Elara. The last echoes of the severing bond faded, and Damien gnashed his teeth. A cruel smile twisted his lips, his voice dripping with mockery. “Did you really think the Moon Mother would pair me with someone like you? A cursed, wolfless burden?” Laughter rippled through the ballroom. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I had prayed the Moon Mother would finally show me mercy tonight. Instead, she had delivered me to the wolves. Now, the entire werewolf society knew. I was cursed. Unwanted. I would never be accepted. Not by any pack, and certainly not by my own family, who had been the first to cast me out. Tears stung my eyes, hot and sharp, but I refused to let them fall. I watched Damien take that woman’s hand, the two of them taking a few steps back as if I were a contagion. No. I would not cry. Not in front of them. Not in front of him. But just as the wave of humiliation began to crest, it got worse. My pheromones surged, a wild, uncontrollable wave of my own scent—the scent of a female in distress. Immediately, heads snapped in my direction. Some of the men turned sharply, low snarls rumbling in their chests. Others went rigid, their pupils dilating as their primal instincts flared in response. A man at the bar let out a harsh breath. Another’s knuckles went white around his glass. One wolf even took an involuntary step toward me before catching himself. The whispers shifted, taking on a new, dangerous edge. “Gods, she smells incredible…” “That’s not natural. What is wrong with her?” “Get a grip on yourselves! The Alpha is watching!” “Can you believe the nerve? Releasing a scent like that seconds after being rejected.” “She’s trying to drive every man in this room mad with those untamed pheromones!” “What a disgrace to the Silvercrest Pack.” “I’d rather be childless than have a cursed daughter like Elara.” “My heart goes out to the Vance family. Imagine the shame she brings them.” Panic seized me. No, no, not now. My hand flew to my clutch, fumbling for the perfume bottle I used to mask this curse. But before I could reach it, a cruel hand ripped the veil from my head. Gasps echoed through the hall. Cold air hit my cheek—the one with the jagged, ugly scar that ruined the face I once had. It was on full display for everyone to see. I had no time to react before a voice sneered, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. “Horny whore!” The laughter that followed was like a wildfire, sharp and suffocating. The sound was a physical blow, each chuckle a new cut. “How dare you try to seduce men with a face like that?” Victoria, daughter of Alpha Alaric of the Nightshade Pack, sneered. She had been my nightmare in college, and she stood before me now, her eyes blazing. She was the one who had ripped away my veil, her expression a mask of fury. A fury I knew well: the rage of a woman seeing me command the attention of men she could never hope to attract, scar and all. I felt naked, disoriented, vulnerable. My breath hitched, the first signs of a panic attack setting in, but Victoria wasn't finished. She was determined to drown me in a humiliation deeper than any I had known since the night the Shadowbane Curse first marked me. Victoria jabbed a finger at my chest. When I refused to answer, only gathering the courage to turn away, she acted. I bent to retrieve my veil, and a hard shove from behind sent me sprawling. I hit the polished floor with a graceless slide. A sharp gasp of pain escaped me as my hipbone cracked against the hard tile. The mockery intensified, a storm of pointing fingers and disdainful glares. Tears burned at the edges of my vision, but I held them back. Not for them. Not for this pack that had already forsaken me. One day, they would regret this. From the corner of my eye, I saw my father’s fists clench. He stood across the room, watching as his daughter was humiliated before a hundred pairs of eyes. To my shock, he started toward me. He was coming to my rescue, not out of love—I knew better than to hope for that—but out of pride. I was his daughter, a public disgrace that reflected on him, the Beta of the Silvercrest Pack. But my brother, Kevin, materialized at his side, his hand clamping down on our father’s arm, stopping him cold. My father’s brow furrowed in a silent demand for an explanation. Kevin just shook his head, mouthing a single, silent plea. Don’t. He was telling our father to abandon me, his sister, to the mercy of the crowd in the middle of the Silvermoon Gala. The ache in my chest became a searing agony. My vision blurred, but I fought the tears back with the last shred of dignity I had left. I wanted to run, to disappear. But my body was frozen to the floor. Trapped in a haze of shame and pain, my own raging pheromones suffocating me, my breath caught. The world swam out of focus. Then a new scent cut through the chaos—not just any scent, but one of raw power, of absolute command. A scent that could stop a wolf's heart, that could force an Alpha to his knees. A dead silence fell over the ballroom. A deep, cold voice sliced through it. “What the hell is going on here?” My heart stopped. Victoria’s smirk vanished. The crowd parted like a receding tide, and there he stood. Draven Blackwood. The Alpha of the Obsidian Moon Pack. The future Werewolf King. And, without question, the most dangerous man in the room. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit that did little to hide the sheer breadth of his frame. His golden eyes swept the room with an icy disinterest, until they landed on me. The world didn't just stop. It ceased to exist. And my pheromones—the wild, untamed storm I could never control—vanished. They didn’t just fade; they submitted, extinguished as if by a will far greater than my own. Then Alpha Draven began to walk toward me, and the air left my lungs. I forgot how to breathe.

Chapter 2: Her Pain Smelled Sweet