The frostbitten air of the hotel gardens bit at my exposed neck, but I didn't shiver. I crouched behind a tall row of manicured hedges, perfectly still. Beside me, Dr. Helena Winters remained just as silent. I had asked the Obsidian Pack’s healer to accompany me tonight. My White Wolf was powerful, but Helena’s knowledge of herbs and poisons was unmatched.

Through the leaves, the moonlight illuminated the stone fountain. Athena stood there, wrapped in a thick fur coat, nervously checking her diamond-studded watch.

A moment later, a figure in a heavy, dark cloak emerged from the shadows. The scent of damp earth and ozone hit my nose—a witch. Witches rarely mixed with wolves, not unless there was illegal coin involved.

Athena reached into her coat and pulled out a heavy velvet pouch. The unmistakable clink of gold coins echoed in the quiet night. She shoved it into the witch's hands. In return, the cloaked figure offered a tiny, dark glass vial.

"This better last through the summit," Athena hissed, her voice trembling with paranoia. "If his wolf stops sensing the pup, I'm ruined."

The witch merely bowed and melted back into the shadows. Athena quickly uncorked the vial, dabbing a drop of the liquid onto her neck and wrists before hurrying back toward the hotel.

I turned to Helena. The older woman’s face was pale, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Moonshade," Helena whispered, confirming my worst suspicions. "It’s a highly illegal, banned witch herb. It alters the wearer's pheromones to perfectly mimic the hormonal scent of a pregnant wolf."

A dark, ruthless smile curved my lips beneath my veil. A fake pregnancy. Athena was carrying nothing but lies. She was using a phantom pup to keep Gideon's slipping loyalty tethered to her. The perfect Luna was a fraud.

"Thank you, Helena," I murmured. "Go back to the suite. I need a moment."

I waited until the gardens were empty before stepping onto the cobblestone path, heading for the hotel's side entrance. The warmth of the corridor was a sharp contrast to the biting wind outside. I walked briskly, my mind racing with how to best use this new weapon, when I turned a corner and slammed directly into a solid wall of muscle.

The scent of pine and rot flooded my senses. Gideon.

His hands instinctively shot out, gripping my upper arms to steady me. The moment his skin touched the thin silk of my sleeves, a violent jolt of electricity snapped between us. It was the ghost of our severed mate bond. For me, it was a dull, dead ache. But for Gideon, it was a live wire.

He gasped, stumbling back a half-step. His golden eyes blew wide, his pupils dilating as his inner wolf slammed against his ribs, frantic and confused. He stared at my black veil, his chest heaving. Even through the heavy scent-masking paste Helena had applied to my pulse points, his soul recognized something it had lost.

"Who are you?" Gideon demanded, his voice a raw, desperate rasp. He stepped closer, crowding my space. "Why does your presence feel like..." He couldn't finish the sentence. He looked pathetic. A broken king grasping at shadows.

I didn't step back. I didn't shrink away. Instead, I let my White Wolf rise, filling my veins with ice and iron. Slowly, deliberately, I tilted my head to the side. It was the exact same submissive gesture I used to make when I scrubbed his floors, waiting for his permission to speak.

Gideon froze. Recognition, utterly impossible and terrifying, flickered in his eyes.

Before he could process it, I laced my voice with the heavy, crushing weight of an Alpha tone. "Your focus should be on your crumbling pack, Alpha, not on strangers."

I didn't wait for a response. I sidestepped his frozen form and walked away, my heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor, leaving the great Alpha of the Silverclaw Pack trembling in the hallway.

I wandered the sprawling hotel, letting my racing heart settle. The pulsing neon lights of the resort's massive arcade caught my eye. The room was loud, filled with the beeps and crashes of video games. And there, sitting alone on a stool by a brightly lit racing console, was a small boy.

Andy.

My breath caught. He was kicking his legs, staring blankly at the flashing "GAME OVER" screen. He looked so small, so abandoned. Athena was likely back in their suite, securing her fake Luna image, completely ignoring the child she had fought so hard to steal from me.

The White Wolf inside me whined, a deep, maternal ache overriding my vengeance. I approached him slowly, my footsteps silent.

When I stopped beside him, Andy looked up. He didn't look scared of my veil, just tired.

I reached into the deep pocket of my gown and pulled out a small, worn object. It was a wooden wolf, crudely carved but smoothed by time. I had made it for his first birthday. Athena had thrown it in the trash the very next day, calling it "Omega garbage." I had dug it out of the dirt and kept it ever since.

I placed the little wooden wolf on the console next to his hand.

Andy gasped. His small fingers reached out, tracing the carved ears. For a brief second, my heart beat so hard that my blood ran hot, burning away a fraction of the herbal scent-blocker on my wrists. A faint wisp of my true scent—warm milk, wildflowers, and the undeniable essence of a mother—drifted over him.

Andy inhaled sharply. His head snapped up to look at me, his young eyes wide with a sudden, profound confusion.

