Chapter 29
Blood Pact
Alexa
“Tomorrow?” My forehead furrows.
“Yeah. Tomorrow. That a problem?” he asks, a low growl rumbling beneath his words.
I weigh everything that could unravel by tomorrow. Mythril clearly excited about it, her energy humming inside me, but my mind refuses to move that fast.
“Don’t you think you’re pushing this? I haven’t even had one night to sleep in this room again,” I say as I pull open the three door white wardrobe.
Inside, rows of unfamiliar clothes greet me.
None of them belong to me. The dresses are elegant and expensive, the sweaters thick and soft, the handbags arranged in careful color gradients.
They are smaller than my size. Lorraine’s, no doubt.
A display meant to impress the Alpha. There is nothing here I can actually wear.
“For what? If we’re getting married, you won’t be staying here anyway,” Gabriel says with a shrug.
“What about Harlow? And Jack?” I ask, shutting the wardrobe door.
I turn toward the mirror and study my reflection. My hair is tangled. A smear of dirt stains my cheek. My skin looks oily from a sleepless night in a rotten cell. I wrinkle my nose at the sight.
My Goddess! I completely forgot we had spent the night in that filthy prison. Compared to Lorraine at lunch, I looked like a stray dragged in from the woods. No one even warned me.
Still, no one dared to complain. Even Mr. Pascoe said nothing. Mrs. Gertrude claimed I looked more beautiful than I had six years ago. The thought almost made me laugh, and I pressed my lips together to keep it in.
Gabriel steps closer despite my disheveled state. He stops behind me, his eyes locking onto mine through the mirror. Something dark flickers there. Jealousy. Possession.
“What about them?” he murmurs, as if daring me to push further.
“You’ll release them. And treat them properly. As guests.”
His expression tightens. The displeasure on his face sharpens into something colder. He closes the remaining distance until my back nearly touches his chest. His nose brushes along my nape as he inhales, unconcerned by the stale scent clinging to me.
“Why do you care so much? What exactly is Harlow to you? Why help you escape, then walk you right back here?”
His hands slide to my waist and squeeze. A shiver runs down my spine at the contact, unfamiliar after so long. I grab his wrists, not to hold him closer but to remove them.
“He helped me out of pity. Then I asked him to take me to Mr. Pascoe. If I’m going to become Luna, then I want them treated as the saviors who rescued me.” I lift my chin and take a steady breath.
“Your savior?” Gabriel lets out a short laugh. “Alexa, he’s a servant. Used to serve in my house. You really expect me to elevate his status?”
The mockery sends heat rushing through my veins. I turn to face him fully, fists clenched at my sides. If a glare could wound, he would already be bleeding.
But I’m still trapped here. Harlow, Jack, and Mrs. Geeny remain within his reach. One command from him, and the guards wouldn’t hesitate.
“You’re no better than him,” I snap. “At least he doesn’t lie. At least he respects me without judging me the way you do.”
His hand clamps around my jaw. His fingers press hard, forcing my face upward. Mythril stirs, ready to rise, but I hold her back. I refuse to reveal my Lycan form yet.
That restraint becomes my mistake. In the next second, he crashes his mouth against mine. His grip is rough, his lips demanding, his tongue forcing its way past my resistance. I push against him with all my strength, trying to break free, but his hold tightens, locking me in place.
Heat floods my chest. I can’t tell if it comes from fury or something more dangerous. I refuse to respond, to yield.
“Damn it,” Gabriel groans when I bite down on his lip.
He jerks back. His hazel eyes flash. He wipes at his mouth and spits blood onto the floor. My body trembles in front of the mirror.
“Why did you…” My breath falters when I meet the warning in his gaze. “I was… I…”
His fist slams into the mirror with a sharp crash. Glass splinters. My own raised fist nearly connects with him, but he catches it mid strike and pins it against the fractured surface, pressing it there alongside his bleeding knuckles.
“Don’t push me, Alexa. One word from me and those guards put them in the ground. You still not understanding that?” Gabriel bares his fangs fully now.
There is no pretense left between us. The polished gentleman I once thought I knew is gone. What stands in front of me is something raw, territorial, and dangerous.
I flinch as a sharp sting slices across my palm. The shattered mirror has cut both my hand and his knuckles. Blood slips over our skin, warm and slick, threading between our fingers. My body trembles despite my effort to stand steady, and something feral flashes in his eyes at the sight of it.
