ANNA’S POV
Selene is dead.
The words rolled through the chamber like smoke, but they didn’t cling to me. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t ache. If anything, I felt lighter—one less liability to carry, one less c***k in the glass I had to hold together.
Selene was weak. She mistook obsession for strategy, hunger for loyalty. And look where that led her. A knife to her own chest. Pitiful.
I sat in the high-backed chair carved with the crest of Bloodstone, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. The torches spat low fire, shadows moving across the stone walls. Around me, the fortress breathed in its usual rhythm—wolves pacing, steel ringing, secrets festering.
And still… my thoughts pulled toward her.
Ella.
Whitecliff’s little Luna. Jake’s mate. The Lycan King’s chosen.
It should have been l
