Chapter 10

Selene went straight home from the ward. She rode a long car through the dark Pack, calling Damon's Mind-Link over and over. He did not answer. She pushed into the small temporary house — the one he'd leased after the marriage, the big penthouse still "under renovation." Smoke inside. Damon on the couch in yesterday's shirt. Butts everywhere. He looked as if he had been there for days.

She flew at him. "Are you out of your mind? You gave her everything? What about me? I bonded with you. I donated. What am I?"

He threw her off. She staggered into the coffee table and cried out. He did not look. "Tomorrow we go to the Council. We Sever."

"Sever — you said when she's better we'd settle — you can't do this —"

"I'm not continuing this, Selene. Once she's stable, I'm out."

She clawed at him. He pinned her wrist. Her mouth went ugly. "Then pay. Give me the apartment. Give me five hundred thousand. Or I'll take you apart."

He lit another cigarette with unsteady hands. He told her the truth, tired. "I am worn out. Watching her die for three years broke me. You came along when I could not breathe and I let you. What we had wasn't love. You wanted coin. I wanted distance. That's all."

"You used me —"

"We used each other. Don't lie to yourself now. The big apartment — I returned the deposit. The money was never yours. Here." He flicked a bank card onto the table. "Fifty thousand. That's what I can do."

Five hundred thousand had become fifty. Selene lunged for him. He held her off. She sobbed and threatened lawsuits.

"Sue me," he said. "I have the time. And while you're at it — you might want to pawn your jewelry. Sell the gold wrist-band I bought Wren, too. You've been wearing it since last month, haven't you."

Her face went hot. She opened her mouth and no sound came out. The door shut behind him. Silence, smoke, a coffee table full of butts.

Selene refused to go quietly. The next afternoon she called a handful of Territory outlets and cried on camera. A gentle voice, a pale face. "They used me. She has Silver Blight. He begged me to donate. He swore he'd love me forever if I did. I believed him. I gave my marrow — and as soon as he had what he needed, they threw me out. I can't even reach him. I'm not well. He only married me to control me. Now I have nothing."

The clip spread through the Pack Net by sundown. Gullible voices piled on. Wolves called her names they should not be using — faithless Luna, coin-hungry she-wolf, tossing a donor aside. Someone posted the capital infirmary address. A few rolled up threatening to "get justice."

Damon issued a plain Pack-record statement. "My bond with Selene is a marriage matter. It has nothing to do with Wren." The statement vanished under the wave of anger.

Crowds were already gathering in the lobby downstairs. Nurses tried to explain. No one listened. Wren was still in the recovery stage. She could not take this. She called Marla.

They set up a small press event the same day. Wren walked out in her loose infirmary gown, leaning on Marla's arm. "I'd like to set the record straight."

The evidence boards lit. Coin-transfers — twenty-plus in gifts, clothing, "nutrition allowance" totaling over two hundred thousand. Parental gifts — fifty thousand her parents had asked for during Wren's worst week, when Wren had just cleared intensive care. She had still handed it over.

"I was grateful to her," Wren said. "From the day she agreed I have cared for her. I never resented her dragging her feet. I never asked for money back. What I resent — is that she chose to slander me afterward."

A second screen lit up. Selene in the hallway outside Wren's old ward. Brand-new dress. Sneer. Voice cold and sharp. Nothing like the crying she-wolf in the media clip. A murmur rolled through the reporters.

"She had every right to refuse the ceremony," Wren said softly. "She did not have the right to lie about me. I only hope no other she-wolf goes through what I did."

By evening the tide had turned. The angry voices swung onto Selene. Fake, climber, snake, user. Her name trended in every Pack Net channel. Her people got doorstepped. Her father's door got egged. She stopped leaving her flat.

Damon's name took the hit right beside hers. His years of wavering were laid bare on camera. No one came forward to defend him.

Wren watched from her bed. Even fury got tired. She closed her eyes.

Three months on, Wren went back to the capital Pack clinic for her full check. Elias turned every page of the report with quiet pride. "Better than I thought. Markers are cleaner than some healthy wolves. Few more days of observation, then you can fly back to Highland. Meds on schedule, quarterly review, and live like a normal she-wolf."

Wren thanked him and stood. The weight she had carried for years slid off her shoulders.

On the way out she cut through the little side garden. A thin figure in a Pack Infirmary chair sat under the bare maple. Damon. Hollow-cheeked, hair uncut, eyes emptied. She almost turned back.

He saw her first. Light flickered into his face. He struggled with the chair wheels. "Wren — are you here to see me?"