Silas's POV
---
The door clicked shut behind me.
I didn't ask for a servant. I didn't need one.
The room smelled new, like it had been aired just hours ago—lavender oil, clean linen, and something sterile beneath it all.
They hadn't expected me this early.
Good.
I walked to the mirror and pulled off my coat.
The leather dragged slightly over my shoulders, the way it always did after too long in the cold. I tossed it onto the chair without care. It hit with a dull thud.
Then came the shirt. Button by button.
Slow.
Deliberate.
By the time the last one slipped free, I was already looking at it.
The mark.
Low on my left ribcage. Just above my heart.
It was faint now—more scar than flame—but it still pulsed when I touched it.
I did, without thinking.
Just one finger.
The heat shot straight through me like a brand.
Fuck.
I dragged my palm over it once, hard. As if pressure would silence the memory.
But it didn't.
Her breath on my chest. Her lips whispering promises into skin. The way she'd traced the shape of our bond the night it burned into place—when she begged me to take it all. To take her.
"You'll come back for me, won't you?"
She said that.
Naked. Breathless. Wrapped around me like she'd die if I left.
I didn't answer her then.
I couldn't.
Because I knew.
I was already dead the moment I walked away.
I leaned forward, both hands on the counter now, jaw tight.
The mirror didn't lie.
The war changed me. My eyes were darker. My body sharper. Built for killing, not holding.
But that fucking mark?
It was still hers.
Even now.
Even after everything.
She belonged to another man.
My father.
And still, this mark refused to fade.
I looked away.
Because if I stared a second longer, I'd start to remember things I'd spent five years trying to bury.
And if I remembered them now—if I let those ghosts breathe again—I wouldn't survive dinner.
I stepped into the shower and twisted the dial all the way cold.
The water hit like ice knives across my spine, but I didn't flinch.
I needed the sting.
I needed the silence.
Steam didn't rise—not with the temperature I chose—but memory did. It crawled over me like heat that wouldn't wash away.
I tilted my head back and let the water pound against my neck.
If I closed my eyes, I could still feel her there—pressed against the glass, mouth open in breathless need, begging me to keep going, to ruin her like I always did.
I opened my eyes before the memory could finish.
Letting myself drown in it now was weakness.
And I had no room for weakness—not tonight.
I scrubbed hard. Faster. Let the water numb the places that still ached. The places she once touched.
By the time I stepped out, I wasn't shaking.
I was stone.
---
My suit was black.
Simple.
Sharp.
Tailored to the bones of a killer, not a diplomat.
I didn't wear a family crest.
Let them wonder if I still bore it.
Let them choke on the silence.
I fastened the last button at my collar and slid the ring onto my index finger—the one with the sigil of the Hollow Vale carved in obsidian.
I didn't wear it for tradition.
I wore it as a warning.
To them.
To myself.
---
The walk down the corridor was quiet.
No guards escorted me.
No footman dared speak.
I moved like smoke. Heavy boots against velvet floors. Every step bringing me closer to the hall I'd once sworn never to return to.
The scent hit me again halfway down the corridor.
Her scent.
Raine.
It clung to the walls like it had never left.
Like she had never left.
I told myself I wouldn't look for her tonight.
I told myself I didn't care.
But every inch of me was strung tight. Every instinct on edge.
Because I wasn't walking into a dining room.
I was walking into a battlefield.
And my mate… my father's wife… would be on the other side.
"""
Raine's POV
---
I was pacing.
Again.
One step, two. Turn. Again.
My fingers were in my mouth—teeth pressing into my nail, a terrible habit I hadn't done in years. Not since I was a girl in braids, hiding from court rituals and dreading arranged blood ties.
Now I was a Luna.
And I still felt like that same scared girl.
I pulled my finger away and shook my hand like it betrayed me.
My heart wouldn't stop pounding. My skin felt hot, like the dream hadn't left. Like his hands were still on me.
I hadn't seen him yet. Not properly.
But the house felt different. Tighter. Hungrier.
Like it remembered him too.
Get it together, Raine.
I moved toward the mirror and tried to adjust my gown again, even though it was perfect.
Deep crimson. Silk. The Luna's insignia stitched in silver down the waist.
I hated how beautiful it made me look. Like it tried to pretend I was powerful. Untouchable.
When I felt anything but.
A soft knock interrupted me.
I turned. Not Nara this time.
It was Cila, my quieter maid—the one with downcast eyes and an almost apologetic presence.
She peeked in and curtsied nervously. "Mistress… are you alright? You didn't answer the bell."
I blinked, too quickly.
"Yes—I'm fine. Just… fixing my hair."
Her gaze swept over me. She didn't believe it, but she didn't question it either.
"The Alpha requests your presence. Everyone is already seated."
Of course they were.
I nodded. "Thank you, Cila."
She gave a small smile, bowed again, and slipped away like a shadow.
And then I was alone.
Again.
Except for the echo of my heartbeat and the sound of my heels striking marble as I began the long walk down the corridor.
---
The dining room doors loomed ahead like a damn castle gate.
Grand. Ornate. Heavy with gold trim and moonstone carvings.
I stopped just in front of them.
My hands trembled.
He was in there.
I didn't even need to ask.
I could feel it.
The way my breath caught in my throat. The way my skin prickled.
The mark I buried inside me hummed like it remembered being touched.
Don't be weak.
I shut my eyes for one second, inhaled, and whispered to myself—
"Breathe. Smile. Lie."
Then I placed my hand on the door.
And pushed it open.