“I don’t give a damn about him or anybody else. Not even that bastard Alpha Romero,” Gabriel whispers, his threats low and deliberate. “You’re going to be my Luna. And you’re going to listen to me.” His grip tightens around my fist, forcing more blood to spill.
“I don’t want to be your Luna. I want to be free. Out there, away from all this,” I force out through my clenched jaw.
“Then I swear you’ll end up dead, along with all your precious saviors, friends, and family,” he shoots back.
Our breaths collide, neither of us willing to yield. He pushes his Alpha aura against me, thick and commanding, meant to crush and subdue. It’s pressing down like invisible weight. But it doesn’t bend me. It doesn’t force my knees to weaken the way it should.
His eyes narrow at this defiance. “Well now. You’re even standing up to my energy. Looks like Mrs. Geeny’s prophecy wasn’t just talk. You really are something else. The Supreme Luna.” A satisfied grin curves his mouth.
So that is what he wants. Not me as Alexa Dawson, the childhood sweetheart. He’s been after my power, my blood, and my title. Ambition alone is not a crime, but ambition wrapped around obsession and pride becomes something far more dangerous. I can’t let this spiral any further.
“If I marry you, then I see them alive. Safe. All of them,” I demand between ragged breaths.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Can’t promise you sunshine and roses, darling.”
“You will promise.” I press each word carefully, like carving them into stone.
His jaw tightens. Seconds stretch heavy between us. Then he releases my hand abruptly and spins me around, forcing me to face the fractured mirror. My cheek scrapes against jagged glass. He doesn’t slow. He doesn’t care.
“Let’s seal it properly,” he murmurs against my ear. “Blood pact. Under the Moon Goddess.”
He lifts my bleeding hand and presses it against an unbroken portion of the mirror at the top. His body cages me from behind, trapping me in place. My blood becomes ink. My fingers become the brush.
I swallow hard. Fear flickers in every heartbeats. Doubt whispers inside my head. But something stronger rises within me. The need to protect those who can’t fight him the way I can. My hand begins to move as if possessed by a spirit greater than me.
I draw two interlocking circles with my blood. Then I carve simple runes at the four cardinal points. The metallic scent thickens the air. With each stroke, a silver current hums beneath my skin, ancient and watching.
“O Moon Goddess, I stand beneath your sacred gaze. Let there be no falsehood in my words. Let no lie cling to my vow,” I chant through gritted teeth.
The air shifts. It swirls softly around us as I complete the final mark, a small circle at the center to symbolize the Goddess’s eye. Witness. Judge. Keeper of consequence.
I steady my breathing. This must be exact. There can be no loophole.
“I swear to marry Gabriel Scott and stand as his Luna, so long as he keeps his promise not to harm my family, my friends, or anyone under my protection. Not by hand, not by order, not by intent. Not a single strand of hair shall be touched, not a breath of fear laid upon them. If he breaks this oath, the pact is void.”
I drag one final vertical line through the center of the circle. It splits cleanly down the middle. The symbol seals. The air settles at once.
Sweat beads across my forehead from the energy drained out of me. The mirror now reflects the completed ritual in dark red lines. My face. His face. Bound together inside the symbol. The sight makes my vision blur.
“You handled that just fine,” Gabriel says with a crooked smile. “Tomorrow, I’ll make it a ceremony folks won’t forget.”
“You’re not turning the whole pack upside down overnight. I want it next month,” I insist, my voice steadier than I feel.
“No, tomorrow.”
“Two weeks.” I say.
He scoffs once, then gives a short nod. “Fine. Next week.”
I’m playing a losing game here. “Let them all go. Right now,” I demand between ragged breaths. “I want to see them alive. Safe. Standing on their own feet.”
Gabriel studies me for a moment, then a slow grin spreads across his face as he steps away. “All right. You got it.”
Time stretches thin after that. I stand by the bedroom window, fingers pressed lightly against the frame, watching the world beyond the glass. From the second floor, the street in front of the house lies exposed beneath the pale violet light of the afternoon.
Then I see them. Four guards walk in formation, and at the center of them is Harlow. Jack walks behind him.
They move steadily, not struggling, not resisting. For a brief second, Harlow stops. As if he senses me. His head tilts upward, and his eyes lift toward this very window.
My breath catches. I turn sharply and slip behind the curtain, hiding as if the thin fabric can shield me from everything I’ve done.
My heart pounds violently, each beat slamming against my ribs in uneven rhythm.
