The hallway was usually warm, filled with the smell of old books and the cedarwood incense Caleb loved. Tonight, it felt like a tomb. Elara walked slowly, her grip tight on the silver tray she carried. On it sat two cups of jasmine tea, the steam rising in thin, lazy curls. She had spent the last hour overthinking the perfect way to tell him the news, her heart doing little flips against her ribs. Caleb had been so stressed with pack business lately that she just wanted to be his peace.
When she reached the heavy oak doors of their private study, she stopped. The air didn't smell like cedar anymore. It was sharp. Pungent. A floral musk that was way too sweet, like rotting lilies. It was a scent that didn't belong to Elara, and it definitely didn't belong to anyone in his family.
She pushed the door just an inch, expecting to see him hunched over pack ledgers. Instead, the sight stopped her breath. Caleb was there, but he wasn't alone. He was pressed against the mahogany desk, his hands tangled in the hair of a woman Elara didn't recognize.
The betrayal wasn't just in the act. It was in the details. Draped over the edge of the guest chair was a silk scarf. It was deep crimson with silver embroidery, the unmistakable mark of the Crescent Moon clan.
The sight triggered a memory from two weeks ago that made Elara's stomach turn. She remembered finding that exact same fabric tucked under the passenger seat of Caleb's car while she was looking for her phone. She had held it up, confused by the scent, her mind racing.
"It is just a gift for your grandfather, Elara," he had told her then, his voice smooth as silk. He had pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead with a warmth that felt so genuine it made her feel guilty for even asking. "The clan sent over samples for the gala. Do not overthink it, beautiful. You know I only have eyes for you."
She had believed him. She had felt like a fool for doubting the man who treated her like a queen. The man who had spent months proving his love with soft words and late night promises. That man was a lie.
"I know you are there, Elara."
His voice didn't sound like the husband she loved. It was cold. Deep. It had a growl underneath it that made the hair on her arms stand up. He didn't even look up from the woman's neck, but his shoulders shifted with a predatory grace. He could smell her fear. He could hear her pulse racing like a trapped bird.
Elara didn't scream. She didn't throw the tea. She was like a ghost, moving with a silence she didn't know she possessed. She set the tray on the floor with terrifying precision and backed into the shadows of the corner.
She saw his eyes flash gold in the dim light as he finally turned his head. The "sweet, caring" Caleb was gone. In his place was a wolf who realized his prey had finally seen the truth.
Elara didn't wait for him to speak. She turned and bolted for the back stairs, her mind screaming one thing.
Run.