Selene stood there, wrapped in a pale wool garment, her hair braided neatly. The picture of a fragile, harmless she-wolf.
“I did not know you were awake,” she said sweetly, leaning against the stone counter. “I thought you were still injured… or perhaps pretending?”
I ignored her, cutting steadily.
“I mean,” she continued with a light laugh, “did you truly go to the Healer Sanctum? Or were you lying because I was there, taking attention?”
I set the blade down and met her gaze. “I am not like you.”
Her face hardened. “What do you mean by that?”
“You hunger for attention,” I said calmly. “You always play the wounded one.”
She scoffed, her voice turning sharp. “You are jealous. How does it feel, Luna, knowing Alden and Draven choose me now? Your mate, your protector, both mine. And you? You are nothing.”
My wolf flinched, just enough for her to notice. She smiled.
“You should leave this manor and Crownfang Pack,” she said softly. “You no longer belong.”
I turned back to the pot, stirring slowly, refusing to give her more.
“Still pretending you are above this?” she mocked. “Very well. I will help cook. They will enjoy it.”
I spun toward her. “No, Selene. I do not need help.”