Prologue #2
This is it. He's going to tell us he's announcing our mating tonight.
Relief flooded through me, warm and dizzying. The doubts, the distance, the gnawing feeling that something was wrong—it had all been in my head. He was here. He was doing this.
I smiled, blinking back the sudden sting of tears.
Nathan leaned back in his chair, perfectly composed, and looked between Dad and me. "I've decided to announce my mating ceremony tonight at the ball."
The relief that had been building in my chest crystallized into something bright and hopeful. I felt my smile widen, felt the tension in my shoulders finally release. He was doing it. He was announcing us.
"Eleanor," Nathan continued, and something in his tone made me look up sharply.
His expression hadn't changed. Still calm, still controlled. But there was something in his eyes—a coolness that made my skin prickle with sudden unease.
"I wanted you to hear this from me first, rather than at the ball itself. I'll be mating Megan in the spring."
Everything stopped.
I stared at him, the words not landing, not making sense. Megan. He'd said Megan.
"I'm sorry?" My voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else. "I don't—"
"It's for the best," Nathan said, his tone maddeningly even. "For everyone involved."
The room tilted. I gripped the back of the nearest chair, my fingers digging into the velvet upholstery hard enough that my knuckles went white. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
Nathan's expression remained carefully neutral. "I know this comes as a surprise. But Megan and I have been working closely together for years now, and we've developed a bond that—"
"A bond." The word tasted bitter on my tongue. I couldn't seem to process what he was saying. The room felt too small suddenly, the air too thick. "We have a bond. You told me—you said we were fated—"
"We are fated," he said calmly, as if he were discussing stock portfolios rather than destroying my entire world. "That hasn't changed. But fate doesn't always mean compatibility, Eleanor. You and I—we're not suited to each other. Not in the ways that matter."
My father was saying something, his voice rising in what might have been protest or just surprise, but I couldn't hear him over the rushing in my ears.
The room was spinning, tilting on an axis I hadn't known existed.
Behind Nathan, Megan had turned from the window, watching me with something that might have been pity if her expression hadn't been quite so carefully blank.
"I don't understand," I whispered.
"I think you do. You're a sweet girl, Eleanor, but you're not suited to be a Luna.
I need a mate who understands my world," Nathan continued, as if he were explaining a business decision.
Which, I realized with dawning horror, was exactly what this was to him.
"Someone who can navigate the political landscape, who has the connections and experience necessary to support my position.
Megan is strong, capable, a natural leader.
She's a full-blooded wolf shifter. She's—"
"Your fated mate."
"No. You are. Or were, technically. But fated bonds can be rejected. And I’m afraid I am rejecting you as my mate."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
I felt it then—the bond between us, that golden thread I'd felt humming beneath my skin since the moment we'd met, beginning to fray. It pulled taut, stretching thin, and then something inside my chest tore.
The pain was immediate and excruciating.
I gasped, doubling over, my hand flying to my sternum as if I could hold the pieces of myself together through sheer force of will.
It felt sharp, visceral, unlike anything I'd ever felt.
Not metaphorical heartbreak but actual, searing agony that radiated outward from the center of my ribcage like someone had reached inside and started tearing pieces away.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the white-hot agony spreading through every nerve ending.
My knees buckled, and I went down hard, my hands slamming against the carpet.
Something vital was being ripped out of me, my ribs cracking open, everything inside spilling out, tearing, breaking—
"Eleanor?" My father's voice came from somewhere far away.
"She's fine. It's just the bond breaking. It'll pass."
It'll pass. Like this was nothing. Like I was nothing.
"Stop making a scene. You should have known this was coming. We were never evenly matched."
I looked up at him through tears, shaking so hard I thought I might break apart. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you…" I choked on the words, tried again. "If you knew from the start, why did you date me? Why did you—" I couldn't say it. Couldn't force out the words sleep with me in front of my father and Megan and Nathan's perfect, indifferent face.
"I needed to be seen trying. The pack was concerned about my lack of a mate. Dating you publicly kept them satisfied while I found someone suitable."
