Chapter 6: Joining (Prat 2)

Juno's POV

Isabelle arrived the next morning with a small entourage of Emberwood Pack members carrying her luggage. Her scent immediately permeated the house, marking it as hers.

"Good morning, Luna Juno," Isabelle said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

I stepped aside, my face carefully blank. "The guest room is upstairs, first door on the right."

The men trudged past with her bags. Isabelle's scent flooded my home, marking territory that wasn't hers to claim. I stayed rooted by the door, counting breaths, fighting the urge to shift and chase her out.

But I keeping my expression neutral, my back straight. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me broken.

When they left, Isabelle approached me in the kitchen where I was preparing coffee.

"Luna Juno," she said softly. "I want to apologize."

I turned, taking in her perfect features, the flawless porcelain skin. She was breathtaking, I had to admit.

"I wish I could refuse this bond," she continued. "But a strong Alpha like Matthew won't choose to weaken himself by rejecting a fated mate. I wouldn't either, in his position."

"How considerate of you to explain that," I replied.

"I promise I won't try to replace you." Her eyes were wide, earnest. "You'll always be his first choice, his Luna."

I forced a tight smile. "Thank you for your... concern."

But I saw the flash of triumph in her eyes when she thought I wasn't looking. Her words were empty, her sympathy false.

I spent the rest of the day in wolf form, running through the forests of our territory until my muscles burned and my lungs ached. Seraphine welcomed the physical pain, anything to distract from the wound in our heart.

The next two weeks unfolded in excruciating slowness.

Matthew treated Isabelle like a ghost, barely acknowledging her presence. He avoided eye contact, kept conversations clipped when necessary, and maintained distance whenever possible. Each night, he still climbed into our bed, wrapping himself around me with desperate intensity.

But I could smell his struggle. His scent carried notes of confusion and pain that grew stronger every day.

Isabelle played her role perfectly. She'd place herself in Matthew's path, then look wounded when he brushed past her. She'd ask him directly, almost daily, to reject the bond.

"Please, Matthew," she'd plead, those blue eyes filling with tears that never fell. "If you truly don't want this, reject me. End this pain for both of us."

They were hollow words. She never truly wanted rejection. She was simply forcing Matthew to acknowledge the bond, to speak to her, to engage in any way. And each time, the struggle in his eyes grew more pronounced.

Strangely, I found myself pitying her at times. I knew the sting of being ignored by someone you were drawn to. But then I'd catch her smug smile when Matthew finally responded to some question, and my sympathy evaporated.

Our home became a battlefield of scents, my established claim mixing with Isabelle's insistent presence and Matthew's torment. The air felt thick with it, making it hard to breathe.

At night, I'd watch Matthew sleep. How long could he resist? How long before nature won over choice? I tried preparing myself for the inevitable, but nothing could have readied me for how it would feel. We were three people trapped in an impossible situation, with no way out that didn't end in pain.

I woke in a middle of the night to a sudden, stabbing pain in my chest. It felt like a knife piercing straight through my heart.

I gasped, clutching at my nightshirt, certain I was dying. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished, leaving behind a hollow emptiness that was somehow worse.

I reached across the bed. Matthew wasn't there. His side was cold, his scent already fading from the sheets.

He marked her, Seraphine whispered in my mind, her voice filled with sorrow.

I curled into a ball and let the tears come, soaking my pillow until dawn broke and exhaustion finally pulled me under.

When I woke, it was past noon. I followed the sound of voices to the kitchen, where Matthew and Isabelle sat at the counter, their heads close together, laughing about something.

They fell silent when I entered. It wasn't their silence that hit me first—it was their scent. Their scents told another story, they'd merged, creating that distinctive new smell that only comes from a completed marking. The evidence hit my nose like a slap.

Isabelle turned to face me, deliberately exposing her neck where Matthew's mark stood out clearly against her pale skin. The bite was fresh. She wanted me to see it, wanted me to know she'd won.

"Don't mind me," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Pretend I'm not here."

"Good morning, Luna Juno," Isabelle said sweetly, her voice dripping with victory.

I stared at the mark on her neck, forcing myself to stand straight. "Congratulations," I said.

I turned to leave, but Matthew followed me into the hallway.

"Juno, wait," he pleaded. "This doesn't change anything. You're still my Luna, still my wife."

I looked at him. His eyes held guilt, yes, but also relief. The tension he'd carried for weeks had eased. His wolf had gotten what it wanted.

"I'm not your only Luna anymore," I said quietly. "We both know what that means."

I held his gaze, refusing to look away first. Finally, he dropped his eyes.

"I need some air," I said, turning toward the door, coffee forgotten.

As I walked away, Seraphine and I came to an agreement. It was time to plan our exit. We couldn't stay here, watching them build a life together, waiting for Isabelle to decide she no longer wanted to share.

Maybe I could move to a different territory. Claim my mate had died. Start fresh somewhere no one knew me.

We need a new beginning, Seraphine said in my mind. Away from this pain.

Yes. A new beginning.