Faking a Bond with the Monster Lycan

I dropped the three leather-bound ledgers onto the mahogany dining table. The heavy thud rattled the silver spoons in their porcelain bowls.

"Open the first one," I told Elara.

She sat rigidly in the high-backed chair. She wore one of Kaelen's oversized gray shirts, the collar slipping off her frail shoulder to reveal a fresh bite mark on her collarbone.

I ignored it.

"Page forty," I instructed. "We start with the winter grain distribution."

Elara stared at the towering stack of books. "I... I don't know numbers very well."

"You don't need to calculate anything today. You just need to read the headings," I said, tapping the top cover. "Alpha Kaelen ordered me to train you. Read."

"It's too much," she whimpered, shrinking away from the table.

"It is the bare minimum," I countered. "The Luna feeds three hundred wolves. If you can't read a ledger, they starve."

She reached out with a trembling hand. Her fingers fumbled with the heavy leather cover. She turned one thick page. Then a second.

Her elbow jerked sideways. It caught the edge of her mug.

Hot milk flooded across the polished wood. The white liquid pooled directly over the open book, soaking instantly into the thick parchment.

"Oh, no!" Elara shrieked, jumping out of her seat. "I'm sorry!"

I stared at the ruined page. The black ink bled into a useless gray smear. The winter reserve fund. Three months of my precise calculations, erased in a single second.

Heavy footfalls pounded down the hallway.

Kaelen burst through the dining room archway. He didn't look at the table. He didn't check the dripping milk. He crossed the room in three massive strides and hauled Elara against his chest.

"Are you burned?" he demanded, inspecting her bare arms.

"I made a mess," she sobbed, burying her face into his shirt. "I ruined her book. She's going to hurt me."

Kaelen whipped his head toward me. His jaw locked tight.

"What is wrong with you, Seraphina?" he barked.

"She spilled her drink on the territory's financial records," I answered, keeping my tone perfectly flat.

"She is an Omega who spent her life surviving in the wild!" he yelled. "You slam complex financial data in front of an uneducated girl on her first morning here, just to make her feel stupid?"

"You told me to train her to take my place," I reminded him. "Lunas manage the treasury. If she cannot handle paper, she cannot handle the pack."

"I didn't mean to!" Elara cried, clutching his waist. "She just slammed them down. She looked so angry, Alpha. I told you she wouldn't accept me."

"Hate requires effort," I stated. "I simply expect competence."

"Competence?" Kaelen repeated, his eyes blazing. "She lived in the feral lands for three years. She survived on scraps. You sit in a heated manor and judge her for not knowing high-society mathematics?"

"I judge her for knocking over a cup," I replied. "Gravity works the same in the feral lands, does it not?"

"You did this to humiliate her," Kaelen accused.

"I gave her a book."

"You set a trap!" he roared, his voice shaking the glass chandelier above us.

He took a half-step backward, tucking Elara securely behind his broad shoulder. He shielded her from me. As if I were the threat. As if I were the monster in his home.

That tiny movement snapped a vital wire inside my head.

The agonizing, tearing pain of our broken mate bond vanished. The bleeding wound in my chest hollowed out. In its place, a freezing, morbid clarity settled over my mind.

I leaned over the table. I pinched the corner of the soaked parchment and tore it violently from the binding.

A loud rip echoed in the dining room. White milk and gray ink dripped onto the floorboards, splashing against the toes of my shoes.

"What are you doing?" Kaelen warned, his eyes narrowing.

I didn't answer. I walked past them to the roaring fireplace. I tossed the ruined ledger page directly into the flames.

The fire flared up instantly. Orange light danced across my face, baking my skin. I watched the paper curl, turn black, and turn to ash.

It wasn't just the winter budget burning in the hearth. It was the last, pathetic shred of hope I had harbored for this marriage. The illusion that Kaelen might realize his mistake was gone. Reduced to cinders.

Kaelen scoffed. "A tantrum doesn't suit you, Seraphina."

He stepped closer to me.

His scent washed over my face.

Pine and snow. It used to ground me. It used to mean safety. But today, a sickeningly sweet floral stench coated it—Elara's pheromones, rubbed deep into his clothes, his skin, his very pores. The smell of their night together clung to him like a second skin.

My stomach violently convulsed.

I clamped a hand over my mouth. A harsh, dry heave wracked my chest, forcing me to bend forward.

"Seraphina?" Kaelen’s expression shifted. His brows pulled together in sudden confusion. He reached a hand out. "Are you ill?"

I swatted his hand away before he could make contact.

"Don't touch me," I choked out.

I swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down my throat. I refused to vomit in front of them. I refused to give them another ounce of my dignity.

"Class is dismissed," I rasped.

I turned my back on my husband and his terrified new mate, marching straight out the side door.

The biting morning frost hit my face. I didn't grab a coat. I didn't stop moving until the stone manor disappeared behind the thick tree line.

The dead woods bordered the northern edge of the territory. Black, leafless branches clawed at the gray sky, offering no shelter from the biting wind. The snow crunched loudly beneath my feet.

I stopped next to a rotting oak tree.

I reached into the pocket of my slacks and pulled out a small, tightly rolled parchment. I flattened it against the rough bark.

A crimson crescent moon totem glared back at me.

It was an old symbol. A forbidden one.

I drew a silver hunting knife from my belt. I pressed the sharp edge to my left palm and sliced a clean line across the flesh.

Hot blood welled to the surface, bright and stark against the freezing air. I held my hand over the parchment, letting three heavy red drops hit the exact center of the crescent moon.

The blood soaked into the symbol, turning the faded crimson into a brilliant, wet ruby red.

A rustling sound near my boots caught my attention.

At the base of the oak lay a crow. Its neck was snapped at a brutal angle, its black feathers stiff with morning frost.

I knelt in the snow, ignoring the sharp cold seeping through my pants. I folded the blood-stained parchment into a tiny, tight square.

I pried open the dead bird's frozen beak. The beak cracked slightly under the pressure. I shoved the paper deep down its throat, past its stiff tongue.

"Find him," I whispered to the empty woods.