Pierce’s POV
*Two months later*
She’s everywhere. No matter how many women I fuck, no matter how much whiskey I drown myself in. No matter how hard I train until my knuckles bleed… she’s still there. Lyra.
Her voice. Her scent. That look in her eyes right before I said the words that destroyed us.
Back then, I told myself I was doing the right thing. That I was protecting her. That keeping her at arm’s length would keep her alive. But then she came back with another Alpha’s scent on her skin.
That’s all I see now… and it’s killing me.
I haven’t been in my main bedroom in weeks. I’m either locked in the East Wing or crashing at my city safehouse. The staff doesn’t knock anymore. Dom doesn’t even try to get me out for meetings unless it’s life or death.
The last woman I brought back didn’t even get undressed. I stared at her for two minutes and told her to get the fuck out. She wasn’t Lyra. None of them are.
I pour another drink. Fourth glass? Fifth? Doesn’t matter. My phone buzzes.
> Dom: Pierre hit the west checkpoint. Took out three scouts. No survivors.
Of course he did. I chuck the phone across the room. It hits the wall and shatters. Good.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing my face with both hands. I haven’t shaved in days. I probably look half-feral.
“Alpha,” Matteo’s voice comes through the intercom. “Council’s waiting in the office.”
“Let them wait.”
“…It’s about the border. You need to be there.”
I down the rest of the scotch and slam the glass on the table. Fine.
The war room is packed. Maps everywhere on the walls, red pins stabbing into paper like tiny knives. My lieutenants look at me like I’m about to explode. Because I am.
“Pierre’s getting bolder,” Dom says, pointing at a corner of the map. “Hit two supply lines this week. One more and our northern sector folds.”
“Then reinforce it,” I snapped.
“We don’t have enough wolves.”
“Borrow them from the east.”
“That pack’s wavering—”
“Then threaten them.” Silence. Everyone watches me, waiting for the next blow-up.
Matteo clears his throat. “We also intercepted comms. He’s not just pushing territory. He’s… looking for something.”
“Or someone,” Calla mutters. I look up sharply, but even then she doesn’t flinch. “He never cared that much about land before.”
I know what she’s implying. I just don’t want to hear it.
“I don’t give a shit what he’s looking for,” I say coldly. “He crosses one more line, I’ll tear his throat out myself.” I stormed out.
Back at the safehouse, I sit on the floor of the shower. Water scalding, but I barely feel it. My chest aches, not from battle, not from wounds.
From her. From Lyra.
I see her face every time I close my eyes, not the way she looked when we met, not when she kissed me, not when she laughed. No.
I see her on the floor. Bruised, and barely breathing. After I broke her, after I threw her out.
I replay it over and over. The slap. The way she tried to speak. Her lips moved, and I didn’t let her talk. I didn’t even let her explain. And the worst part? Deep down, I knew something was off.
She didn’t look like someone who wanted another Alpha, she looked like someone who had been broken. But I was too angry, too humiliated, too damn proud.
So I did what I do best… I burned it all to the ground. Even her.
I went to the bar again that night. Let some blonde talk to me until her voice makes my skin crawl. I pay for her drink, then leave. I end up in the alley behind the building, leaning against the brick wall like I’m waiting for someone to put me out of my misery.
Dom calls. I ignore it. Another drink. Another useless night.
Another ghost of her voice in my ear. “Pierce…” I squeeze my eyes shut.
Nothing gets rid of her. Not the liquor, not the rage, not the sex. And I know, deep down, I’m not grieving her. I’m rotting without her.
* * *
The warehouse was too quiet. No guards, no echo of boots on concrete. Just cold air, flickering lights, and my brother sitting in the middle of it like he’d been waiting his whole life for this conversation.
He didn’t stand. Didn’t greet me. Just kicked his feet up on the table and said, “You’re late, brother.”
I didn’t bother sitting. “You’re lucky I showed up at all.”
Pierre smirked. “Guess we both like to pretend we still believe in diplomacy.”
I dropped the file I’d brought on the table. “Three supply lines hit. My trucks, my men, you crossed the border.”
“Miscommunication,” he said, all casual. “You know how these things go.”
“Cut the bullshit,” I snapped. “You’ve been poking at my territory for months.”
He raised a brow. “And you’ve been too busy playing house with your human to notice.” My jaw locked, yet I didn’t answer. Then he leaned forward. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re off your game. Soft… emotional.”
I finally sat, eyes locked on him. “She’s gone.”
He blinked, just once. “Is that so?”
“There is no mate,” I said flatly. That smirk of his twisted into something cruel, cold and venomous.
“Good,” he said. “Then I guess we’re even.”
The words cut sideways through me and I stilled. Even?
“What the fuck are you talking about?” My voice came out low, dangerous.
He stood with calm precision, brushing invisible lint from his jacket like we were headed to a fucking banquet instead of clawing through the ashes of our past.
“I figured you’d say that,” he said, walking around the table. “Let me help you remember.”
I watched him carefully, heart pounding, rage already simmering, but something else crept in too. A flicker of dread.
“You remember your last little gift from fate?” he asked. “Pretty redhead, sharp tongue, big eyes.”
“Don’t fucking dare to talk about her with your filthy mouth.”
He kept going, ignoring me like I hadn’t spoken. “Found her wandering the city, alone, vulnerable. Covered in your scent and weak enough not to fight.”
“Pierre—”
“She screamed your name, you know that?” He stopped in front of me, leaned in like he wanted to whisper. “Even with my cock inside her tight cunt, even when I had her bleeding. She screamed for you.”
I lunged, knocking the chair back, grabbing his collar. “Shut your fucking mouth.” He didn’t flinch when I growled. “Why would you touch her?”
His voice dropped. “Because you touched mine.”
My grip loosened for half a second. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he spat. “You think I forgot? You think I don’t remember?” He pushed me back and took a step away, pacing now.
“You went behind my back. You raped her, my mate. My only damn mate. You knew what she meant to me and still—”
“I didn’t,” I cut in. “You know that damn well. I didn’t force her for anything, she came to me!”
His head whipped toward me. “You think that makes it better?”
“I told her no. I told her I didn’t love her.”
“Yeah? And the next morning she was hanging from a fucking ceiling beam.” I couldn’t breathe.
“She told me you raped her,” he said, quieter now. “She told me you took what wasn’t yours. That you ruined her.”
“I didn’t—” My voice cracked.
“You did,” he snapped. “Whether you meant to or not. You broke her… just like how I broke yours.”
His words echoed in the space between us. I staggered back, chest tight, stomach twisted. All this time. All the rage and pain I threw at Lyra… and it wasn’t hers to carry. It was his… and it was mine.
He kept going. “You got to live with your mistake. I didn’t. I lost everything. So I made damn sure you did too.”
