Chapter 19

• Lucas
• Leila's scent hit me like a fist to the gut that night, sharp and wild, clawing at my senses until I couldn't think straight. I'd felt this chaos in my heart before, back at the full moon dance when the bond snapped into place and marked her as my mate. That night, her presence had been a burr under my skin; now, it was a blade twisting deeper. I'd always hated her - spoiled, domineering, a she-wolf who strutted like the world owed her its bones. But lately, it was as if some cursed alchemy had remade her, molding her into the mate I'd never dared imagine. Perfect. Too perfect.
• The memory of the auction gnawed at me, sour and heavy. I'd been drunk, sloppy with liquor and rage, and I'd torn into her - verbally, physically, I couldn't recall the half of it. As a Lycan, she should've had the strength to snap my neck, but she'd crumpled under me, defenseless. I'd thought her weak then, a brittle thing I could break and discard. When she returned, rolling in that damned wheelchair, I'd sneered at it - another act, another bid for pity. Last night, I'd tested her, ripping my shirt in front of her, daring her to lash out, to prove she still had claws. She hadn't. She'd just sat there, silent, eyes like cold moons. I'd wondered if she'd truly faded, if my pack was doomed to a Luna too frail to stand beside me. A sickly weakling couldn't lead, couldn't fight, couldn't bear the weight of our bloodline.