I bite down on my lower lip, trying to steady myself, but the pressure inside my chest only grows heavier, tighter, almost suffocating.
I force myself to look away from the window and turn toward the mirror. The blood pact circle remains there, etched in dark red against the glass. My blood. My vow. The interlocking circles and runes stand silent and absolute, a mark that binds me and severs everything else.
It’s a reminder that I’ve chosen this path. I will have to break every other mate bond. My throat tightens as I close my eyes briefly. Tears spill in trickles as I bite my bottom lip to suppress the heartache.
“Goodbye, Harlow,” I whisper into the quiet room.
* * *
The next morning, I wear a sleeveless pink midi dress that falls just below my knees. The fabric clings to my body, a slit running up my thigh, revealing curves that are no longer the same as they were six years ago. I bought this dress last night, choosing it with deliberate care.
My hair is swept into a high bun, exposing the length of my neck.
It’s no longer fragile. It’s strong enough to endure hands that once try to break it.
My figure is fuller now, defined. The frail, disheveled girl is gone.
The na?ve shadow who once bows her head and accepts whatever is thrown at her no longer exists.
I walk forward with steady steps. My shoulders are squared. My chest rises with calm breaths. My back stays straight, and my chin remains level with everyone else in the room. I won’t lower my gaze anymore.
The Scott family mansion becomes the Silver Moon packhouse after Gabriel is crowned Alpha. Today it’s even more crowded than usual. Members of the pack fill the halls, gathered to see me.
Their future Luna.
The pure Alpha heiress who had always been trained to become a Luna. They used to mock me, saying I would never be one. That I had gone crazy, that I was sold in an illegal auction. But after the prophecy, and the way Gabriel stubbornly declared our marriage, everyone accepted it.
Lorraine stood across the room, glaring openly, but I didn’t spare her more than a passing glance.
The people gathered in the front hall rose when I entered.
Their eyes widened, surprise rippling across their faces as they took in my public return.
But their heads quickly bowed as I walked past them.
“That really you, Alexa Dawson?” Gabriel tilts his head, that crooked smirk tugging at his mouth.
I want nothing more than to erase that expression from his face. Permanently. But I hold my composure. I hold my power. Like a pink bitterroot blooming stubbornly from stone, I stand tall. I have been remade.
“Where’s my room?” I ask plainly.
“Upstairs. Right next to mine,” he replies, that same knowing smirk lingering.
We are alike in one way. We both keep what we want within reach.
“He’ll see to your things,” Gabriel says, stepping aside and revealing the man standing behind him.
The scent reaches me first. Mint and pine. It coils through the air and collides with bergamot and fern in the same space, less than ten meters away. My breath stumbles when I see him.
Harlow.
For a split second, the world tilts. Mythril surges inside me, stunned. So am I. Every instinct urges me to cross the distance and hold him, but I stand on my ground.
He stands rigid, jaw tight, eyes locked on me. Silent. Gabriel must not know. No one can know how deeply Harlow Phillips matters to me.
“What exactly are you playing at, Alpha?” I ask, though my lips tremble slightly.
“Just making sure you can see the guarantee of our oath with your own eyes,” he says as he smiles.
Over time, I grow to hate that smile. No. I despise it. I still feel the pull of his scent, the physical reaction it stirs, but the emotion behind it has burned out. There’s nothing left but cold clarity.
I turn away from Harlow as if he means nothing to me. I climb the stairs, offering the gathered guests a polite, hollow smile.
“I didn’t bring anything with me,” I say without looking back. “You’ll need to buy me new belongings. All of it.”
“Sure.” Gabriel smiles proudly.
The room prepared for me in the packhouse is large. Nearly the size of the master bedroom Mrs. Gertrude once claimed in my home. Unlike the cream and white of my childhood room, this space is washed in white and muted gray-blue.
Everything feels chosen by Gabriel. Controlled. Calculated. The furniture, the colors, the arrangement. It’s as if he’s wrapping me in his presence, building walls around me that bear his signature.
On the far wall, there’s another door. Closed. Positioned in a way that tells me exactly where it leads. His room. A door he can open whenever he pleases.
The thought that I’m going to marry Gabriel next week and stand beside him as his Luna tightens my chest all at once. Am I really about to become nothing more than his puppet? Then what’s the point of being the Supreme Luna if I can’t even protect myself?
There has to be a way. There has to be.
Before it’s too late, before the vows are spoken, I have to break the bond with Gabriel and leave Silver Moon.