Chapter 4

Seraphina's POV

The clamor of the camp hung in the night air like a thick layer of grease, sticky and nauseating. The smell of roasted meat, the sourness of mead, the crude howls of werewolves celebrating a successful hunt—none of it had anything to do with me. I huddled by the edge of an already extinguished bonfire, the cold stones digging into my body, yet nothing compared to the chill in my heart.

My clothes were half-dry, clinging damp against my skin, stealing what little body heat remained. I hugged my knees tightly, curling into a ball, trying to hide deeper in the shadows. Yet my gaze uncontrollably drifted toward the center of the camp—where Lucian stood, like a cold star surrounded by countless others. Mira pressed close to him, raising her drinking horn, saying something with a beaming smile.

A familiar, numb, dull pain spread across my chest. I quickly lowered my head, burying my face in the crook of my arm, trying to block out that piercing sight.

"Tsk, hiding here alone to lick your wounds?"

A lazy voice suddenly cut through, carrying a hint of mocking amusement, abruptly piercing my eardrums.

I jerked my head up.

Ethan was leaning against a tree trunk beside me, his tall figure blocking part of the distant firelight, shrouding himself in ambiguous shadow. He was toying with a silver flask in his hand, the corner of his mouth curled in the same rakish smirk I'd seen that afternoon.

"My all-powerful brother," he continued languidly, his gray eyes sweeping over my disheveled appearance like a predator studying prey, "apparently doesn't know much about cherishing a precious female."

The blood in my body seemed to freeze instantly, then surged to my head. I tensed every nerve, like a cornered beast whose territory had been violated, my voice as dry as sandpaper: "None of your business."

He chuckled lightly, and far from leaving, settled himself down quite naturally less than an arm's length away from me. The scent of pine needles, night wind, and a trace of strong liquor mixed together, bringing an invasive aroma.

"You know," he said as if he hadn't heard my dismissal, his gaze shamelessly sliding over my mud-stained, not-yet-dry silver hair, "I've always found silver fur quite special... cold, mysterious, like fresh snow under moonlight." His tone carried pure appreciation, yet was frivolous enough to make me uncomfortable, as if he were appraising merchandise in a shop window. "Much more interesting than Lucian's dull, fight-obsessed gray."

My nails dug deep into my palms.

"Is he blind?" he leaned in closer, lowering his voice, "Ignoring such a unique mate like you, to embrace that annoyingly loud fire vixen? Hmm?" His mockery was so obvious, aimed at Lucian, but also like a needle, precisely stabbing into my raw wound.

I bit my lower lip, refusing to respond.

Suddenly, he reached out, his fingertip almost touching a strand of my hanging hair. I recoiled as if burned, my spine slamming hard against the cold stone, triggering a shudder.

"Heh." Seeing my extreme reaction, he chuckled softly, not at all offended, but seemingly finding it more amusing. He withdrew his hand, instead offering the silver flask to me. "Have a drink? To ward off the cold, and... perhaps embolden yourself? You look so pitiful."

The strong smell of alcohol rushed into my nostrils. I turned away, my stomach churning.

Seeing I wouldn't take it, he tilted his head back and took a swig himself, his Adam's apple bobbing. When he lowered the flask, his eyes had grown darker, rolling with emotions I couldn't decipher.

"Seriously, Seraphina." His voice dropped even lower, like night wind blowing over a marsh, carrying dangerous enticement, "With Lucian treating you so coldly, ignoring you like air, haven't you thought about... finding warmth elsewhere?"

His gaze boldly lingered on me, like invisible tentacles, full of aggression.

"For instance," he paused, the corner of his mouth curling into a malicious arc, "someone who better appreciates that beautiful fur of yours? Someone who... might better know how to warm you up."

"Get lost!" The suppressed rage and humiliation finally broke through the numb layer of ice, my voice trembling with extreme anger, yet struggling to maintain the last cold line of defense, "You're just like them, disgusting!"

Far from angry, he laughed softly as if he'd heard something extremely amusing, his shoulders slightly shaking.

"Oh? 'Them'?" He leaned forward, his breath almost hitting my face, carrying the burning heat of strong liquor, "Including my perfect, always-right Alpha brother? You finally admit he disgusts you?"

His words were like the fangs of a venomous snake, precisely piercing my last pretense.

"This afternoon at the ravine," he suddenly mentioned, his gaze sharp enough to dissect my heart, "when he chose to hold Mira without hesitation, what were you thinking in that icy water?"

My breath caught.

"Were you thinking, why? Why her?" he pressed on, his voice extremely low, yet every word cutting to the core, "Or... perhaps thinking, with a different man, the result would be completely different?"

I wanted to scream, to tell him to shut up, to curse him with the most vicious language. But looking around, no one in the celebrating pack paid attention to this dark corner, and my only "mate" was sharing drinks and laughter with another female. An overwhelming sense of isolation, like the cold river water, drowned me again, leaving me unable to make a sound.

Perhaps it was my deathly pale face, or perhaps he saw something, but Ethan suddenly pulled back from his aggressive posture. He leaned back, resuming that lazy demeanor, as if everything just now had been my hallucination.

He stood up, casually brushing the ash from his leather armor.

"Think about what I said, Seraphina." He swirled the flask in his hand, his eyes obscure in the shadows, "The rules of the Blackmane Pack are boring and cruel. But sometimes... playing a different way might reveal unexpected pleasures."

He turned to leave, yet paused, glancing back at me one last time. That look was complex and unreadable, mixing playfulness, inquiry, and a hint of something deep that made my heart race with fear.

"Of course," he pulled an ambiguous smile, "if you change your mind, want some real 'warmth,' you can come find me anytime."

"I have... much more patience than Lucian."

With that, he sauntered away like a shadow melting into the night, leaving me frozen in place, ice-cold, as if even my blood had stopped flowing.

He was gone, but those poisonous barbed words remained, growing wildly in my mind, suffocating me more than the waters of the ravine.

Teasing, humiliation, provocation, insinuation... like an invisible net tightly entangling me.

So, I faced not only Mira's schemes and Lucian's coldness.

But also a more dangerous, more unpredictable Ethan.

And his so-called "patience" sounded more like the beginning of a dangerous game targeting both Lucian and me.