Clara’s pov
I left the mating scroll deliberately.
As my moonflight tears through the atmosphere, I catch a final glimpse of the island's far shore—where Caleb's grand moonbond ceremony rages under false pretenses.
He'd spent half a lunar cycle planning this charade, making me believe his alpha oath was true. He even forced me to "supervise" as he transcribed the scrolls—two sets, I now realize.
The ones sent to pack elders bear Juliet's name, not mine.
No wonder the bridal fitting and ritual planning excluded me: Caleb never intended to claim me as his luna.
My fingers trace the two-meter tapestry I stitched for a year—each of the hundred lunar symbols dyed in my blood.
I watched his performance in cold fury, remembering when his every lie triggered a guilty ear twitch.
When we were to pose for our pack union portrait, he pleaded work—yet I caught him at the amusement park, nuzzling Juliet on the ferris wheel.