Chapter 3
1489 Words
The penthouse is nothing like I imagined.
I expected cold, modern, sterile—a reflection of the dangerous man beside me. Instead, it's warm. Exposed brick walls, soft lighting, books everywhere. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the glittering city below, rain painting abstract patterns on the glass.
"Not what you expected?" Dante asks, watching me take it in.
"I thought it would be more..."
"Evil lair-esque?"
Despite everything, I almost smile. "Something like that."
"I save that aesthetic for the office." He moves to a bar in the corner, pouring two glasses of something amber. "This is home."
Home. I haven't had one of those since I was seven.
"Your bedroom is upstairs, second door on the right. You'll find clothes in the closet, toiletries in the bathroom. My assistant will take you shopping tomorrow for anything else you need."
"How did you—"
"I told you, I've been watching Blackwood territory for a while. When I saw what happened tonight, I had things prepared."
"You mean you've been planning this."
"I've been waiting for an opportunity. You provided one."
He hands me the glass. Whiskey. It burns, but it's better than the rejection poison still coursing through my veins.
"I need to know what I'm walking into," I say. "Your pack, your business—"
"My pack is the Crimson Moon Pack. Two hundred strong, mostly fighters and strategists. They'll accept you because I tell them to." He takes a sip of his drink. "As for my business, the less you know, the safer you are."
"I'm marrying you. I think I have a right to know if I'm going to wake up with federal agents at the door."
His laugh is dark. "The federal agents work for me, little wolf."
Of course they do.
"What's your history with Maddox?"
"That's a longer story."
"I have nowhere else to be."
He studies me for a moment. "His father killed mine."
The words land like a bomb. "What?"
"Fifteen years ago. A territory dispute that turned into a m******e. Marcus Blackwood led the attack himself. Killed my father and twenty others."
"But that would make you—"
"Seventeen when I took over the pack. Yes."
Seventeen. The same age I was when Maddox first noticed me.
"So this is about revenge."
"Everything is about revenge, eventually." He finishes his drink. "The difference is I'm patient. I've spent fifteen years building an empire Marcus Blackwood can't touch through legal channels. And now, his son has given me the perfect weapon."
"Me."
"You."
"I'm not a weapon. I'm just—"
"You're his mate. The one chosen for him by the goddess herself. And he threw you away for money and power." Dante steps closer, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Do you have any idea how that looks to the supernatural community? An Alpha rejecting his true mate for political gain?"
"It happens."
"Not publicly. Not like that. He humiliated you, yes. But he also showed everyone exactly what kind of Alpha he is. Weak. Controlled by others. Willing to sell his soul."
"While you're what? The noble Alpha who saves the rejected maiden?"
"No. I'm the monster who steals what he discarded. And that will drive him insane."
My phone buzzes. Except—I broke it. I look at the coffee table where a new phone sits, latest model, already set up.
"That was fast."
"I'm efficient."
I pick it up, seeing dozens of messages. Emma, my only real friend from Shadow Ridge. All variations of "ARE YOU OKAY?" and "WHERE ARE YOU?"
Then I see the others. Pack members I thought were friends, now calling me pathetic, saying I deserved it, that I should have known my place.
My hands shake.
Dante takes the phone, reading the messages. His jaw tightens. "Give me their names."
"Why?"
"They'll regret every word."
"No. I don't want—I'm not like you. I don't want revenge on everyone."
"Just him?"
"Just him."
He sets the phone down. "You're going to have to be stronger than this if we're going to pull this off."
"I just had my heart ripped out in front of hundreds of people. Sorry if I'm not immediately ready to play the part of your devoted wife."
"You have six days to get ready."
"Six days? You said a week."
"The wedding is in seven days. But the announcement goes out tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? That's too soon, he'll—"
"He'll what? Storm over here? Demand you back? That's exactly what I want." His eyes gleam with anticipation. "Let him come."
Luna stirs weakly inside me. 'This male is dangerous.'
'I know.'
'More dangerous than Maddox.'
'I know that too.'
"You're talking to your wolf," Dante observes.
"She's weak. The rejection—"
"Will fade once you accept the new bond."
"What new bond? We're not mates."
"No, but marking creates a bond. Not as strong as mates, but enough to override the rejection."
"You want to mark me?" My hand flies to my neck instinctively.
"Eventually. When you're ready. It would make the marriage more... convincing."
"And would I mark you?"
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise? "If you want."
"This is insane. This whole thing is insane."
"You said that already."
"It bears repeating."
He moves closer, and I back up until I hit the window. "Are you afraid of me, little wolf?"
Yes. But not in the way he thinks. I'm afraid of the way my body responds to his proximity, the way his scent—cedar and gunpowder—makes my head spin.
"Should I be?"
"Probably." His hand comes up, fingers barely grazing my cheek. "But I won't hurt you. You're too valuable."
"As a weapon."
"As my wife."
"Fake wife."
"Real wife. Fake marriage." His thumb traces my jaw. "There's a difference."
"Dante—"
"You should rest. The rejection is getting worse."
He's right. The poison is spreading, making me dizzy, weak. But I don't want to be alone. Not tonight.
"I don't think I can make it upstairs."
Without hesitation, he scoops me into his arms. I should protest, but I'm too tired, too broken.
"You don't have to carry me."
"Yes, I do."
He takes me upstairs, to a bedroom that's feminine without being pink—all soft grays and creams, with a bed that looks like clouds.
"This doesn't look like a guest room."
"It's not." He sets me on the bed. "It was meant for someone special."
"Who?"
"Someone worth keeping." He moves to the door. "There are pajamas in the drawer. Bathroom is through there. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
"Dante?" He pauses. "Why are you really doing this?"
He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer. "Because Marcus Blackwood took everything from me. Now I'm going to take everything from his son. Including the mate he threw away."
"And if I change my mind?"
"You won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
He turns back, and in the dim light, he looks like a beautiful nightmare. "Because you hate him as much as I do. You just haven't admitted it yet."
He leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
I collapse back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Six hours ago, I was getting ready for the pack gala, believing tonight would be when Maddox finally announced me as his Luna. Instead, I'm in the penthouse of his greatest enemy, about to enter into a fake marriage that might get me killed.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
"You think you can hide with him? You think that monster can protect you? You're mine, Selene. You'll always be mine. - M"
I delete it, but my hands shake. He rejected me. Publicly. Cruelly. He has no right to claim ownership now.
Another text comes through. This time with a photo—Maddox and Victoria at the gala, her showing off a massive engagement ring.
The rage that floods through me is unexpected. Pure, undiluted fury that makes Luna snarl despite her weakness.
I open my door, finding Dante at the bottom of the stairs, phone to his ear. He looks up, ending the call immediately.
"What's wrong?"
I show him the texts.
His expression goes lethal. "He threatened you?"
"It doesn't matter—"
"It matters." He takes my phone, doing something to it before handing it back. "He won't be able to contact you again."
"How did you—"
"I have my ways." He studies me. "You're angry."
"I'm furious."
"Good. Use it. Let it burn away the pain until all that's left is the desire to watch him fall."
"You really are a monster, aren't you?"
"Yes." No hesitation. No apology. "But I'm your monster now. And I protect what's mine."
The possession in his voice should terrify me. Instead, it makes me feel something else entirely.
Safe.
- Writer
