Sera's POV
The wine glass explodes against my forehead before I can dodge.
Pain erupts like lightning across my skull. Crimson liquid wine mixed with my own blood runs hot and sticky into my eye, blurring my vision into a haze of red and shadow. Through the scarlet blur, I see Lyra standing at the top of the marble staircase like some cruel goddess surveying her domain. Moonlight streaming through the mansion's towering windows catches the sequins on her silver dress, making her shimmer like something ethereal. Beautiful. Untouchable.
Her face wears that smile the one I've learned to fear more than her fists, more than her screaming, more than anything else in this house of horrors. It's the smile that says she's enjoying this. That my pain is her entertainment.
Oops, she says, examining her perfect nails with theatrical concern. Each one is painted pearl white, not a chip or imperfection in sight. My hand slipped.
I don't respond. Twenty-three years have taught me that responding only makes things worse. Always worse. Words give her ammunition. Tears give her satisfaction. Silence is the only shield I have left, thin and tattered as it is.
I drop to my knees on the cold marble floor the floor I scrubbed yesterday until my hands bled, the floor that never seems clean enough for Luna Victoria and start picking up the broken glass pieces with trembling fingers. Each shard catches the light like a tiny knife. Blood drips steadily from the gash above my eyebrow, mixing with the expensive wine in dark pools on the white stone. Red on white. Red on white. Another mess to clean. Another punishment for the crime of existing.
My hands shake so badly I can barely grasp the glass fragments. Twelve hours. It's been bleeding for twelve hours now, and it still hasn't stopped. Still fresh. Still open. Still marking me as different.
You missed a spot, Lyra calls down sweetly, her voice dripping with false concern that anyone else might mistake for kindness. But I know better. I've always known better.
Then she laughs that musical, tinkling sound that makes everyone in the pack love her, that makes Alpha fathers offer their sons as mates, that makes other females want to be her friend. To everyone else, it's the sound of joy. To me, it's the soundtrack of my nightmares.
She disappears down the hallway, her designer heels clicking on marble like a countdown to my next punishment. I don't watch her go. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
I grab a rag from my cleaning bucket the same bucket I've carried through this mansion since I was old enough to hold a mop and start scrubbing. The cut above my eyebrow throbs with each heartbeat, a metronome of pain keeping time with my miserable existence. Throb. Throb. Throb. It's been bleeding for twelve hours now. Twelve hours since Lyra threw the first glass, the one I managed to duck. This was the second attempt, and my reflexes, dulled by exhaustion and hunger, weren't fast enough.
Normal wolves would've healed this in minutes. Seconds, even, for the stronger ones. Their shifter blood would've closed the wound, knitted flesh back together, erased the pain like it never happened. By now, there wouldn't even be a scar. Just smooth, perfect skin and a fading memory of discomfort.
But I'm not a normal wolf.
I'm not a wolf at all.
Twenty-three years old and still completely, utterly, devastatingly human. No shift at thirteen like everyone else in the pack, no transformation that marked the passage from child to wolf. No healing abilities that would let me survive this constant abuse. No supernatural strength to fight back. No connection to the moon that would tell me I belong here, that I'm part of something greater than myself. In a pack of powerful shifters who can break bones with their bare hands and heal from nearly anything, I'm the biggest disappointment Alpha Marcus Blackwood has ever created.
His greatest shame. The worthless daughter. The mistake that killed the woman he loved.
Sera! My stepmother's voice cracks through the mansion like a whip, sharp and unforgiving. The sound makes me flinch despite my best efforts to remain still. The tables aren't set yet! What are you doing crawling around on the floor like some kind of animal?
I look up quickly, too quickly, and the world spins. Blood loss and three days without proper sleep make everything tilt sideways. Luna Victoria stands in the doorway of the ballroom, arms crossed over her expensive designer dress the navy blue one that cost more than I'll see in a lifetime. She's beautiful in that terrifying way that makes you think of ice sculptures and frozen lakes all sharp edges and cold, calculating eyes that see everything and forgive nothing. Just like her daughter. Just like Lyra, who learned cruelty at her mother's knee like other children learn nursery rhymes.
I'm cleaning, Luna, I say quietly, keeping my eyes down. Submission. Always submission. Never look an Alpha or Luna in the eye unless you want to be taught a lesson about your place in the hierarchy. Lyra dropped
I don't care what Lyra did. Victoria's voice could freeze fire, could stop hearts, could make grown wolves cower. I've seen it happen. The Moon Festival starts in four hours. If everything isn't absolutely perfect and I mean perfect, Sera, not your usual half-asleep attempts you won't eat for a week. Do you understand me?
My stomach is already empty, a hollow cave of hunger that hasn't been filled since yesterday morning when I stole a piece of bread from the kitchen before Cook arrived. The gnawing ache is a constant companion now, as familiar as breathing. But I nod obediently, making myself as small as possible. Yes, Luna. I understand.
She looks at me with disgust the same look she's given me every day since my father married her when I was seven years old. I see it in her eyes: worthless. Pathetic. Why won't you just disappear?
Then she leaves without another word, her heels clicking away like a death march.
I finish cleaning up the blood and wine, scrubbing until there's no trace left, until the marble gleams so brightly I can see my reflection in it pale face, hollow cheeks, eyes too large for my face, the gash on my forehead still oozing. Then I move quickly to the ballroom, my feet screaming with every step. So much left to do. Tables need decorating with the expensive linens Victoria ordered from the capital. Food needs arranging on platters. Lights need hanging from ceiling beams three stories high. I've been working for three straight days, barely sleeping, collapsing into my tiny attic room for an hour or two before Victoria's voice drags me back to consciousness with another task, another demand, another reminder that I'm only valuable for what I can do, not who I am.
