Exiled By My Mate

Secrets Under the Moonlight

CHAPTER 9

BELLA'S POV

The door burst open, making several nurses flinch in fright. A woman strode in, her entrance more like a display of dominance or perhaps pure intimidation.

Every head, including mine, turned toward her as she scanned our faces, her gaze sharp and assessing.

Her hands settled on her slim waist, a delicate gold bracelet glinting on her wrist.

She was beautiful, undeniably so. Her impeccably styled blond hair framed sharp features, and those emerald green eyes landed on me.

Her gaze sent a shiver down my spine.

She pointed a finger at me. “What’s your name?” she asked, her voice arrogant and slightly grating.

“Bella,” I murmured.

“Good.” A thin smile stretched across her lips, one that didn’t reach her cold eyes.

Forget beautiful. There was something else to her. Something unsettling.

In the two days I’d been within these walls, the name “Tamara” had already been whispered with a strange mix of fear and resentment. I could practically smell the same emotions in the air. This had to be her.

I’d only glimpsed her once, barking a sharp command down the hallway. It seemed the entire palace staff feared her or maybe they just avoided her.

"I have a job for you," she said, tone casual but edged with something cruel.

“Er… what job?” I asked, hesitant.

Her lips curled into a thin, cruel line. “You’ll be scrubbing the commune toilets. Thoroughly. I need someone for the job, and something tells me you’ll excel at that kind of work.”

I glanced at the other servants, silently pleading for some kind of help, but they all looked away, unwilling to challenge Tamara.

“I’m assigned to hall duty today,” I said, trying to keep my voice firm.

She rolled her eyes and pointed at another girl. "You do it, then." Then she turned back to me. “Problem solved. Get those latrines spotless before sunset.”

I bit back a retort, swallowing my pride. Stubbornness had never helped me before. I nodded, forcing myself to look meek.

"Yes, Tamara, I'll get right on it," I said, quietly.

Her gaze lingered on me, searching for the slightest hint of defiance. When she found none, she huffed and swept out of the room.

My jaw clenched tight.

Why me? Why single me out for something so deliberately degrading?

I returned to folding clothes, trying to bury the anger boiling beneath my skin. I was a servant, after all. Servants had tasks—degrading or not.

"Do it quickly," Serena whispered. She was the only one kind enough to speak up.

I turned to her and whispered, "Who exactly is she?"

"She's the Alpha's mistress," she explained.

"Mistress?" The word felt foreign on my tongue. I had assumed Kubala was single, but clearly, I was wrong.

"Yeah... She belongs exclusively to the Alpha. You two have something in common. She's from your old pack," Serena whispered.

What? My eyes widened in shock. Tamara was from the Claw? How could she be the Alpha’s mistress if she came from an enemy pack?

"Yes, from what I heard, she killed one of the Claw Pack Elites, beheaded him, and presented his head as a gift to Kubala," she said.

"Why?" I asked, still stunned.

"To gain his trust. She killed for him, and in return, he made her his mistress. Betraying her own pack was proof of her loyalty," Serena explained.

I pondered her words. I’d never even heard of Tamara before. Even the supposed Elite’s death was nothing more than a whisper in my memory.

I remembered a death but nothing about it being a murder. if it was news like that, it would have spread like wildfire. But why? What could push someone to betray their own kind so brutally just to join the Blood Moon?

What would drive her to kill one of her own just to join Blood Moon? What kind of person was Kubala that he would accept that kind of gift? What exactly was his issue with the Claw Pack?

“Bella, be careful around Tamara,” Serena warned, eyes filled with real concern..

She didn't need to warn me. I had already sensed it, Tamara reminded me of Glade.

She had the same arrogant ruthlessness in her eyes, but unlike Glade, she held actual power. I had to stay on her good side.

“If you cross her, you’ll pay for it,” she warned.

Noted. Tamara was not someone to cross.

I nodded, my heart heavy with foreboding. I felt like a pawn thrown onto the treacherous board of Blood Moon politics. Kubala’s mother already hated me. And if I wasn’t careful, so would his mistress.

The day blurred into a haze of scrubbing until my hands turned raw, and my back throbbed with every motion. The other girls in the commune threw me pitying glances but kept their mouths shut. Whether it was because they disliked me or feared Tamara, I couldn't tell.

When I finally made it back to my room, I collapsed onto the bed, completely drained. Sleep refused to come, and after twenty minutes of tossing and turning, I gave up and decided to take a stroll outside.

Memories of Seth washed over me. His smile, his stupid jokes, the warmth of his voice. I missed all of it. I’d give anything to have him back, but he was gone.

The thought of him lying there, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, gnawed at me. To just leave him there like he was discarded trash. He deserved better. I considered asking Kubala for permission to bury Seth properly. But given his hatred for the Claw Pack, I doubted he’d allow it.

I slid out of bed and walked out the door, and into the woods. The cool breeze and scent of wet ground offered some comfort to my troubled mind.

I stood under the full moon, lost in thought, whenI felt a strange sensation.

A chill ran down my spine as the realization that I was not alone struck me.

I narrowed my eyes, peering into the woods. I saw nothing, but I could feel something lurking in the shadows. I crept forward, my heart hammering. Then I heard it, muffled moans. My gaze locked onto two figures tangled together on the ground.

I nearly gasped as I recognized the two people making love. Tamara, entwined with a Blood Moon guard. One with a reputation whispered in dread among the servants.

Before they could even react, my instincts screamed. I turned and bolted, with twigs snapping underfoot, cutting through the silence like knives.

Shit.