Camille swept inside like the house belonged to her, heels striking marble with effortless confidence. Alpha Thorne leaned against her, heavy with drink, his tie loose, lips stained red with wine.
“Oh, Luna Nyx,” she said sweetly when she noticed me standing by the stairs. “I didn’t expect you to still be up.”
Her arm tightened around Thorne’s, guiding him forward as though she were his rightful mate. “Julian and the boys are staying at my place tonight. Exhausted.” She patted Thorne’s chest possessively. “But he can’t sleep anywhere unfamiliar. Poor Alpha.”
I knew the lie instantly. This wasn’t care—it was performance.
She reached into her bag and dropped a container near my feet. “Leftovers,” she said lightly. “You should eat. You’re painfully thin. A wolf that weak wouldn’t survive a real hunt.”
I stayed still. My hands curled into fists, nails biting skin. My wolf snarled, desperate and caged.
“I’ll help him to bed,” Camille continued, lips curving. “You don’t share a room anymore anyway. He mentioned your side smells like—” She paused, eyes roaming over me slowly, assessing, calculating. “—regret.”