The Jilted Mate's Rise To Supreme Luna

Ember's POV

I walked out of the pump station with the blood on my knees soaked dark brown through the inside of my skirt. Deondre stood a dozen yards off, his pressed uniform like a clean flag planted in the waste. Brandee saw me first. Her face froze for half a second, and then she ran over, heels ticking on the gravel.

"Oh my God, Ember!" She stopped in front of me, both hands hovering in the air. "You scared me to death! What did those filthy Rogues do to you?"

Under the rose perfume: the red clay of the Old Wastes, cheap tobacco, and the rotting sweetness of Rogue breath. The red clay was on her heels.

I looked at her and said nothing.

Deondre turned, took in the ruined dress and the blood on my knees. He stood three steps away and raised a hand to his nose.

"Your scent is contaminated." His voice was a military report. "Did they touch you?"

There was nothing in his brown eyes but disgust and calculation. This man had promised to protect me. He hadn't asked how many places I was bleeding.

"Three Rogues. My driver is dead. I killed one and hid in the pump station." I said it one word at a time. "While you were standing here covering your nose, did it occur to you that I might be in there, bleeding?"

Deondre's jaw locked. "What kind of attitude is that?"

"Ember, you have to understand his position," Brandee cut in, her voice soft as syrup, reaching for my arm. I stepped aside.

"If the elders smell this on you, the engagement is—"

"The engagement?" I turned to her. The little smirk was well buried. Not well enough. "You're that concerned about my engagement."

"Of course I'm concerned about you!" She pressed a hand to her chest, and her eyes went red on cue. Deondre patted her shoulder.

I looked at the two of them standing together and was suddenly very tired. Seven years. Or longer. I'd told myself all I had to do was be obedient. Aunt Martha said the ceremony would be set within the week. I had already made my peace with signing the contract.

Deondre took a step toward me. "Get in the car. Don't make a scene here."

I stepped back.

His hand closed on air. His face changed. The patience he'd been pretending was finally worn through. "Ember. I said get in the car."

"I don't need your car."

"You—"

I pulled the silver dagger from my sleeve. The blade came up at his throat, the tip still carrying rogue blood. Deondre froze, pupils shrinking. Brandee stepped back twice.

"Touch me," I said, "and find out how fast silver works on an officer."

He didn't move. I watched the arrogance crack across his face, one inch at a time, and something underneath it show. Cowardice. I put the dagger away and turned for the highway.

Blood ran down my leg, leaving dark marks on the gravel with every step. Behind me, the Langley convoy started its engines, tires grinding the shoulder, the sound fading out.

I walked the highway a long time. By the time the sky went dark, the estate had come up at the end of the road. The iron gate stood open, the gatehouse light on. I stood on the gravel and looked at the familiar door.

The crescent birthmark above my collarbone burned, once. Faint, like a fingertip brushing it.

I pressed my hand over it and looked back. The highway was empty. Nothing there.

I pushed the door open and went in. Warm light spilled out of the foyer, mixed with woodsmoke and the kind of quiet that had been held down all day. Everyone was there. My father by the fireplace, Agatha on the sofa, Deondre and Brandee leaning in the archway like two statues waiting for me to come home.

The door slammed shut behind me.