Alpha Nathan Pov.

I responded with deliberate coolness, maintaining emotional distance to test her reaction.

"Why?" I countered, deliberately casual. "Do I need your permission to take a Luna?"

Her reaction was immediate and revealing-her expression flickering between hurt and something that looked alarmingly like betrayal before settling into forced neutrality.

Without responding directly to my question, Mila approached with unusual boldness, reaching into my jacket pocket without permission-an invasion of personal space she would normally never attempt without invitation.

Before I could react, she had extracted the small jewelry box I had purchased on my way to her home-a peace offering for Emily that I had almost forgotten in the drama of the current situation.

With presumptuous entitlement, Mila opened the box, gasping dramatically at the diamond ring nestled within.

"A diamond for your new Luna?" she exclaimed, her voice carrying an unmistakable note of jealous accusation as she stamped her foot childishly against the ground.

"This is what you think she deserves after knowing her for what-a few days? While I've been by your side for years?"

The possessive undertone in her reaction, combined with the inappropriately intimate way she had searched my clothing, created an uncomfortable realization that her mate's assessment might be more accurate than I had wanted to believe.

"What the hell is going on with you?" I demanded, my voice rising with genuine alarm at her increasingly inappropriate behavior.

The harsh question caused her to physically shrink back, momentarily shocked by my uncharacteristic aggression toward her.

I struggled to regulate my breathing, fighting for calm as I tried to process these disturbing new dynamics with the sister I had always adored and protected.

"Let's go to the castle," I finally stated, deliberately firm but controlled.

"We need to talk-properly and privately."

She nodded with unexpected meekness, reaching out to take my arm in a gesture that should have been innocent but now felt loaded with uncomfortable subtext.

"What about your son James?" I inquired, concerned about the child being left behind during this family crisis.

"Isn't he coming with us?"

Her dismissive response only heightened my concern about her emotional state.

"I need to be alone with you," she murmured, her emphasis on the last two words carrying disturbing weight.

"Please take me home."

Despite my growing unease about her motivations, I felt obligated to honor my commitment to protect her-she was still my sister, regardless of any potentially inappropriate feelings she might harbor.

"Get in the car," I instructed, deliberately maintaining physical distance as we walked toward my vehicle.

The drive back to the castle passed in uncomfortable silence, Mila staring out the window with unusual intensity rather than engaging in her typical cheerful chatter.

Her uncharacteristic stillness only heightened my concern about her mental and emotional state-this wasn't the vibrant, outgoing sister I had known all her life.

When we finally arrived at the castle, she remained seated even after I had parked and opened her door, staring ahead as though uncertain of her surroundings.

"Mila?" I prompted with growing concern. "Why are you just sitting there? This is your home too."

Her response was alarming in its obvious theatricality-placing her hand dramatically against her forehead with a gesture that belonged on a Victorian fainting couch rather than in a modern SUV.

"I feel dizzy," she announced, her voice weak and breathy in a manner that immediately triggered my suspicion.

"Everything is spinning."

Despite my growing certainty that she was manufacturing symptoms for attention, my protective instincts wouldn't allow me to ignore potential distress.

With a resigned sigh, I lifted her carefully from the seat, carrying her between my arms as I had countless times since childhood when she was genuinely ill or injured.

"You're getting too old for this," I commented lightly, trying to maintain normal sibling banter despite my unease.

"Remember when you used to fake stomachaches to get me to carry you to bed and read you stories?"

The reminder of childhood patterns was deliberate-an attempt to reestablish appropriate boundaries by referencing our shared history as siblings rather than anything more complex.

I carried her through the grand entrance and up the sweeping staircase, heading directly for her personal suite that had been maintained for her use since childhood.

The familiar route required no thought, allowing my mind to focus on planning our upcoming conversation-how to gently but firmly address her mate's concerns while helping her work through whatever emotional crisis had triggered this disturbing behavior.

"We'll talk after you've rested," I decided, pushing open her bedroom door with my shoulder while carefully supporting her weight.

"Maybe a short nap will help clear your head."

I placed her gently on the bed, straightening to move away when something completely unexpected and horrifying occurred-Mila suddenly lunged forward, seizing the front of my shirt to pull me down toward her as she pressed her lips firmly against mine in a kiss that contained nothing sisterly or innocent in its clear intent.

Shock paralyzed me for a fraction of a second before I reacted with instinctive revulsion, shoving myself backward with enough force to nearly topple the nearby nightstand.

"What the HELL is wrong with you?!" I exploded, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand in an unconscious gesture of disgust.

"Are you DRUNK?"

The question emerged from desperate hope for any explanation besides the obvious-that my sister had indeed developed romantic feelings for me as her mate had suggested.

I stared at her in complete disbelief, unable to process that the sweet girl I had helped raise from childhood could possibly view me as anything other than her protective older brother.

My mind raced through potential explanations-alcohol, drugs, magical influence, mental breakdown-anything that might explain this behavior without confirming the disturbing theory her mate had proposed.

Rather than showing appropriate shame or embarrassment at her actions, Mila adjusted her position on the bed with deliberate sensuality, her hand moving to my chest in a circular, caressing motion that was unmistakably seductive.

I grabbed her wrist firmly, holding it away from my body as I struggled to maintain my composure.

"Mila! Wake up! What's going on with you?" I demanded, my voice unsteady with shock and growing concern about her mental state.

To my horror, I felt my body responding to her touch with unwanted physical awareness-not from any genuine attraction, but from the basic biological response of a healthy male werewolf to deliberate sexual stimulation.

"This is wrong on every possible level," I thought desperately, fighting against the confusing signals my body was sending in contradiction to my psychological revulsion.

"She's my SISTER!"

I stepped backward, putting physical distance between us while struggling to process this unprecedented situation.

Mila seemed to interpret my confusion as hesitation rather than rejection, her expression becoming more boldly seductive as she leaned forward on the bed.

"I love you, Nathan!" she declared with passionate intensity that left no doubt about the nature of her feelings.

"I've loved you since we were still pups! I've waited years for you to notice me as more than just your little sister!"