In the world of the Shifters, your scent is your soul. Mine smelled like fading lilies and copper—the scent of a wolf that was dying before she had even truly lived.
"Fold, Julian. Your scent reeks of desperation, and your credit just bled out on the floor."
The voice belonged to Silas Thorne—the High Alpha of the Shadow-Crest Pack. He was the apex predator of the tri-state territories, a man who ruled both the boardroom and the forest with a cold, terrifying efficiency. He sat across the table, draped in his chair, a single black chip dancing between his knuckles.
"I'm not out," Julian hissed, his eyes bloodshot. He reached for his bourbon, his hand shaking so hard the ice clattered against the glass.
I stepped forward, my fingers digging into the velvet upholstery of Julian's chair. I was the Luna of the Silver-Moon Pack, a title that should have commanded respect. Instead, I was a ghost.
"Julian, please," I whispered, my voice cracked. "We've lost enough. The pack tithes, the land deeds… let's just go home."
My husband's head snapped toward me. Julian was a Beta-born Alpha, a man who had inherited a title he didn't have the strength to hold. He reached back and gripped my forearm, his fingers bruising the skin. I didn't heal. I hadn't healed properly since I was a child.
"Shut your mouth, Seraphina," he snarled. "I'm losing because your pathetic, dormant wolf is a curse on my luck. Stand back."
He shoved me. I stumbled, my hip hitting a marble side-table. None of the men at the table blinked. They knew my story. I was the 'Charity Case.' The stray pup Julian's grandfather had 'found' in the woods twenty years ago and forced into a betrothal to 'strengthen' the line.
But the strength never came. My wolf was a shivering, silent thing that had never shifted. Julian hated me for it. He refused to give me the mating bite, leaving my neck bare and shameful, claiming he was waiting for his 'true' mate while I dragged his reputation through the mud.
"I need a stake," Julian muttered, turning back to Silas. "One hand. All or nothing. Five million."
Silas Thorne finally looked up. He didn't look at Julian; he looked at me. His amber eyes caught the light, glowing with a faint, predatory gold. His nostrils flared, catching the scent of the bruise forming on my arm.
"You don't have five million, Julian," Silas said flatly. "And I don't take markers from a man who can't control his own bitch."
The word should have stung, but I was too tired to feel it. I felt... heavy. My stomach was in a familiar, agonizing knot, the 'Weak Wolf Syndrome' the pack healers said was my birthright. They gave me sweet syrups every morning to keep the pain away, but tonight, the pain was a roar.
Julian saw the way Silas was watching me. A sick, desperate grin spread across his lips. He knew Silas had been his rival for years, always one step ahead.
"You've always wanted to humiliate me, Thorne. You want the one thing I have that you don't?" Julian grabbed my chin, forcing me to face the table. "She's a dud. A wolf who can't even howl. But she's high-born blood, according to the old records. I'll bet her."
The room went deathly silent. Betting a Luna—even a broken one—was a crime against the Moon.
"Julian, no!" I choked out, trying to pull away.
Slap.
The sound cracked through the room. My head snapped to the side, my vision turning white.
"I told you to be quiet," Julian hissed, leaning over me. "If Thorne wins, he gets you for a year. A 'service contract.' He can use you as a maid, a servant... whatever he wants. He pays my debt, and I get a year of peace from your pathetic face."
I looked at Silas, my heart hammering. I expected him to be disgusted. I expected him to invoke the Council Laws and have Julian exiled.
Instead, Silas Thorne leaned forward, his gaze darkening with a terrifying focus. He didn't look like a savior. He looked like a man who had just spotted a legendary prize in a heap of trash.
"A year of total service?" Silas asked, his voice a low, vibrating growl.
"Total," Julian smirked.
Silas didn't answer. He simply flipped his cards.
A Royal Flush.
Julian's grin died. The color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse. "No... no, I had three Kings! You cheated!"
Silas stood up, his towering frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the entire room. His Alpha aura flooded the space, heavy and thick like ozone. My weak wolf curled into a ball in the back of my mind, whimpering.
He walked around the table, stopping inches from me. I backed away, my heel catching on the carpet. Silas was a High Alpha; he could crush me just by breathing.
"I... I won't go," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I am a Luna. You can't claim me like this."
Silas reached out. I flinched, pulling my shoulders toward my ears, waiting for the strike Julian had trained me to expect.
But the blow never came. Silas grabbed the signed contract from the table, his eyes never leaving mine.
"You aren't a Luna, Seraphina. You're a debt," Silas said, his voice cold and clinical. "And I always collect my debts."
He didn't help me up. He didn't check the bruise Julian had left. He looked at the guards by the door.
"Escort her to my car. Use the silver-lined cuffs if she resists."
"No!" I cried out, looking at Julian. "Julian, please! Don't let them take me!"
My husband didn't even look at me. He was already pouring another drink, his eyes glazed with the relief of a man who had just sold his soul to keep his wallet full.
As the guards led me out, I looked back at Silas. He was watching me leave with an expression of cold calculation. To my pack, I was a burden. To Julian, I was a punching bag. To Silas Thorne, I was a weapon he had just stolen from his enemy's belt.
And as the silver-lined doors of the elevator closed, I realized I had never felt more pathetic. I was the Luna of Silver-Moon, sold for a pile of plastic chips.