Bound By Rejection

Chapter 7: The Rival’s Smirk

The scrape of soft, expensive leather boots against the stone pulled Lyra from her restless, half-waking state.

She blinked against the dim torchlight filtering through the narrow grate, her body a landscape of throbbing agony and simmering strength. Her skin still pulsed with the aftermath of divine fire. The Brand of Shame throbbed, but the heat from the Goddess’s Mark was already neutralizing the pain, wrapping itself around the wound like cold, protective iron. There was strength there now. Coiled. Waiting.

She sensed the presence before she heard the voice.

Sweet. Cloying. Expensive. And rotten at the edges.

“Still breathing, are we?”

The voice slithered like oil across water.

Lyra forced herself to sit upright, ignoring the sharp bite of the cell’s stagnant air. Her silver chains clinked softly as she straightened her spine, her back against the cold stone, refusing to meet the intruder’s gaze just yet. She took a slow, deep breath, tasting the pine and the wolfsbane and, underneath it all, the synthetic sweetness of the expensive perfume that was uniquely Raina’s.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was. Raina. Mistress. Traitor. Snake. And now… Luna-in-waiting.

“Well,” Raina drawled, stepping into the flickering torchlight. She was dressed in silks dyed with the Emberfang crest... a clear, arrogant claim to Lyra’s stolen position. A golden collar, a gift Lyra knew Kael reserved for high-ranking women, glinted like a victory banner around Raina’s throat. But worst of all, Lyra's gaze snagged on a thick, dark leather wrist-cuff Kael wore for ceremony, one Lyra had painstakingly stitched the runes onto as an anniversary gift. Raina was wearing it on her upper arm, like a macabre trophy.

“You look like absolute s**t,” Raina finished, her honey-gold eyes sharp and hungry.

Lyra finally turned her head, meeting Raina’s gaze with a terrifying, calm intensity. Her lips, dry and cracked, pulled into a thin, predatory smile. “And you still smell like cheap perfume and desperation. Some things never change. That leather cuff, by the way? You might want to wash it. Kael used to wear it in the sparring yard, and it picks up sweat.”

Raina’s smile wavered only for a second, then snapped back into place. Unbothered. She paced the cell entrance with the studied elegance of someone who’d never known fear or filth.

“I thought I’d come pay my respects,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, highlighting the cuff.

“You come to gloat, or did you just need a reminder of what real strength looks like?”

Raina laughed, a tinkling, artificial sound. “Oh, sweetie. I came to tell you to enjoy your last few days of delusion. The Elders are pleased. The Pack is stable. Kael is… compliant. And the truth? The truth is he never chose you, Lyra. He chose the Pack. And when he had to choose between his stupid, reckless mate and his rightful queen, he chose me.”

Raina sauntered closer to the iron bars, her hands resting on the cold metal. Her voice dropped to a sickeningly intimate murmur, designed to twist the knife. “He says I’m quiet. Obedient. I don’t challenge his rule. And I certainly don’t have any crazy, uncontrollable fire magic that threatens his throne.”

Lyra felt the lie burning her throat, but she held the fury back.

“He told you that?” Lyra asked softly, tilting her head.

“He told me everything,” Raina purred, leaning into the bars. “He told me that night was never about love. It was about control. He had to prove to you that his power was absolute. And I was the perfect instrument.”

As Raina spoke the words “absolute power” and “instrument,” Lyra felt an agonizing spike of residual emotion pierce the mate bond. It wasn't a lie. Lyra felt a crushing wave of Kael’s guilt and frustration, but woven into the feeling was a sharp, brief flash of Possessive Desire. It was toxic, but it was real.

Raina was sleeping with him. And she was clever enough to know that the bond was still active, clever enough to use it to broadcast her victory.

Lyra gasped, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath that betrayed her control.

Raina’s grin widened, triumphant. “Did you feel that, Lyra? That was him. He’s thinking of me right now. Thinking of how I feel in his bed. How silent I am. How compliant. How easy it is to forget the little witch rotting in the dungeons when I’m whispering praises in his ear.”

Raina knelt, bringing her face level with Lyra’s. The intimate, cruel proximity was suffocating.

“Soon, Kael will reject you properly,” Raina hissed, her breath smelling of wine and arrogance. “The bond will be severed by force, and you’ll be a shell. A mad dog. And once that happens, you’ll feel it. That emptiness. That final, utter abandonment. And I’ll be there. In his bed. At his side. With his heir in my belly, securing the lineage he should have had with me from the start.”

Lyra’s rage boiled. It was no longer the desperate, scattered fury of a woman in pain. It was the white-hot, focused energy of a queen who had a plan. Her heart hammered, not from fear, but from the terrifying surge of power from her left shoulder. The Goddess Mark pulsed, cold and demanding, asking for release.

Lyra didn’t lash out. She smiled. A slow, chillingly peaceful smile.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Lyra said, her voice like a blade wrapped in silk, gaining strength with every syllable. “Because you’re wrong about the bond, Raina. And you’re wrong about the future.”

Lyra pressed her shoulder against the cold stone, intentionally triggering the Goddess Mark. A fierce, icy surge of power ripped through her, instantly muffling the agonizing spike of Kael’s Lust. She didn’t feel his pain anymore; she felt her own destiny.

“I saw something you’ll never touch,” Lyra continued, her eyes now gleaming with a cold, terrifying light that had nothing to do with her Omega blood. “The Moon Goddess chose me. Not Kael. Not the Pack. Me. And the mark he gave me? It will be healed by the divine fire you just felt.”

Raina’s smile faltered. Only for a split second, but Lyra saw the flash of real, raw fear in her honey-gold eyes. She had pushed too far. She had taunted the wrong kind of broken.

“And when I rise again, because I will,” Lyra finished, her voice an absolute promise, “you’ll be the first to bleed. Every piece of silk, every stolen moment, every whisper in his ear. I’ll take it back, Raina. And I’ll start with the bloodline you’re so desperate to secure.”

Raina straightened abruptly, smoothing the wrinkles from her silk dress, regaining her composure with a visible effort. “Still delusional. But amusing.”

She turned, her expensive leather boots clicking against the stone floor, the sound a retreating drumbeat of victory.

Just before disappearing into the shadows, she looked back over her shoulder, her voice laced with final, contemptuous pity. “Sweet dreams, traitor.”

The door slammed behind her, plunging Lyra back into the darkness.

But Lyra didn’t sink into it this time.

She didn’t feel the pain of the bond. Not really. The Goddess Mark was a shield, humming with anticipation.

Raina had won the round, but she had achieved the opposite of her intent. She had not broken Lyra. She had given Lyra the clear, definitive target she needed. She had given Lyra a reason to weaponize her hatred.

She had confirmed that her escape wouldn’t be for freedom. It would be for retribution.