"Suitable." The word tasted like ash.
"And honestly, I thought I might as well get something out of it." His gaze flicked over me, cold and dismissive. "Though it wasn't much. You were shit in bed anyway."
The words hung in the air, sharp and cold. Something out of it. Like I'd been a convenience. A placeholder. A warm body to pass the time.
"You used me." The words came out broken, barely audible.
"I wouldn't phrase it quite so dramatically.
" Nathan checked his watch with the same detached air he might use to check the weather.
"We had an arrangement that was mutually beneficial.
You got to be seen on the arm of an influential alpha.
I got to satisfy the pack's expectations. Now it's time to move forward."
Mutually beneficial. I'd given him everything—my trust, my body, my heart—and he'd seen it as an arrangement. A transaction that had finally outlived its usefulness.
The pain in my chest intensified, spreading like wildfire through my veins.
I couldn't catch my breath. Every heartbeat felt like shattered glass grinding against raw flesh.
The bond was dissolving, unravelling thread by thread, and each severed connection sent fresh agony coursing through me.
“You absolute bastard,” I hissed up at him as I fought to get to my feet.
Nathan stood smoothly, brushing an invisible speck of lint from his tuxedo sleeve. The movement was so casual, so unconcerned, that it made the agony tearing through my chest feel even more unbearable.
"There's no need for dramatics," he said. "You'll recover. The pain is temporary."
Temporary. As if that made any of this acceptable. As if the fact that I wouldn't die from this somehow negated the cruelty of what he was doing.
"Eleanor, calm down," my father said, his hand on my elbow. Not steadying me. Restraining me.
I jerked away from him, swaying on my feet. The room kept tilting, my vision blurring at the edges. "Don't touch me."
"This is exactly what I'm talking about," Nathan said, gesturing toward me with one elegant hand. "You're too emotional. Too unstable. A Luna needs to be composed. Controlled. You can't even handle a simple conversation without falling apart."
I stared at him through the haze of pain, and something cold and sharp crystallized beneath the agony.
He'd planned this. Every moment, every touch, every whispered endearment—he'd known from the beginning that it would end here, in this hotel suite, with me on my knees while he announced his mating to another woman.
"Fuck you," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Fuck you and your perfect, suitable mate."
"Eleanor—" my father started.
"Get out." My voice came out steadier than I felt, though my entire body was trembling. "Both of you. Get out."
“Eleanor, I’m sorry. I-” Megan looked upset, but right now, I couldn't have given less of a shit.
“Just ignore her, dear. She’s prone to overreact to everything.
Very sensitive and highly strung.” Nathan gave me one last contemptuous glance before he held out his hand to Megan.
She hesitated, glancing at me one more time, then who took it and glided across the room with him to the door.
He turned just before leaving, and for a moment hope flickered inside me.
"Don't come to the ball. It wouldn't look good."
And then he left.
I sank back down to the floor, trembling, the pain in my chest dulling into a hollow, endless ache. The carpet was soft beneath my palms. The city lights still glittered outside. I looked up at my father but his face was twisted with disgust.
"You stupid girl. How could you let this happen?"
I looked up at him, confused, still trying to breathe through the pain. "What?"
"You heard him, Eleanor. You weren't good enough. After everything I've done—the connections I made, the business deals I turned down to accommodate his schedule—and you couldn't even keep him interested."
I flinched. "Dad—"
"It’s not enough that I was saddled with a powerless witch for a daughter. That was humiliating enough, but now this? You couldn't keep him interested. It’s not hard, Eleanor, you just needed to smile and open your legs now and again. You couldn't even manage that."
"I'm sorry," I whispered, hating myself for apologizing, for the automatic response that years of his criticism had beaten into me.
"Sorry doesn't fix this." He grabbed his coat, his movements sharp and angry. "I'm done, Eleanor. You can look after yourself from now on. Find somewhere else to stay tonight, I refuse to pay for this room for you."
"Dad, please—"
But he was walking toward the door, and I didn't have the strength to call him back.
The door closed again and I was left alone.