  

Then, quietly: “Get out.”  

He hesitated. The girl who’d bandaged his scraped knees lived in the twist of her mouth, the too-bright sheen in her eyes.  

“Mother—”  

“Get. Out.”  

He left. The guards stiffened as he passed, catching the scent of blood and fury. Halfway down the corridor, Selene’s voice chased him—  

“She’ll die for this, Asher! Mark my words!”  

He didn’t look back.    

Meanwhile, back at Asher's expansive bedroom. Lila still held the sheets tightly around her chest.  

Lila stared at the rumpled fabric, throat tight. She’d torn her dress getting it off—sequins littered the floor like shattered glass. Her hands shook as she yanked the tattered navy sleeves over her shoulders.  

Stupid. Reckless. Weak.

“It wasn’t real,” she muttered, fumbling with the zipper. It jammed halfway up her spine. “Just… biology. Chemicals.”  

Her reflection in the vanity mirror disagreed. Bruises bloomed along her collarbone, twin crescents glowing faintly at her pulse. The bond hummed low in her gut, a satisfied purr.  

“Shut up,” she hissed, slapping the mirror. The glass cracked, fracturing her face.  

She’d known better. Known him—Asher Voss, heir to the Shadowmoon pack, Selene’s polished weapon. But the bond had claws, sinking deeper every time he’d growled “mine”, every time she’d arched into his—  

“No.” She gripped the bedpost, knuckles white. “No, no, *no*—”  

The bathroom faucet screamed when she cranked it. Icy water shocked her palms. She splashed her face, scrubbing until her skin burned.  

He used you, hissed the voice that sounded like her dead father. A Voss doesn’t soil himself with Harts trash.  

“He didn’t know,” she argued aloud, water dripping down her neck. “The bond blindsided him too.”  

And when he comes to his senses? When his mother convinces him you’re a liability?

She gripped the sink. “I’ll be gone by then.”  

Gone where? The voice laughed, cruel and familiar. You’ve got no pack, no money, no skills beyond scrubbing floors.  

Her claws pricked her palms. “I survived the Bloodfang raid. I can survive this.”  

Survive? You’re shaking over a boy.

“He’s not—” She caught herself, teeth sinking into her lip. Blood bloomed.  

The bond flared, sudden and vicious.  

He’s coming back.

Panic spiked. Lila bolted from the bathroom, bare feet slapping cold marble. Her ruined dress gaped at the waist, one heel missing. She didn’t care.  

Stairs. East corridor. Servant’s exit.  

She’d mapped escape routes years ago—half-breeds learned early. The door groaned when she shoved it open, night air slapping her face.  

Her thighs ached, the ghost of his grip lingering. She hit the tree line, pine needles crunching underfoot. The bond writhed, a fishhook in her navel yanking her back.  

“No,” she panted, veering west. “Not your puppet.”  

A howl tore through the dark. Close.  

Asher.  

Her knees buckled. The bond sang, golden and seductive. “Go back. He’ll keep you safe. He’ll—”

“Liar.” She scrambled up, mud caking her nails.  

The howl came again, closer. Desperate.