No More The Alpha's Backup Girl

Chapter 2

Damon insisted on showing me the new den the next morning. Lakefront lot. Pale stone walls. Blackthorn sigils carved into every gatepost. The kind of place that screamed power, money, bloodline.

I reached for the front passenger seat of the carriage. Damon caught my elbow. "That's Luna's spot. She's riding with us."

Of course she was. Luna appeared from the manor entrance like she'd been waiting on cue. Damon got the door for her out of long habit. "She wants to scout a quiet wing for her pack archives. She'll sit in on the walkthrough."

I climbed in back. The leather seat was cold. "Fine."

They talked charity hunts and pack politics the whole ride, Luna's voice lilting, Damon's rumbling back. I watched the backs of their heads and it hit me: I'd never even made the back seat. I was a note in the margin, a footnote, the afterthought somebody pencils in and forgets.

Luna fell for the upstairs master chamber the second she caught the lake breeze. "The light in here is perfect," she breathed, her wolf rising to the surface. "My scrolls would never degrade. Look at that sunrise angle."

Damon barely glanced at the room. "Take it. I'll have the builders turn it into your private archive. Come by whenever."

I stood in the doorway, claws digging into my own palms. Damon hadn't shown up for a single planning meeting on this den. And now he was handing over the master suite like it was nothing.

They both turned to me, a matched set of pleased faces. "Selene," Luna cooed, "you don't mind, right?"

I looked at Damon. "That's the main chamber for the binding. You know that."

He shrugged one shoulder. "'Main' doesn't really mean much. Luna's archive needs the climate control. You can take the room downstairs. It's closer to the storage caves anyway."

I uncurled my fists. "Do whatever you want."

Damon patted my head. "That's my Selene."

I stepped out from under his hand. He didn't even clock it.

The bridal tailor called us in an hour later. My three binding robes were ready. Luna hooked her arm through mine. "Let me help you choose. You always dress too plain. You need something that catches the light for your binding."

She sounded so sincere. She always sounded sincere.

I was halfway into the ivory reception robe when Luna's communication stone pulsed. She read it and gasped. "Oh, no. My ceremonial dinner gown got wrecked at the cleaner's. I've got an engagement with the Silvervein Elder's mate tonight, and nothing to wear."

Damon scanned the tailor's displays. "Pick something here."

The staff brought out a dozen gowns. He waved them all off. Then his eyes snagged on me. "That one. Ivory suits Luna's coloring. She'll look flawless. Give it to her."

The tailor's jaw dropped. "Alpha Blackthorn, that's Miss Selene's custom reception robe. She came in nineteen times just for the waist. She hand-stitched the runes herself."

Damon looked at me like a piece of furniture that had suddenly started talking. He didn't see the problem. In his head, Luna needed it. So Luna got it.

I stared at my reflection. The white fabric hung half-laced. I felt nothing. Not hurt, not anger. Just a hollow spot where my heart used to be.

I peeled the robe off and handed it to my sister. "Take it. You'll look stunning."

Damon blinked. Then his face softened. "That's better. I'll help you pick something even nicer." His voice said the words. His eyes never left Luna. He crouched at her feet, fixing every fold of the ivory fabric, straightening the rune-stitching I'd spent hours getting right.

I used to dream about that exact picture. Him at my feet. His hands on my robe.

I'd come to this shop twenty-three times. Damon showed up once, skimmed his trade ledgers the whole visit, and told the staff to handle the fittings—"that's what they're paid for." Now he was on his knees for Luna.

I tasted the price of every fantasy I'd ever let myself have.

We went back to Ashford Manor for dinner. It was my birthday. Luna's too. Damon ordered the cake himself and set it on the table, one box. "You two share a birthday. One cake's practical. Efficient, right?"

The cake gleamed with moon-sugar frosting and silver-thorn berries. Luna's favorite. Those berries would swell my throat shut and blister my skin. Everybody knew. Nobody said a word.

Damon jammed the candles into the frosting and set a silver crown on Luna's head. "Luna goes first."

"Damon," I said, my voice flat as slate. "You used to order two cakes. Why just one tonight?"

The table went quiet.

"Why am I always last?"

He frowned. "We've done it this way for years. Why are you picking a fight tonight?"

My mother's voice came down like a blade. "Your sister's earned the honor. She's always been the one who excels. If you had half her gift, you could lead."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. There was nothing left to say. They were never going to hear me.

Luna shut her eyes, made her wish, and blew. Everyone sang. Damon's voice was warm and low. By the time the song ended, the candles were stubs.

Damon glanced at them. "No more candles. The wish is just ceremonial anyway. Selene can do hers next year."

Twenty years of next years. Not one of them ever came.

A maid brought me a slice from the untouched edge, no berries. Then my mother turned to the binding banquet. "Selene, are the menus locked in?" Before I could answer, she'd already turned to Damon. "Your guest list has the Northern elders and the territory lords. Luna's refugee-pup initiative could really use the coverage the binding would bring."

Damon nodded right away. "Consider it done. We'll cut the vow segment and let Luna present her foundation work instead."

Luna raised a hand in protest. "No, I don't want to overshadow Selene's day."

Damon's face went serious. "If you're presenting, you're presenting right. I'll set up the projection, the donation seals, the media rotation."

My binding. Their fundraiser. Nobody asked me.

I couldn't breathe. I said I had a headache and slipped upstairs. Down below, they crowded around Luna's award livestream, holding their breath.

I packed my things. Barely anything fit in the bag—mostly Luna's castoffs, saved and made over. I packed my sketchbook. My leather carving tools. My stitching awl.

Cheers went up downstairs. Luna had won. My mother shrieked. My father clapped. Damon said, "I always knew you'd take it."

Then Luna's wounded little voice drifted up. "But the ceremony lands on Selene's binding day. You'll all be with her. I'll be alone on that stage."

A beat of silence. Then Damon. "You won't be alone."