Chapter 4. Release Her

Daniel’s POV

The days passed agonizingly slowly. Each sunrise seemed to drag its feet, each sunset refusing to arrive. Time felt as though it had condensed into a solid weight, pressing down on my shoulders, crushing my spirit and rendering every breath laborious and strained. I was not sure I possessed the strength to endure it.

Sitting alone behind the broad expanse of my polished mahogany desk, I stared vacantly toward the fireplace perched across the room, framed on either side by towering, floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Winter was fast approaching; soon, I knew, crackling flames would be dancing among the logs, casting warmth and flickering shadows. Yet even the promise of that cozy heat could not reach me. It would never be enough to thaw the ice that had settled over my heart. Not anymore.

A bitter chill had nestled itself deep in my gut, and I suspected it had come to stay—for an eternity, perhaps. I leaned back in the imposing leather executive chair, my fingers white-knuckling the armrests, willing the rigid upholstery to yield under my weight. The chair groaned in protest, as if resentful of supporting me.

Inside my head, recent revelations ricocheted with the manic energy of a pinball unleashed on a broken machine. Ever since I had learned that Elizabeth was my mate, everything had tipped off balance. Right after the bombshell announcement, I’d done something rash. I’d insisted she no longer enter my suite to clean. I came up with a flimsy excuse, invented a petty gripe about wanting my things undisturbed, but the truth was the opposite: I didn’t care in the slightest if she touched every last object I owned.

My problem lay elsewhere—far more primal. It was her scent. That intoxicating fragrance: sweet lilac undercut with something soft and elusive, as though moonlight itself had been bottled and shaken into her hair. Each time the breeze carried that aroma to me, it ignited a storm inside my chest. My Wolf roared, torrents of wild want and feral appetite collecting in my throat. One inhalation and my mouth would water; my fangs would ache to emerge and sink into her tender flesh. The thought alone sent a shiver through my body, and I’d shake my head fiercely, trying to purge it.

For the past two weeks, I had been repeating the same mantra over and over, a hollow heartbeat echoing in my skull: Just give me time away from her. Once I’d put enough distance between us, I told myself, I would regain my composure. The ache in my chest would subside, and I’d find solid ground under my feet again. I had to believe that, because otherwise I was lost.

I drew in a shaky breath. My father had balked when I requested that Elizabeth be barred from cleaning my quarters. He’d feigned annoyance, reminding me that it was her duty—assigned by the Moon itself—to tidy the packhouse. Still, I’d caught the cruel glint in his eye. He was itching to torment her, to use my own attraction as a weapon against her. I refused to comply.

In the end, I had prevailed. Elizabeth no longer darkened my threshold.

My reverie was shattered when someone knocked on the door. Before I could formulate a reply, Margaret swept in, her presence filling the room with the scent of fresh perfume and the soft swish of fabric. I frowned. She crossed the distance between us and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, climbed into my lap. Her navy-blue dress rode up her thighs, and she draped her arms around my neck, drawing herself close.

Her voice was syrupy sweet, so different from the assured tones I was accustomed to hearing from her. It clashed with every fiber of my being.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she cooed, her warm breath brushing my ear. “I can’t believe the Moon actually thought she’d make a suitable mate for you.”

My Wolf growled—a low, savage rumble that vibrated through my chest. He did not appreciate her dismissal of Elizabeth. In his mind, he snapped his powerful jaws, tearing away her head from her body. I tightened my grip, wrestled him back under, forced him into the deep cavern of my restraint.

“I don’t want to discuss it,” I said, muscles aching as I clenched my jaw. Each word was a blade edged with steel. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not going to happen.”

I needed to pull myself together. If Margaret and I were to move forward—if I were ever to find happiness again—I had to find a way to live with her in my bed. Reluctantly, I lifted her from my lap, then walked to the plush sofa set against the opposite wall. She followed wordlessly and sat beside me.

Her chocolate-brown eyes glimmered with sympathy, and she reached out to squeeze my bicep reassuringly. The pity in her gaze was palpable; she believed I was anguished over being bound to Elizabeth. She thought I resented the mate bond, as though it were an insult rather than destiny.

But she was so terribly wrong.

I wanted Elizabeth with every fiber of my being. Every breath I took, every pulse of my blood was for her. But I could never have her. She was never an option. Loving her was tantamount to sentencing her to death.

My Wolf whimpered at the memory of that truth, hungry to protect her from our own violent natures. Yet our suffering felt trivial compared to what might happen to her. I would not let her die on my account. Letting her go was the hardest thing I had ever done—and perhaps impossible.

Sleep had become a stranger. Night after night, I lay rigid on my mattress, staring at the dark ceiling, my mind a churning eddy of desperation and dread. I even entertained a reckless fantasy: to grab her hand and run, to vanish together into the wide world beyond these pack lands. If the choice were between my title and my mate, I would choose her without a second thought. Her name would echo in my heart as I tore my robe of leadership from my shoulders.

But the world did not work in such simple terms.

If my father discovered our flight, he would wield his power with merciless precision. He could sever her bond to the pack as though it were an invisible leash, rendering her rogue. And under the ancient laws that bound every wolfborn, once a sister became rogue, her brother was compelled—compelled—to end her life. No matter how fierce the love, we could not resist.

If she were driven into roguehood, I would hunt her. I would kill her with my own hands, dulling her bones with my bite. That was the law, and no pack son could overturn it.

If, by some miraculous twist of fate, she managed to escape my lethal embrace, she would be a fugitive in every pack’s eyes. A marked traitor, hunted by every wolf who crossed her path. Her existence outside these borders would be even more perilous than inside.

So, Elizabeth couldn’t belong to me. I could not bear the thought of condemning her to such a fate. The grief of seeing her face contort with heartbreak—when I rejected her, forced her away—was itself a blade in my soul.

A hundred times, I had almost raced to her side, to tell her the truth of my love. Not to trap her, but to unburden her with my confession, so she would understand I never meant harm. But that would be nothing more than a selfish cruelty—another debt on her already crushed spirit.

Moreover, I could not risk her knowledge of the bond. If she ever slipped in word or deed and revealed our connection, her punishment would be swift and merciless.

No. Silence was the only path.

My sole, unwavering priority was her life. Every stray thought, every fevered plan, invariably circled back to one grim conclusion: her death. That specter haunted my waking hours, gnawing at the edges of my reason.

I knew what I had to do.

I had to yield—to surrender the thing I craved above all else. Despite every ounce of my soul crying for her, I had to let her go. It was the only way to ensure her safety. Even if it tore me apart, even if I spent the rest of my days wandering in endless regret, I would not allow her to perish because of me.

I would spare her that price, no matter the cost to my own heart.