"My... my mom made this," he whispered, his voice trembling. He clutched the toy to his chest. "But Luna Athena said she was a monster. A bad wolf who ran away. Monsters don't make toys."

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I leaned down, my voice soft, stripped of all Alpha command, leaving only the fierce love of a mother.

"People lie, little wolf," I murmured. "Monsters don't always look like monsters. And mothers never truly leave. Trust your own nose. Trust your heart."

I stood up and turned away before he could see my shoulders shake. I walked out of the neon-lit room and into the shadows, leaving my son holding the truth in his hands.

The private meeting room smelled of old leather and expensive cigars, a scent that usually made my wolf bristle. But today, I forced myself to breathe it in deeply. Across the mahogany table sat Council Elder Thaddeus Blackwood, a man whose word could dismantle entire packs.

Rosemary sat beside me, her posture relaxed but authoritative. She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, playing the part of the bored Alpha perfectly. "The rogue situation is escalating, Thaddeus. You can't deny the reports."

Thaddeus sighed, rubbing his temples. "We are aware, Alpha Larson. But rogues are disorganized. Scavengers. They don't have the coordination to breach fortified borders without leaving a trace."

I leaned forward, letting the shadows of my veil obscure my expression. "Unless they aren't breaching them, Elder. Unless the gates are being opened for them."

Thaddeus froze, his gaze snapping to me. "That is a grave accusation, Miss...?"

"Brooks," I said softly, using my surname for the first time in years. It tasted like ash and iron. "And it isn't an accusation. It's a pattern. Look at the trade routes. The attacks only happen on shipments carrying Council tithes. The rogues know exactly when the guards rotate. That isn't luck. That is paid intelligence."

I slid a folder across the table. Inside were the notes I had transcribed from Gideon and Eleanor's desperate argument the night before—dates, times, and the suspicious lack of casualties in Silverclaw territory despite the surrounding chaos. I didn't name the Silverclaw Pack directly. I didn't have to. Thaddeus was a smart man; he would see the hole where Gideon's integrity should be.

Thaddeus opened the folder. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the data. The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating.

"If this is true," Thaddeus murmured, his voice hardening, "then we have a traitor in our midst."

"Investigate the borders, Elder," I whispered, standing up. "You might find that some Alphas are more concerned with maintaining their lifestyle than protecting our laws."

We left him staring at the papers, the seed of suspicion firmly planted in the fertile soil of his mind.

***

Back in the suite, the air was thick with tension. Dr. Helena Winters was waiting for me, holding a small, clear vial.

"This is it," Helena said, her voice grim. "Concentrated scent neutralizer. It’s harmless to wolves, but it strips away any artificial scents instantly. Perfumes, colognes... and witch-crafted illusions."

I took the vial. It looked like water, but in my hands, it felt like a grenade.

"Thank you, Helena."

I moved to the service entrance of the suite. A young server, a nervous Beta boy Rosemary had vetted, was waiting. I pressed a heavy roll of bills into his hand, followed by the vial.

"The juice for the Alpha's son," I instructed, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Mix this in. Make sure he drinks it during the toast. If you fail, I will know."

The boy nodded, his eyes wide with fear, and scurried off.

The trap was set. But Andy needed a push. He was confused, scared, and surrounded by liars. I closed my eyes, reaching deep into the bond that Athena had tried so hard to sever. It was frayed, thin as a spiderweb, but it was still there.

*Andy,* I projected the thought, channeling it with the precision of my White Wolf.

I felt a jolt of surprise from two floors down. He was in his room, likely being dressed in some stiff suit he hated.

*Trust your nose, little wolf,* I whispered into his mind. *The truth smells like rain.*

The connection snapped shut before he could respond, but I felt his shock. It was enough.

***

The sun had set. The Grand Banquet was starting.

I stood before the full-length mirror in my dressing room. The black veil lay in a heap on the floor—a discarded shroud. I didn't need to hide anymore.

The gown Rosemary had commissioned for me was liquid silver. It clung to my curves like a second skin, shimmering with every breath I took. It was backless and sleeveless, designed to draw every eye in the room.

But it wasn't the silk that made me stare at my reflection. It was the arms.

For seven years, I had worn long sleeves to hide the evidence of my servitude. The burn mark on my left forearm from when Athena had "accidentally" spilled boiling soup on me. The jagged white line on my bicep from a broken plate Gideon had thrown in a drunken rage. The rough, calloused skin of a woman who had scrubbed floors until her fingers bled.

Rosemary had offered to have Helena heal them with a salve, to erase the history on my skin. I had refused.

I traced the burn mark with my fingertips. These weren't just scars. They were receipts. They were the proof of what the Silverclaw Pack had done to their own. Tonight, I wouldn't hide them. I would wear them like diamonds.

My White Wolf stirred, pacing in the back of my mind, hungry for the hunt. Her power flooded my veins, straightening my spine, lifting my chin. The terrified girl who had wept in the snow was gone.

I turned away from the mirror, the silver silk flowing around my legs like mercury.

"Let's go," I said to the empty room, my voice echoing with Alpha command. "It's time to feed."