Chapter 1: You're Toxic
Lysandra's POV
"Ah... oh God... Tristan..."
My back arched as his fingers plunged deeper inside me, my thighs trembling as waves of pleasure rippled through my core. His mouth claimed my breast, tongue flicking relentlessly against my hardened nipple while his thumb circled my clit with maddening precision.
"Fuck, don't stop," I gasped, grinding shamelessly against his hand.
Sweat slicked our bodies as Tristan rose above me, his muscular chest gleaming in the dim light. The predatory hunger in his eyes made me clench around his fingers. He was enjoying the power he had over me, watching me writhe beneath him.
"You want to come?" he growled.
"Yes," I whimpered, not recognizing the desperate need in my own voice. "Please, Tristan."
His fingers found the perfect rhythm, curling to hit that sweet spot inside me while his thumb pressed harder against my clit. My inner walls tightened as the first intense pulses of orgasm began to build.
Just as the pleasure crested, ready to crash through me like a tidal wave, Tristan abruptly withdrew his hand. Cold air replaced his warmth as he pushed himself off me.
"Pathetic," he said, looking down at my quivering, unsatisfied body with utter disgust.
I jolted awake, heart pounding, a thin sheen of sweat covering my skin. The sheets beside me were cold and undisturbed. Of course Tristan hadn't come home last night. Again.
I stared at the ceiling. Two years of marriage to the future Alpha of the Silverblood Pack, and all I had to show for it was an empty bed. Tristan had only marked me because he was forced to—he never wanted me, never claimed me as his own. He spent most nights at his downtown penthouse, doing God knows what with God knows who.
Correction: with Selene Darkwood.
Finally, I glanced at the clock.
"Fuck!" I bolted upright. Late for my appointment. I scrambled out of bed, pushing back the lingering ache between my thighs that the dream had left behind.
As I hurried through my morning routine, I caught myself touching my flat stomach. A child might change things between us. One child to heal our broken marriage—or at least give me something real to hold onto.
A dark voice in my head whispered that I was lying to myself, but I pushed it away. Sometimes hope was all you had left.
I followed the nurse down the sterile hallway into Dr. Rylan Jones's office. The older doctor was one of the few people in the pack who treated me with genuine kindness.
"Good to see you, Lysandra," he said, gesturing for me to sit. "How have you been feeling lately? Any changes?"
I shrugged. "Tired. Maybe a bit nauseous in the mornings."
His eyebrows shot up, but he kept his tone professional. "Let's run some tests."
Twenty minutes and several vials of blood later, I sat waiting nervously. When Dr. Rylan returned, his face broke into a wide smile.
"Congratulations!" he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
My heart skipped. "Really? I'm..." My hand flew to my stomach. "There's a baby?"
"Babies, actually," he corrected, unable to hide his smile. "You're carrying twins."
"Twins?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper as a mix of joy and terror washed over me.
Dr. Rylan's expression sobered. "I need to be straight with you, Lysandra. As a wolfless werewolf, your pregnancy carries significant risks. The miscarriage rate is three times higher than for normal she-wolves."
I nodded, swallowing hard. "I'll be careful. Maybe the Moon Goddess will finally bless me."
"Just take it easy," he advised, writing a prescription for prenatal vitamins. "And Lysandra? Congratulations again. Truly."
I left the hospital clutching the prescription, my mind racing. Twins. I was carrying Tristan's children—our children. Surely this would change things.
Maybe he would finally accept me. Maybe we could be a real family.
I hesitated at the threshold, gathering courage to tell Tristan about the babies.
Voices drifted from the living room—Tristan's deep timbre and a softer, feminine one punctuated by small sobs. My stomach clenched as I recognized Selene's voice.
They hadn't heard me come in. Tristan sat on our sofa, Selene curled against him, her head resting on his chest as he stroked her hair. Her perfectly manicured hand rested possessively on his thigh.
"She's horrible to me," Selene whimpered, turning her face into Tristan's chest.
"Shh, I know," he murmured, his voice softer than he'd ever used with me.
I must have made a sound because Tristan's head snapped up, his eyes locking with mine. In an instant, his expression transformed from tender concern to cold fury.
"You," he growled, the Alpha power in his voice making my knees weak. "How dare you show your face here! How dare you harass Selene!"
"What?" I blinked, genuinely confused. "I don't know what you're talking about. Tristan, I have something important to tell—"
"Save it!" he snarled, cutting me off. "Looking at you makes me sick."
Selene peered at me from behind Tristan's protective embrace, a victorious gleam in her eyes that disappeared so quickly I might have imagined it.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The hopeful bubble that had carried me home burst painfully. This was nothing new—just another scene in our twisted marriage, with Selene playing victim and Tristan her avenging champion.
I fled upstairs to our bedroom, Selene's satisfied smirk burning into my back. Behind the locked door, I sank onto the bed, one hand protectively covering my stomach. My eyes drifted to the drawer where I had placed the severance scroll—a formal request to dissolve our forced bond, signed with my name, waiting for his approval.
All it needed now was his mark. Not a lover’s mark this time, but a signature of consent—his final agreement to let me go, to present to the Alpha and complete the ritual.
He'll never love you. He'll never accept these babies. He'll always choose her.
Memories flashed through my mind: Selene at pack gatherings, showing off the scar on her right arm—her "proof" of saving Tristan's life, a debt he seemed determined to repay for eternity. Selene receiving Tristan's gentle touches while I received only his cold indifference.
Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open, lock splintering as Tristan stormed in. His eyes were steel, jaw clenched as he slammed the door behind him.
"Hiding in here like a coward?" he hissed, stalking toward me.
I stumbled backward. "Stay away from me."
He ignored my warning, grabbing my wrists and forcing me onto the bed. His body pressed against mine, pinning me in place.
"You think you deserve to be my Luna?" he snarled, his face inches from mine. "A pathetic, wolfless nothing like you?"
His hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Don't forget how you schemed your way into this marriage. My father forced me to marry you. I never wanted you."
His lips crashed against my neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin. His free hand roughly pushed up my shirt.
"No!" I cried, struggling against his weight. "Stop it!"
"Don't pretend," he growled against my skin. "This is what you wanted when you destroyed my life."
Something snapped inside me. These weren't just his hands on my body anymore—they were on my babies. Our babies. The twins who deserved better than this toxic home.
"Then sever the bond," I said, my voice stronger than I'd ever heard it.