[Daphne’s POV]
Xander freezes above me. His entire body goes rigid, his eyes snapping to the doorway with an expression I've never seen—raw panic mixed with lethal fury. My own shock hits a second later, cold and paralyzing. I scramble to cover myself, to pull the sheets up, my face burning with shame so intense it feels like physical pain.
Hector stands in the doorway, backlit by corridor torches, and the expression on his face isn't rage. Isn't even anger.
He looks amused.
"Well." His voice carries that dangerous calm I've learned to fear. "This is interesting."
Xander moves off me immediately, positioning himself between Hector and the bed. His shoulders are tense, ready for violence. "Get out."
"It's my room too, son." Hector steps inside, closing the door behind him with deliberate care. "My Luna. My territory." His eyes find mine over Xander's shoulder, and something in his gaze makes my skin crawl. "I could have you executed for this, Xander. Sacred law is very clear about touching another Alpha's bonded mate."
My heart stops. Executed. The word detonates in my chest.
"Then do it." Xander's voice is steel. "Kill me. Exile me. I don't care."
"So dramatic." Hector moves closer, circling like a predator assessing prey. "But unnecessary. After everything that's happened today—the revelation, the King's arrival—we don't need another spectacle. Another crisis." He stops at the foot of the bed, his gaze moving between us with calculated assessment. "I'm willing to overlook this... indiscretion. Under certain conditions."
Dread coils in my stomach. "What conditions?"
His smile spreads slowly. "I could join you. Make this a... shared experience."
The suggestion hits me like ice water. My mind rejects it immediately, instinctively, but words won't come. I'm frozen, caught between horror and disbelief.
"Absolutely not." Xander's response is instant, aggressive, leaving no room for negotiation. "Kill me if you want. Exile me. Challenge me. But that's a hard no."
Hector's expression doesn't change. He simply turns his attention to me, dismissing Xander's refusal as irrelevant. "Daphne should choose. It's her body, after all. Her decision." His tone suggests reasonableness, fairness.
"But to make an informed choice, she needs to understand what she's choosing between. She needs to experience both options."
My mouth goes dry. He's twisting this—making it seem like I have power, control, when really he's orchestrating another manipulation. Another way to claim ownership while appearing to offer freedom.
"Daphne, don't—" Xander starts, but Hector cuts him off.
"Let her speak. Or does my son presume to make her choices for her too?"
The trap closes around me. If I refuse, I'm agreeing someone else should decide. If I agree, I'm consenting to something that feels wrong, coerced…
And wrongly delicious at the same time.
"I—" The word comes out strangled. "Okay."
Xander looks at me with bewilderment. But he doesn’t argue.
Hector approaches with the same calculated precision he brings to everything. His fingers trace my collarbone, dip lower. When he kisses me, I feel the bond thrumming—that forced connection that's lived in my chest since the Luna ceremony.
It responds to him, recognizing him, but there's no warmth in it. No life. Just duty and obligation and the weight of magic that shouldn't exist.
Then Xander steps forward, his breath catching as Hector moves aside. And the difference is devastating.
When Xander's palm slides up my ribs—even with Hector's eyes burning into us, even with this horrible situation—something in my chest shifts. The bond with Hector dulls, like someone turned down a lamp. And something else ignites. Not the forced mate bond, but something deeper. Older. True.
My body knows the difference even if my mind is still catching up. Hector's mouth on my neck makes me arch from instinct, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear, sending involuntary shivers down my spine.
Xander's lips against my shoulder make me tremble from need, his warm breath fanning across my collarbone like a summer breeze promising relief.
Gods, yes—I’m split between them, Hector’s grip brutal and claiming, his fingers like iron shackles digging into the meat of my hips, forcing me to rock back against the thick, unforgiving ridge of his member straining through his pants.
Every thrust of his pelvis grinds me against him, the friction so filthy-hot I can already feel my slick on my thighs. His mouth crashes over mine, teeth scraping my bottom lip, tongue going deep like he owns me—I’m whimpering, my core clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.
Then Xander’s there, his touch a wildfire contrast—gentle and starving all at once. His fingers twist in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat, his lips trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down to my collarbone.
"Mine," he growls, and his free hand slips between my legs, two fingers sliding over my swollen sweet spot in slow, torturous circles. I jerk against him, moaning, but Hector’s grip tightens, keeping me pinned between their bodies, my ass grinding against his hard-on while Xander teases my dripping slit, spreading my wetness, toying with me.
"Oh—oh, please—" I’m begging, writhing, but they’re merciless. Hector’s chain burns cold against my ribs, a cruel contrast to the molten heat of Xander’s bond pulsing under my skin. Every time Xander’s fingers dip inside me, just the barest inch, my hips buck, desperate for more.
Hector’s hand slides around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my vision blur. "You take what we give you." His other hand’s pinching my nipples until I’m sobbing. Xander’s fingers finally push deeper, crooking just right, and I scream as my sex spasms, my orgasm crashing through me like a wrecking ball.
By the time they're finished, I'm shaking. Not from pleasure, though my body responded despite everything. From revelation. From certainty.
The bond with Hector is barely a whisper now. The connection with Xander burns bright and real and undeniable.
Hector rises first, adjusting his clothes with casual efficiency. If he notices the bond weakening, he gives no sign. Or maybe he does notice, and that's why his next words feel like shackles.
"Remember, little moon." His voice is gentle, almost affectionate, which makes it worse. "You're still my Luna. Legally bonded, publicly claimed. You still have duties to attend to—both to this pack and to the King. We discussed this with your father. Three months here, under my guidance."
He moves toward the door, pausing to look back. "Choose wisely what battles you fight. And who you trust to fight them with you."
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
Rage floods through me—sudden, volcanic, cleansing. He decides everything. Controls everything. Even this moment that should have revealed his manipulation, he's twisted into another demonstration of his power. Another reminder that I'm his possession, his pawn, his prize to position as he sees fit.
"Daphne—" Xander starts, his voice rough.
I look up at Xander, and for the first time in my life, I know exactly what I need.
"Help me." My voice doesn't shake. Doesn't waver. "I can't fight him alone. I don't know the laws, don't know the strategies, don't know how to prove what he's done. But I need to fight back." I reach out, taking his hand. His fingers close around mine immediately, solid and certain. "Will you help me?"
"Yes." No hesitation. No conditions. Just that single word, carrying more weight than any bond magic could manufacture.
"Then we start tomorrow." I squeeze his hand, feeling that true bond pulse between us—not forced, not manipulated, but chosen. Real. "We find proof. We expose what he's done. And we break his control."
Xander's expression shifts into something fierce. Determined. "Together."
"Together," I agree.
For the first time since the crescent mark ignited on my shoulder, I feel something other than helplessness.
I feel dangerous.