Chapter three
1104 Words
Her husband. Her mate. The man who had once sworn to protect her above all else. He stood at the threshold, his broad frame filling the space, his eyes shadowed in a way she couldn’t read. Behind him, the guards waited, silent and grim.
Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat. For a second, her heart surged stupidly, pathetically, as if hoping he’d say this was all a mistake. That he had realized the truth, that he would free her and hold her.
“Damon,” she whispered, her voice raw.
He stepped inside, the door clanging shut behind him. The silence between them was heavier than chains. He looked at her for a long moment before finally speaking.
“Talia is pregnant.”
The words hit harder than any blade. Dahlia felt her lungs collapse, her chest seize. “No,” she croaked. “No, that can’t..."
“It’s true,” he cut her off, his tone flat. “The healers confirmed it. She’s carrying my child. An heir.”
Her knees trembled, and she gripped the bars to keep herself upright. “So that’s it? You believe everything she’s told you? You believe I betrayed you, and she’s the saint?”
Damon’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t about believing her. This is about facts. The pack needs an heir, and she’s giving me one.”
Her lips trembled. “You swore to me. You swore I was enough.”
His gaze flickered, but only for a second. “I can’t have a Luna who betrays me. The elders wanted your execution.” He paused, his eyes hardening. “But I’m sparing you. You’ll be banished. Tonight.”
Dahlia’s stomach turned. “Banishment?”
“You’ll leave with whatever belongings you can carry. You won’t return. If you step foot in this territory again, it will mean your death.” His voice was low, steady, unyielding. “And before you go, I have to do this formally.”
He took a step closer, and she felt her heart quiver with dread.
“Dahlia Grey,” Damon said, his tone like stone, “I reject you as my mate and my Luna.”
The words slammed into her like fire and ice at once. Her wolf howled inside her chest, sharp and silent, tearing at the bond that tied them together. Her knees buckled, pain searing every vein, every nerve. It was as if someone had ripped her soul out through her skin. She screamed, the sound raw and guttural, echoing through the dungeon.
Damon flinched but didn’t move.
The bond snapped.
The emptiness that followed was worse than the pain. Cold. Hollow. A gaping wound where his presence had always been. Dahlia curled on the floor, clutching her chest, gasping for air as if she were drowning.
Finally, through trembling lips, she whispered, “I accept your rejection.”
And the last thread between them severed.
Damon’s shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing else. He turned and walked away, the door slamming shut behind him.
He didn’t look back.
They gave her a small bag, barely big enough for a change of clothes and a bottle of water. That was all. No farewell. No sympathy. Just guards escorting her to the border under the cloak of night.
The moon hung high, cold and merciless, watching as she stumbled across the dirt path with her bag slung over her shoulder. Her heart felt like ash, her body like lead. She kept walking, even when her legs shook, even when her throat burned with thirst.
Hours blurred. Branches scraped her arms, stones cut her feet, but she pressed forward into the forest. She couldn’t stay in Nightshade. She couldn’t go back. She had nowhere.
By dawn, her body gave up. She collapsed in the dirt, her lips cracked, her breaths shallow. Darkness crept at the edge of her vision.
The last thing she saw before blacking out was a tall shadow approaching.
Warmth. Softness. The scent of cedarwood and leather. Dahlia’s eyes fluttered open to a ceiling she didn’t recognize, high and ornate, painted with gold trim. She blinked, disoriented. She wasn’t on the forest floor anymore. She lay on a bed softer than clouds, wrapped in clean sheets.
She pushed herself up, her limbs weak. Her bag sat at the foot of the bed, untouched.
“Careful.”
The voice came from the corner of the room. Deep. Smooth. Teasing.
Dahlia’s gaze snapped toward it.
A man stood there. Tall, broad-shouldered, his golden blond hair falling slightly into his eyes. His jawline was sharp, his smile confident. He looked like he had stepped out of a dream. Or a warning.
He walked closer, and her heart stuttered.
“You,” he said, his eyes gleaming with something fierce. “You’re mine.”
Her breath hitched. “What?”
He stopped at the edge of the bed, his gaze never leaving hers. “I’m your mate.”
Her chest tightened, panic and disbelief crashing through her. “No. That’s not possible. My mate...¦” Her voice broke, remembering the rejection, the pain.
“Rejected you,” the man finished, his tone laced with something sharp. “Which means fate gave you to me.”
Before she could respond, the door burst open.
Two more men stepped in.
Dahlia’s mouth fell open. They were identical. All three of them; the blond man and the two newcomers looked alike, though the others had darker hair. Each one tall, broad, dangerous.
And both of the newcomers froze when they saw her. Their eyes darkened, glowing faintly with the unmistakable light of recognition.
“Mate,” they said in unison.
The room spun. Dahlia shook her head, her curls falling wildly around her face. “No. This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.”
The blond one smirked, his voice dropping lower. “Oh, it’s real. You’re ours.”
The raven-haired one with slicked-back hair stepped closer, his hazel eyes intense. “Fate doesn’t make mistakes.”
And the other, his darker hair tousled like he had just rolled out of bed, leaned against the wall, a playful grin tugging his lips. “Looks like you hit the jackpot, sweetheart.”
Dahlia’s pulse raced. Her chest heaved. Her world had been torn apart, and now three strangers stood before her, claiming her as theirs.
She wanted to scream, to laugh, to collapse. Instead, she whispered, “What the hell is happening to me?”
The blond one leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers. “What’s happening, Dahlia,” he murmured, “is that you belong to us now.”
- Writer