My hands are covered in blisters from carrying heavy boxes of decorations up from storage. Some have popped, weeping clear fluid that makes everything I touch sting. My feet scream with every step, cramping and aching from standing for days on end. My whole body begs for rest, for food, for mercy that will never come.
But I can't stop. Not today. Not ever, really, but especially not today.
Today is the Moon Festival the biggest pack celebration of the year, the night when wolves run free under the full moon and bonds are strengthened and futures are decided. Every pack member will attend. Important Alphas from neighboring territories are coming, bringing their best warriors and eligible sons. The mansion must be perfect. The food must be perfect. Everything must be perfect, or Victoria will make sure I pay the price for every tiny flaw.
And Damien will be here.
The thought makes my heart skip, makes warmth bloom in my chest despite everything. Damien Cross. Beta's son. My childhood friend. The only person in this entire pack who's ever been kind to me, who's ever looked at me like I'm a person instead of a piece of furniture to be used and discarded. For ten years, he's been the light in my darkness, the hope that keeps me breathing when everything else tells me to give up.
We grew up together, the Beta's son and the Alpha's disappointing daughter. While other children played and shifted and trained for their futures, Damien would sit with me in the garden. Tell me stories. Make me laugh when I wanted to cry. He never cared that I couldn't shift. Never treated me like I was broken.
Maybe tonight he'll finally see me as more than the wolfless girl. Maybe tonight, under the full moon's magic, he'll realize that I could be his mate. That despite everything wrong with me, I could be enough for someone.
The hope is dangerous. I know that. Hope has disappointed me before. But I can't help it.
My father walks through the ballroom hours later, inspecting my work with critical eyes. Alpha Marcus Blackwood, tall and powerful, with silver streaking through his dark hair and eyes that look through me like I'm glass. He doesn't glance at me. He never does. To him, I'm just the daughter who killed his true mate during birth, the constant reminder of everything he lost the day I took my first breath. A mistake he can't forgive. A wound that won't heal.
He remarried Victoria within a year of my mother's death a practical choice, everyone said, an Alpha needs a Luna. She gave him Lyra perfect, powerful, everything I'm not within the first two years. Then Axel, my half-brother, who already shows Alpha strength at five years old, who can already shift, who will one day lead this pack.
And then there's me. Worthless. Powerless. Unwanted.
Hours blur together. The ballroom transforms under my bleeding hands elegant and beautiful and everything I'm not. Flowers everywhere. Candles flickering. Tables laden with food I helped prepare but will never be allowed to taste.
Finally, the party begins. Sunset paints the sky in shades of orange and gold as the first guests arrive. I change into my servant's uniform plain black dress, white apron, invisible clothes for an invisible girl and take my position. I serve drinks, silent and unseen, just another piece of the background. Hundreds of wolves dance under the lights I hung, laugh at jokes I can't hear, live lives I'll never have.
Then I see him.
Damien.
He's handsome in his formal suit, dark hair styled perfectly, strong jaw and kind eyes. When he laughs with his friends, my heart squeezes so hard it hurts. This is what love feels like, isn't it? This ache? This longing?
His eyes meet mine across the crowded room, and the world stops. Everything else fades the music, the laughter, the pain in my hands and feet. Just him. Just this moment.
He smiles and walks toward me, cutting through the crowd like it's nothing.
Sera. His voice is warm, familiar, home. You look nice tonight.
I almost drop my tray. Almost shatter every glass I'm carrying. Thank you. The words come out breathless, hopeful, stupid.
Can we talk later? After the announcements? He glances around like he's checking if anyone's watching, then his hand finds mine, squeezes gently. His touch is warm, solid, real. I have something important to tell you.
My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I think everyone must hear it. Yes. Yes, of course.
He squeezes my hand once more, his smile soft and almost sad, then leaves. I watch him go, hope blooming in my chest like flowers in spring.
Maybe tonight everything changes.
The music stops an hour later. Father takes the stage, commanding instant silence with just his presence. Everyone, may I have your attention. Beta Cross's son has an important announcement to make.
Damien steps onto the platform, smiling wide, looking happier than I've ever seen him. The tray in my hands trembles. My breath catches. Is he going to say my name? Is this the moment I've been waiting for?
I've found my chosen mate, he announces, voice carrying across the silent room.
My heart stops. Actually stops. Everything freezes the world, time, my ability to breathe.
Lyra Blackwood, would you join me?
No.
The word screams through my mind but doesn't make it past my lips.
Lyra glides forward in her silver dress, radiant and cruel and victorious. She takes his hand. Tilts her face up for a kiss that he gives freely, passionately, like he means it.
Like he's in love with her.
The crowd erupts in cheers. Applause. Celebration.
I stand frozen, the tray slipping from my numb fingers. Glass shatters. The sound cuts through the celebration like a gunshot.
Everyone stops. Stares at me.
Clumsy as always, Lyra says sweetly, looking directly at me with triumph blazing in her eyes. Sera, clean that up.
Laughter. Everywhere. Mocking. Cruel.
I run. Through the ballroom. Past the staring wolves. Out into the cool night air. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process what just happened.
I stumble into the forest beyond the festival grounds, tears blinding me, branches tearing at my clothes and skin. I don't care. I just need to get away. Need to be anywhere but here.
Behind a massive oak tree, I stop to catch my breath. To stop the world from spinning. To understand how everything could fall apart so completely in the span of a single announcement.
That's when I hear them.
Voices. Familiar voices.
Damien. Lyra.
I peek around the tree, some masochistic part of me needing to see, and my already shattered heart breaks all over again.
They're kissing. Deep and passionate and real.
This isn't duty. This is want.
Then Lyra pulls back, giggling like this is the best night of her life.
And I hear the words that will haunt me forever.