BLOOD BEFORE THE BOND

CHAPTER 2

Liora's POV

I was already on my knees before I made the conscious decision to move.

My hands shook as I gathered the broken pieces from the floor, reaching for fragment after fragment scattered across the stone. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll get this cleaned up—" The words came out automatically, the old reflex of a girl who had learned early that the fastest way to make a bad moment stop was to make herself useful inside it.

The room hadn't fully returned to its celebration. I could feel eyes still on my back, that particular weight of a crowd that has found something more interesting than whatever they were doing before.

The whispers started low. They always do.

“She actually thought she deserved to be his Luna. How pathetic.”

“Did you see her face? I almost felt sorry for her.”

“The Alpha used to keep her around before all this. Imagine actually thinking that meant something."

Each one landed cleanly. I had spent years building walls against exactly this kind of thing, and they still got through every time. I blinked hard and kept reaching for the glass, refusing to let the tears come, not in front of people who were already enjoying the show.

Then a larger piece bit into my palm.

The pain was sharp and immediate. I pulled my hand back and watched, almost detached, as blood welled up and dripped onto the floor.

"Ma'am, please." Philip was beside me, already kneeling, his voice steady in the way it always was. A younger girl I didn't know well appeared on my other side, reaching for the remaining pieces without being asked.

“I've got it,” I said. “I'm fine.”

“Ma'am, your hand”

“I said I've got it." My voice cracked at the end. I couldn't stop it.

Philip stayed close without pushing. Between the three of us, the glass was cleared quickly, and I stood, pressing my injured hand against my chest, the wine stain on my dress already drying into the fabric. I didn't look up to see who was still watching. I turned and walked toward the hallway as fast as I could without making it look like running.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind me and I finally let go.

I ran cold water over the cut and watched it turn pink in the sink, and the tears came before I could do anything about them. Fast, silent, the kind that streaked down your face no matter how many times you wiped them away. My chest heaved with the effort of keeping quiet, of making sure none of it leaked through the door to anyone passing in the hallway outside.

I gripped the edge of the sink and let myself fall apart for exactly as long as I could afford to.

His hand in hers. Fingers laced together. The same way he used to hold mine.

Eventually the tears slowed on their own. I splashed cold water on my face, patted it dry, wrapped a strip of cloth from the cabinet around my palm. I stared at my reflection — red eyes, wine-stained dress, makeshift bandage — and told myself that hiding in a bathroom wasn't going to fix a single thing.

I pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway.

Elder Mauve was standing right outside it.

“Liora," she said. Smooth. Unsurprised. Like she had been waiting.

"Elder Mauve." I straightened immediately, the old instinct snapping into place before I could think about it.

Her eyes moved over me slowly. The stain on my dress, the bandage on my hand, my still-puffy eyes and something in her expression settled, like she was confirming something she had already decided.

"I think it's best you stay away from Kaius from now on," she said simply.

I stared at her. “Excuse me.”

“He has a mate now. A real one. Someone who belongs beside him in front of the council and the pack.” Her voice was perfectly even, the kind of voice that delivered cruelty without raising itself. “I would hate for you to embarrass yourself further, or to embarrass this household with whatever it is you think is still happening between you two.”

“Nothing is started.”

“Everyone in that hall saw exactly what they needed to see," she cut in. “You should be grateful, Liora. You were pulled out of the breeder's quarters and given a room in this house when nobody was required to do that for you. You have been treated far better than someone in your position should expect."

Someone in my position.

"You are worthless without this pack's generosity," she continued, her gaze dropping once to my bandaged hand before returning to my face. "Do not make this harder than it needs to be."

She didn't wait for my response. She turned and walked away, her heels steady and unhurried against the stone floor, until the sound of them faded completely, and I was standing alone in the hallway with her words sitting in my chest like stones.

Worthless. Generosity. Someone in your position.

I stood there for a long moment, not moving, not quite able to think past the ringing in my ears.

I made myself go back.

Hiding would only give people more to say, and I had given them enough tonight. I stepped back into the main hall and found a spot near the wall, a glass of water in my hand this time, something to hold that I couldn't drop.

The celebration had settled into something warmer and more comfortable, the initial excitement softening into music and conversation. Near the front of the room, Kaius stood with his arm around Selene's waist, leaning down to say something close to her ear. Whatever it was made her laugh and lean into him, and the people around them watched with the satisfied approval of a pack that believed things were finally as they should be.

He looked completely at ease.

He looked like a man who had never held my face in his hands and said the words he said to me four days ago.

I watched for as long as I could stand it.

Then something stopped me from leaving.

Selene laughed again at something Kaius said — but this time I was close enough to see her eyes. They didn't match her smile. They were somewhere else entirely, focused on a fixed point across the room with the flat, careful look of someone performing an emotion they didn't feel.

I followed her gaze.

She was staring at the door.

Not the way someone stares at an exit they want to use. The way someone stares at something they know they are never going to be allowed to reach.

I set my glass down slowly.

That was not a woman who had just found the person she was meant to be with.

That was a woman who was trapped.

And for the first time since the glass shattered at my feet, the grief sitting in my chest shifted slightly — made room for something quieter and more dangerous.

A question.