Seraphina’s POV

I stood in the airport pickup zone, my hand resting quietly on the handle of my suitcase.

“Morty, hurry up! Humphrey said the guys are throwing us a welcome home party at the Wildwolf Club tonight.”

That voice sliced through the air, and my grip on my luggage tightened.

Mortimer and Vivian.

Deep in my mind, Lily scratched restlessly. As they got closer, the scent of pine—the scent that belonged to my fated mate—started to wrap around my ankles like a suffocating vine. I kept my eyes down. I had zero desire to play nice. I just stared at the little car icon on my screen. Uber: two minutes away.

“Luna?”

Vivian’s voice carried a note of forced confusion. I acted like I hadn’t heard a thing.

“Luna Seraphina! Morty, look, it’s Seraphina!”

Once she started using my name, ignoring her would just look petty. I let out a tired sigh, fixed my expression, and turned around.

Vivian was clinging to Mortimer’s arm, waving at me with fake excitement before dragging him over. Mortimer looked like he was in a foul mood. The Alpha aura radiating off him was a physical weight, making the humans nearby pick up their pace without even knowing why. There was a ring of burnt gold around his pupils—a sign of pure irritation.

I met his sharp, blade-like gaze with a blank stare. Was he pissed because I’d dared to show up and ruin his “quality time” with Vivian?

“Luna Seraphina, you’re just getting back too?” Vivian’s eyes flickered with a split-second shadow of malice. Then, she buried herself deeper into Mortimer’s side, her face twisting into a mask of guilt. “I am so, so sorry. If it wasn’t for my breakdown, Morty wouldn’t have ditched you in the glacial forest for Sweden. It’s my fault. I’m so fragile, and I ruined your blood moon ritual. I’m truly sorry.”

Right on cue, her eyes welled up.

I’d heard this kind of blatant provocation way too many times. I kept my smile professional and elegant, not letting a single pheromone slip. “It’s fine. I understand.”

Vivian’s face froze for a beat. She bit her lip, and when she spoke again, her voice went up an octave, trembling violently. “No, Seraphina, you must hate Morty! Your eyes are like ice… you went missing for days without even a text. Are you punishing him with silence? Just scream at me instead! I’ll do anything, just stop this cold-shoulder act with Morty!”

She reached out, trying to grab my sleeve, her “victim” act drawing stares from everyone around us. My Luna upbringing started to crack at the seams. I thought I was numb, but a sharp, stinging sensation flared in the center of my chest. It was the physical feedback of a damaged bond—faint, but unmistakable.

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