Third Person’s POV


    Ulrik strode in, his cedar pheromones carrying undeniable aura.


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    He helped Gloria up and handed her a stack of checks. “I’ve returned the ruby set. Take the money back.“.


    “Ulrik, are you insane?”


    Rosemary leaped to her feet in a fury, her cedar pheromones slicing through the air like des. “Returning jewelry you’ve bought disgraces us all! The Bloodmoon Pack’s reputation is being trampled by you!”


    “Take it back! I won’t return it!”


    Sabrina, catching her breath, lunged at Ulrik. Her silver–gray ws gleamed as she pummeled his chest, her sulfurous pheromones erupting like mes.


    Ulrik stood rigid, unfazed by her assault. His face was a mask of indifference, and his cedar pheromones hung heavy, frozen and unyielding.


    He was sick of this life.


    Gloria stood dazed, checks in hand, tears forgotten.


    After a few moments of hammering away at Ulrik, Sabrina spun around and lunged toward Gloria, her lupine ws almost slicing through the air as she made a grab for the check in Gloria’s hand.


    Gloria instantly concealed the check behind her back, took several steps backward, and said vigntly, “What are you trying to do?”


    “It’s mine! You bought it for me!”


    Sabrina screamed, fury reddening her eyes, sulfurous pheromones piercing.


    “I regret it,” Gloria said tly, voice unchanging.


    Did she regret buying the ruby set, or joining the pack?


    She couldn’t tell. This wasn’t the life she wanted.


    The Bloodmoon Pack was a corrupt swamp she’d fallen into.


    Her second mating wasn’t her choice.


    Mrs. Voss had arranged it, and her mother had exined the stakes: refusal could harm Tad’s future.


    Back then, she’d been lonely, expectingpanionship like in her past rtionship.


    She thought Ulrik would be that person, but he wasn’t.


    The Bloodmoon Pack was iparable to the Hutchinson family.


    At the Hutchinsons‘, everyone was easy–going, treating her like family.


    Their pheromones carried pine–resin warmth, never threatening.


    But the Bloodmoon Pack was a wolfsbane–soaked bramble, filled with hostility.


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    Rosemary’s icy cedar pheromones, Sabrina’s sweet but toxic floral scent, and curses mixed with wolfish howls made the packhouse air tremble.


    Gloria’s neck nd suddenly throbbed.


    She clutched the check, wolf–tipped fingers leaving marks, and left, the draft lifting the wolf–head banner.


    In the lounge, she sat numbly.


    That evening, Sabrina’s howls finally faded, her sugary–yet–barbed pheromones dissipating into the air.


    . Gloria leaned on the sofa, jasmine and salty tears mixing.


    Her neck’s moon mark tingled–the remnant of Ulrik’s mark, now mocking her.


    She felt so wronged. Even if Ulrik’s cedar–scentedfort had brushed her nape, or a flicker of hesitation had crossed his eyes, she would have felt some relief.


    But Ulrik didn’t stay.


    After Rosemary and Sabrina left, an omega told her, “Luna Gloria, Alpha Ulrik’s with Velda.”


    Gloria wept bitterly. “Why? What did she do? Why treat her like this?”


    She’d rather he slept in the study than be with Velda.


    Her nd ached from Sabrina’s aura, yet he went to Velda.


    Did he have even a little space for her?


    And Velda’s disfigured half–face, mottled with wolfsbane–like greenish–ck, and the grotesque scar where her ear had been torn off, made her look like a wolf that had been torn apart on the steppe.


    He would rather be with such a shewolf thane to her…


    Gloria’s nails dug into her palm, blue–silver blood mingling with tears.


    Ulrik sat in Velda’s room, with nowhere else to go.


    He had been staying in the study for several days, enjoying the tranquility it offered. But thiste–night quiet filled him with dread.


    Memories of his past wrong decisions haunted him relentlessly.


    As if to prove those decisions right, he had pushed open Velda’s door tonight.


    Yet sitting face–to–face with her, images of her cruelty surfaced, churning his stomach and bringing


    nausea.


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    “You despise me,” Velda said coldly, ws glinting in the candlelight.


    Her mint pheromones stabbed to Ulrik.


    She sensed his cedar pheromones‘ hidden revulsion.


    Since his return from the battlefield, his cedar scent never sought her mint. Only when she raised hell did it respond, half–wolfish aura forcing him to react.


    Velda knew the pack’s recent chaos.


    She enjoyed the spectacle, the fools‘ strife.


    Look, without lifting a finger, Ulrik came, reeking of self–contradiction–loathing yet drawn near.