Chapter 5: Dahlia, the Most Badass Werewolf!
Dahlia
Tonight is a formal diplomatic banquet. That’s what the invitation claimed. In reality? It’s just another excuse for Adrian to drag me around like a prize-winning pig with a pretty bow. I’ve had a stomachache since noon and I’ve been clenching my jaw so long I forgot what relaxed even feels like. Every second tonight feels like trying to cross a minefield in five-inch heels and a dress that fits like a body bag.
I don’t feel like a trophy. I feel like a hostage in sequins. My shoes are chewing through my ankles, and my cheeks are frozen in a smile that could qualify as a medical emergency. Adrian’s hand is on my back like he is guiding livestock. I guess, technically, he owns me now. Lucky me.
I wish we weren’t married. The ring is mocking me. A shiny, expensive lie that reflects just how fake this unity crap really is. Pack elders watching me like I’m some rescue wolf they dressed up for an Instagram post. I wonder if they know my husband is a cheater. I wonder if they would even care.
Isolde slinks up beside Adrian like she is the main character in a perfume ad, all legs and smugness. She’s got that real Luna energy, and me? I’m the understudy that got pushed onstage last second, still reading the script. My husband has his fingers around her life like a leash, and she wears it like jewelry.
Then there’s Liora, queen of ice, doing laps like she is waiting for me to misstep so she can bite. She hasn’t said a word to me. Doesn’t have to. Her eyes say plenty.
She doesn’t like me.
Good. I don’t like her either.
The elders? Cold nods. One of them whispers something about “Blue Moon girls being too fat” and I’m right there. Like invisible furniture. Joke’s on them. I’m not fat. I’m just not built like their ideal Luna Barbie.
Another elder takes it a step further. She leans in like she’s sharing gossip, hides her insult behind wine and whispers. “Pretty faces rarely make good Lunas. You should try silence; it’s more becoming for girls like you.”
Vintage misogyny. Lovely.
I’m clenching my teeth so hard I think I might bite through bone.
And then Adrian leans in, all calm, like I’m the embarrassment. “Try to smile more. You’re making people uncomfortable.”
Maybe I want them to be uncomfortable.
“Maybe that’s because I am uncomfortable,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “You’re doing this for peace, remember?”
Sure. Peace. At what cost?
I used to think this marriage would be a smart move. That I’d find a way to make it work. But now that the veil’s off and the cheating’s out, all I feel is stupid.
I’m tired. Down to the marrow. Carrying this grace-and-duty act around like a damn anchor. Smiling while they strip me down to nothing.
I catch Liora and Isolde laughing again. They don’t even try to hide it.
Then Adrian gets asked about my Luna performance. And the man, in front of everyone, says, “No, Dahlia doesn’t seem that interested in pack politics. But Isolde has been invaluable. She has helped me in my wife’s place. I guess some women just take to leadership naturally while others don’t have a clue what they are doing.”
I see red.
I’ve been here five minutes and I’m already being replaced? I’m not a Luna. I’m a placeholder.
I grip my wineglass like it’s a lifeline. But something’s going to snap. The glass. Me. We will see who gives out first.
I almost give up right there. Let them win. Let them erase me. Go quiet and become their little compliant Luna ghost.
But then, deep inside, my wolf stirs.
She’s not sleeping anymore.
Are you a mouse or a wolf?
Isolde lifts her glass and clinks it with Liora’s. “To strong women,” she says, voice clear and ringing. “The ones who earn their place. Not just stumble into it through bloodlines and pity.”
It takes me a second.
Maybe I’ll regret this. Maybe this will be the nail in my coffin.
But if I’m going down in flames, I’ll at least get to light the match,with a smirk and my head held high, like the queen they thought they could cage.
Then I move.
Slowly over the grass like a dignified queen.
I walk across the veranda with my half-full wineglass in hand. I hear Adrian call my name. I ignore it.
I stop in front of the two women. Liora looks up, confused. Isolde tilts her head, already smiling like she’s won.
I should walk away. Be the bigger person. But I’ve been shrinking for too long—and this time, I want the world to look small.
I smile back.
And then I splash the entire contents of my wineglass on both their faces.
Gasps ring out. One of the elders chokes on his drink.
Isolde shrieks, wine dripping down her expensive dress. Liora looks like she’s been slapped.
My wolf howls inside me. Powerful. Defiant. For once, not curled up and crying. She’s on her feet. And I stand taller.
I glance across the crowd and meet Alaric’s eyes.
He’s watching me.
And he’s smirking.
That infuriating, sexy, trying-not-to-laugh smirk that makes my stomach twist in all the wrong ways.
Adrian storms over. “What the hell was that for?”
I tilt my head. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I embarrass you? Maybe next time you’ll try marrying a woman you’re not cheating on.”
Adrian freezes. Opens his mouth, then closes it. Oh. Did he actually think he could get away with being a cheater? That I would never find out about him and Isolde? What a sweet summer child.
Liora growls. “Alaric, are you going to say nothing? She just assaulted us in front of the council.”
Everyone turns to him.
Alaric doesn’t move. He sips his drink like this is the most entertainment he’s had in years.
Then he says, calmly, “I believe they call this karma.”
My breath catches. He didn’t even flinch when Liora growled his name. Didn’t lift a finger to come to her rescue.
And maybe I should be disturbed by that. Maybe I should be wondering what kind of man lets his own wife get drenched in front of the entire council.
But all I can think is that he didn’t defend her.
Hope spirals in my chest. I don’t like that. Hope is dangerous. It makes you reach when you should walk away. My pulse flutters when he doesn’t defend her, and my wolf settles like she’s just been validated.
I don’t want this to mean something. Because if it does…
No. No, I can’t afford thinking that. This isn’t about Alaric. This is about me finally remembering I have a spine.
The whispers start immediately. The elders. The guests. Everyone is talking about me, and I know they’ll spin this to use it against me. Turn me into the villain of my own wedding banquet. It makes me want to curl in on myself. Maybe I should be the small, quiet girl they think I am and pretend it was an accident.
But I’ve already crossed that line, and after giving it a second thought, I’m not sorry.
Junie pops up by my side from behind a column, her eyes wide with delight. “That was... badass.”
I raise a brow. “You owe me five bucks for creating one hell of a show.”
She giggles, and my lips curl into a smile of their own. For the first time since arriving in this gilded prison, I don’t feel like the victim.
I feel like the storm they didn’t see coming.
Not a victim. Not a Luna.
Dahlia, the most badass werewolf to have hit the Yellow Stone Pack.
Let them whisper. Let them watch. I didn’t come here to be pretty. No. What I came here for is to survive.