MARKED BUT UNCLAIMED

I should have known something was wrong when Marcus didn't answer my texts that morning. I should have turned around right there on his doorstep. But I didn't. I had chocolate croissants in my hand and a key he gave me six months ago.

The apartment was too quiet.

I heard her laugh first. Sophie's laugh. My best friend's laugh, coming from his bedroom.

The white bakery box slipped from my hands when I saw them. Marcus and Sophie, tangled in his sheets, her red hair spilling across his pillow.

"Della—" Marcus jumped up. His face went white. "This isn't what it looks like."

Really? Because it looked like my boyfriend of three years was sleeping with my best friend.

"How long?" My voice sounded dead. Empty.

He looked at the floor. "Two months."

Two months. While I was baking his favorite croissants at five in the morning. While we were planning our anniversary trip. While I was stupid enough to think we had a future.

I didn't wait to hear more. I just left.

I sat in my car and cried until my eyes swelled shut. My wolf stirred in the back of my mind. She'd been quiet for five years, ever since I left my pack. But heartbreak always woke her up.

I couldn't go home. My empty apartment would just remind me that I'd built my whole human life on lies.

I needed noise. I needed lights. I needed to be someone else for a while.

Club Moonlight wasn't expecting me. I only danced on Fridays. But Rico saw my puffy eyes and let me in without questions.

"North Pack's here tonight," he said quietly. "VIP section."

My stomach dropped. I'd spent five years hiding from pack wolves. But the club was neutral territory. No pack owned it. That's why I chose it.

The dressing room was too bright. Pop music blasted from someone's phone. Cheap perfume burned my sensitive nose. Good. I wanted to feel anything except the image of Sophie's hair on Marcus's pillow.

I pulled out my red costume and my mask. Red leather that covered half my face. Behind it, I wasn't Della Hart who owned a bakery. I was just the dancer in the red mask. And she didn't care about cheating boyfriends.

"Three shots of vodka," I told Jake at the bar.

He raised his eyebrows. "You never drink before you dance."

"First time for everything."

The vodka burned going down. My wolf would burn it off in minutes anyway. One of the few good things about being a werewolf.

The stage lights blinded me. The music was too loud. I danced like I was angry. Like I could push all the hurt out through my body. Usually I loved dancing. Tonight I just felt stupid and used.

When I came backstage, Thomas was waiting. He looked nervous. Thomas was never nervous.

"I need to talk to you."

I pulled off my mask and wiped the sweat from my face. "What's