“Do you know, Isolde?” He straightened his mantle and smoothed his tunic. “Maybe this is overdue.”
My heart seized. “Huh?”
“Let’s stop pretending, Isolde.” He leaned against the desk with crossed arms. “I sought you out for a reason. An heiress of the Rustpire Pack? Who wouldn’t chase that prize? And you practically handed yourself over—eager to flee your pack’s ancient wealth and their expectations.”
Each word sliced like a blade dipped in frost. The room spun as five years of memories cracked apart, replaced by calculation.
“You abandoned everything to run away with me. How poetic.” His smirk deepened. “But now? I’m the Alpha of my own kingdom. I have choices.”
His gaze drifted to Vanya, who stood taller, a sly smile curling her lips. “Better choices.”
I gripped the doorframe, grounding myself. “You bonded with me for the Rustpire inheritance?”
“Your pack’s fortune was… enticing. Even if you pretend it doesn’t matter.”
He scoffed. “Trying to live like a common pack wolf. What a waste.”
A twisted laugh burned my throat. He had no clue what being a Rustpire truly meant.
Not the wealth.
The power.
The ancient moon-magic that ran through our blood like molten silver.