Forsaken By The Pack, Destined For The Lycan King

phin

re through the hunting grounds, an

sle had returned f

had re

mate was supposed to be claimed. The Moon Goddess had tied my soul to his, but Damien had spent

door opened, and Lil

t, delicate obsession. The woman everyone whispered he

t hit me even from fifty yards away, carried on the cruel wind-his sharp, clean scent of c

my hand had gone

fect temperature, perfect amount of cream, a pathetic l

at, and a pain, so intense it felt like a physical

ounds anymore. I was back in another version of my

mares because that was easier than admitting the truth: the Moon Goddess had show

ck in his jacket. The pack cheering for her like she was already their Lu

ur bond. He would say fate had made a mistake. He would free himself to put Lilith in the Luna's place

ad to an ally in the Carlisle estate, steadied my arm with a warm hand.

mn air. My gaze stayed locked on D

ng the birds. He hauled the carcass of a massive buck from the truck bed with one hand, blo

ed by something tender. He reached out, his fingers, still slick with the deer's blood, gen

ered for her, for Lilith, their true Luna in all but name. They swarmed her, a laughin

, begging. Him, turning away. The accusations. The betrayal. The feeling of being utterly, terrifyingly alone. It wasn't jealousy.

It was so strong I had to brace myself

th rage. She took a step forward, ready to marc

rprisingly strong. She flinched, turning

or his approval that had clouded my vision for

go of

-sided devotion. Every morning, the perfect temperature, the perfect

, I tossed the cup into

an

ous celebration. But for me, it was a gunshot signali

's head snapped in my direction, his brows furrowing in a familiar expressio

't wave. I didn't even

urned my b

ner wolf reacting to a mate's blatant disregard. It was a sound that

th's high, cloying voice drifted o

see his respons

hunting grounds. Each step on the dead, brittle leaves was

ask of disbelief. "Sera? What are you

right. I

Bank of America. The status of the trust my maternal grandparents had left me, the one the Sinclai

ide. A warmth spreading from my core to my fingertips. The power of 'The Surgeon'. It

the wind. I turned to face Clara, whose frantic energy was a s

of a vow. "I don't need a mate, Clara." I looked her straight in the eye,

with shock. To say such a thing was heresy.

e of my neck. The spot where his mark should have been. The spot he had p

ion solidified. It was a dull ache, a phantom limb of a bond I was choosing to

ing laughter echoed through the tre

opened a file in my notes app, a document I had drafted months ago in a moment o

ed my pale face. The title glared back

rless smile to

ved it to a folder labeled "PRINT," and

st toward the grand Carlisle estate o

the pine-scented air.

ed walking to

She was looking at a stranger. The weak, hopeful girl she knew was gone, left behind in the dregs