MAYA’S POV
“Where are you going?” Ethan called after , his voice low and sharp as he pointed behind him. “The party’s that way.”
I scoffed, stepping out onto the garden terrace behind the hall. The party was still going strong inside—laughter, clinking glasses, the occasional clatter of silverware—but it all sounded like botherso static in my ears.
“You’re sorely mistaken if you think I’m going back to take any part in that farce.”
Ethan frowned. “Maya, this is my sister’s party. You have to learn to respect my family.”
I blinked at him for a long, incredulous mont, and his frown deepened. “What?”
“You’re doing it again,” I said.
“Doing what?”
“Acting like she’s not your family, too.”
“Who—Sera?”
“Yes, Sera!”
He shook his head, his lips flattening. “Why the hell are we talking about Sera again?”
“Are you kidding right now?” I hissed. “After seeing that bullshit your mother and Celeste pulled, you want to stay for the rest of the party?”
Ethan exhaled, rolling his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” I let out a sharp laugh. “You watched them ambush her. You let it happen. Your sister practically held a knife to Sera’s throat, and your mother—don’t even get started on that fucking vindictive speech. And you just stood there.”
“Sera wasn’t ambushed.” His voice was too calm, too controlled. “My mother was trying to keep the peace. That’s what she’s always done—what my father wanted before he died.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You think that was peacekeeping?”
“She’s trying to hold this family together,” he said. “To honor my father. You don’t get it, Maya.”
“You’re right!” I snapped. “I don’t fucking get it.”
“Maya—”
“I don’t get how you can talk to about holding your family together when you all treat Sera like she’s a cancerous tumor that needs to be cut out. She’s your sister, too, Ethan—and the fact that you act this way is pretty fucking disgusting.”
His eyes narrowed. “Watch it.”
“No,” I said, stepping toward him. “You watch it. You want to respect your family when they treat Seraphina like garbage? Fuck that!”
His hand ca up—fast, firm, wrapping around my wrist before I could react. His grip wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either. It was possessive.
“You will be my Luna one day,” he said, eyes boring into mine. “You will respect my family.”
I chafed against the command in his tone. “And what if I decide that I don’t want to be your Luna?”
His eyes hardened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “If you really care about Seraphina,” he said, voice tight, “then becoming my Luna might be the only way you can protect her.”
I stared at him, and for a second, I was so stunned, I couldn’t breathe.
“I’m sorry...” I shook my head. “I’m having a hard ti figuring out if you just threatened , threatened Sera, or made a fucking power play over when you know—"
When Ethan’s mouth crashed into mine, it stole the thoughts clean out of my head.
I didn’t fight it—not right away.
My mind went quiet as the mate bond pulsed between us like a lullaby, sedating everything bitter and angry inside .
Without consciously aning to, I kissed him back. I gave in to the heat, the electricity crackling between us like a lightning storm.
His hand gripped my waist, pulling him to . My arms automatically wrapped around his neck, pressing our chests together.
I moaned as his tongue slipped into my mouth, claiming, dominating. For a mont, I forgot my anger and indignation, and all that mattered to was the kiss—the desire suddenly blasting through my synapses.
This was different from all the other tis Ethan and I had been intimate. The magnetic attraction between us was always there, but this felt like...a leash. Like I wasn’t in control of my actions, like I had absolutely no choice but to kiss him.
I felt it then—that edge of control. The way Ethan shifted closer, deepened the kiss, like he was claiming the last word in our argunt. Like he was putting a period at the end of my sentence.
He wasn’t kissing to comfort .
He was kissing to shut up.
And the bastard was using our mate bond to make sure it worked.
I shoved him back hard, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
I was suddenly cold where his hands had been, but I shot him the fiercest glare I could summon. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”
Ethan looked stunned—offended, even. And that pissed off more because he had no right to feel that way.
“Do that again,” I hissed, “and you’re going to be a very lonely Alpha. If you can’t have a fucking conversation without manipulating our bond to your advantage, then do a favor and never speak to again.”
He opened his mouth, but I didn’t wait to hear whatever sanctimonious thing he was about to say.
I turned and walked away, my heels crunching over the gravel with every furious step.
SERAPHINA’S POV
I didn’t realize how loud the night had been until I finally stepped into the silence of my ho.
Lucian followed in, his presence steady and quiet behind . I hadn’t ant to take up more of his ti—but when I turned to say goodbye, the words never made it past my lips.
I didn’t want to be left alone. If I were, the mories—the weight of the watching eyes, the scent of the cloying perfus, the ugly, panicky feeling—they’d all return and ruin my night.
“Stay?” I asked instead.
He nodded without hesitation.
I left the lights dim as we moved into the sitting room. I turned on the fireplace, and the soft amber glow gave the space a warmth that soothed my ntal aches.
I curled up on the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath , my dress tangling between. Lucian sat a little ways off, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
I knew I should offer him sothing to eat or drink, be a good host, but I felt so ntally drained, and I knew that Lucian never expected to be anything other than what I was.
For a long ti, we didn’t say anything. I just let the comfort of his presence wash over .
“Is ‘how are you?’ a ridiculous question?” he asked after a while.
A light laugh fell out of as I turned to look at him. “Probably.”
His eyes were fixed on the fire, the flas dancing in the pools of his irises.
“I hated seeing you like that,” he added, softer now. “Surrounded by people pretending you don’t exist unless you’re useful or a spectacle. You deserve more than that.”
I shrugged. “It’s whatever.”
“No, Sera.” He slid closer and took my hand in his. “It’s not whatever. I don’t ever want you to let anyone make you believe you deserve to be treated as anything less than the amazing, strong queen you are.”
The words undid sothing in . I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until I exhaled—shaky and slow.
“Why?” I whispered.
His brows furrowed. “Why what?”
I shrugged lightly. “It just seems like you care about a lot, and I don’t understand why soone like you would.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand why you would be confused. How do you not see yourself the way I see you?”
Emotion lodged in my throat. “And...how do you see ?”
Lucian didn’t answer. Instead, slowly, he reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His knuckles brushed my cheek.
It was barely a touch.
But sothing lit up between us.
Neither of us moved at first.
Our eyes locked, and I could feel my pulse skittering in my throat. There was no demand in his gaze, no heat pressuring forward—just quiet permission.
And then he kissed .
I froze slightly, my breath hitching. The warmth of his lips was foreign, but...nice.
I thought about my conversation with Maya, how disappointed I felt when I woke up in her house the morning after Lucian and I had been drinking together.
I didn’t want to wake up tomorrow and regret not saying sothing—doing sothing.
So I leaned in and kissed him back.
It was slow, almost hesitant at first, as if he was giving every chance to pull away.
His lips brushed mine like a question rather than a demand, warm and careful. There was no rush, no claiming—just presence.
It didn’t burn through , didn’t send my heart racing like a prized stallion—not like Kieran’s kiss.
I deepened it slowly, my hands finding the soft fabric of his shirt. He responded with a soft inhale, his hands still at his sides like he was afraid to move too soon.
When he did finally touch , it was with steady, respectful hands. One palm at my jaw, the other at the curve of my neck, like I was a fragile thing he feared would break.
I could feel his resistance, his reverence, and I was just about to speak—to tell him that it was okay to be a little assertive, I didn’t mind a little heat; I wanted this, wanted him.
But then the shrill sound of my phone shattered the mont.
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