Loose Me Once And Maybe Am Gone Forever

Seraphine's POV

Present Day

An hour after Rowan left, a sharp knock shattered the quiet of my den. I opened the wooden door to find a young pack runner standing there, his head bowed respectfully, carrying an armful of crimson roses. Not a bouquet—an entire crate brimming with tightly packed blooms.

“Luna Seraphine, Alpha Rowan sent these as a token of his devotion,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He placed them at my feet and quickly stepped back, avoiding my gaze.

I stared at the roses, my wolf stirring uneasily. What once symbolized love and unity now felt like a cruel mockery—beauty masking the pain beneath.

“Leave,” I commanded curtly, slamming the door before he could say more.

The moment the door shut, my control unraveled. Rage surged through me, white-hot and consuming. I grabbed a clay vase from the table and hurled it at the crate. The sharp crash echoed through the den as shards flew in every direction. My claws extended, tearing into the flowers, shredding petals and stems. The powerful smell of crushed flowers filled the air, disgusting and suffocating.

My wolf howled in anguish, clawing at the sides of my mind, but I sent her back. There was no room for pain—only fury.

I sank onto the fur-draped couch, pressing trembling hands to my face, my breaths ragged. A faint rustling outside caught my attention. Rising, I moved to the window, peering through the thick wooden slats.

In the distance, shadows moved—two figures walking close together along the treeline. My enhanced sight sharpened the image. Rowan, his golden hair catching the moonlight, walked beside a woman draped in an elegant wolf hide cloak. Her hand brushed his arm, their closeness unmistakable.

My wolf growled low, her rage echoing my own.

Another sound broke my focus—a messenger's howl from the far edges of the pack’s territory. A warning? A revelation? I couldn’t ignore it.

I stormed back inside, grabbed my traveling cloak, and summoned the elder responsible for the silver crescent moon Pendant, a heirloom blessed by the moon goddess herself for the Luna.

“The heirloom,” I said sharply when his voice filled my mind through the pack link. “Sell it.”

A stunned silence followed before his hesitant reply. “Luna Seraphine? The heirloom is sacred. It holds the spirits of our ancestors—”

“I don’t care!” I snapped, my voice laced with a growl. “Sell it to the highest bidder. It means nothing to me now.”

He hesitated again, but I silenced him with a snarl, severing the link. The heirloom had been Rowan’s promise to me—a future that now felt like a lie. Keeping it would only remind me of his betrayal.

Exhaustion pulled at me, and I let myself collapse onto the couch, the weight of my rage and heartbreak dragging me into uneasy sleep.

The scent of cedar and musk woke me. Rowan.

My eyes opened to find him crouched before me, his golden gaze searching my face. His lips brushed mine lightly, tentative and soft.

“Seraphine,” he murmured, his voice thick with concern. “What’s going on? I’ve heard troubling whispers—about the heirloom, the patrols, even shifts in territory ownership. Are you all right?”

His feigned concern stoked the embers of my anger into a roaring flame.

“Just minor misunderstandings among the elders,” I said coolly, keeping my tone detached.

His eyes flicked toward the door where the massacre of roses had been. The pack had cleaned the mess, but his wolf instincts caught the lingering tension in the air.

“You’ve been distant lately,” he said cautiously. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp. “Can I?”

He tightened his jaw, his golden eyes becoming dark, but he did not say anything. Instead, he moved to the hearth, busying himself with stoking the fire and preparing our meal. The sight of him playing the role of a caring mate was almost laughable.

When he set a plate of roasted meat and wild herbs before me, my wolf growled low in warning. I ignored the food, my mind racing with the images of Rowan and the woman.

Rowan’s demeanor shifted subtly as he finished eating. His lips curled into a faint, private smile as if his thoughts were far from me.

“I have a council meeting,” he announced abruptly, pulling on his cloak. “Don’t worry about the dishes—I’ll handle it later.”

Before I could reply, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a finality that left my chest hollow.

The howl of another messenger reached my ears—a mournful, lingering note that carried new information. I stepped outside, following the sound.

At the forest’s edge, two patrol wolves exchanged hurried whispers.

“She’s always at his side now,” one said. “Some say she’ll be named the new Luna soon.”

My claws extended involuntarily, digging into the wooden railing of the den.

I stormed back inside and began packing. Cloaks, trinkets, personal belongings—everything that tied me to this place. By the time I finished, the Pack House was stripped of any trace of me.

As the wagon rumbled toward the border, I felt the bond between Rowan and me stretch, its once-unbreakable grip loosening.

A final howl reached me, carrying Rowan’s message through the pack link.

“You sold the Heirloom? Why? What’s happening?”