The adrenaline from the training session was still humming in my veins as I followed Santiago into his private study. The room smelled of old paper and the faint, calming scent of rain that clung to him, but the atmosphere was heavy. Santiago didn't sit behind his massive mahogany desk. Instead, he stood by a wall of monitors, his expression grim.

"You possess an Alpha's strength, Selene," he said, his voice low. "But strength without knowledge is just violence. You need to see this."

He tapped a key, and the screens flickered to life. Lines of code scrolled past before settling on a bank statement. It was a transfer for fifty thousand dollars, routed through three shell companies before landing in an account flagged by the Lycan intelligence network as belonging to a known rogue mercenary group.

"The rogues who killed your father didn't stumble upon him by accident," Santiago explained, his golden eyes locking onto mine. "They were paid."

I stepped closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Paid? By who?"

Santiago pointed to the metadata at the bottom of the screen. "The transfer was authorized ten minutes before the patrol shift started. The source IP address traces back to the Blackwood Pack House. Specifically, the guest Wi-Fi network."

He swiped the screen again, revealing a device ID.

"Kayla Palmer’s phone."

The world seemed to tilt. I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself. It wasn't just negligence. It wasn't just Adrian being too busy with his new toy to send help. It was murder. Calculated, cold-blooded murder. Kayla had sent my father to his death to clear the path for herself, to remove the one person who would have fought to keep me in the pack.

"She killed him," I whispered, the words tasting like bile. "And Adrian... he let it happen."

"He didn't know about the payment," Santiago said, though his tone suggested that ignorance was no excuse. "But he created the environment that allowed a viper to thrive."

Before I could respond, a sharp, static hiss erupted in the back of my skull. It wasn't a sound I heard with my ears; it was a pressure, like a hook trying to snag a fish in deep water. I gasped, clutching my temples. The Mark of Protection on my neck flared hot, stinging my skin.

"What is that?" I winced, the pressure building until it felt like a migraine.

Santiago moved instantly, his hand covering the mark on my neck. His cool energy flooded my system, dampening the noise. "It’s Adrian."

I looked up at him, wide-eyed. "He's trying to mind-link me?"

"He is panicking," Santiago said, his jaw tightening. "The bond is damaged, but not broken. Now that you are gone, the 'mate pull' is returning to him. He feels the void you left, and he is trying to force his way back in. My mark is blocking him."

I closed my eyes, focusing on the static. I could almost feel Adrian on the other side—frustrated, confused, reaching out into the darkness where I used to be. For ten years, I would have given anything to feel him seeking me out. Now, all I felt was disgust.

"Let him knock," I muttered, pulling away from Santiago’s touch as the pain subsided. "There's no one home."

My burner phone buzzed in my pocket, shattering the tension. I pulled it out, frowning at the unknown number. Only a few people had this contact.

"Hello?"

"Selene? Oh, thank the Goddess." The voice was hushed, trembling. It was Jenna, a young Omega maid from the Blackwood pack who had always been kind to me.

"Jenna? Is everything okay?"

"It’s a nightmare here," she whispered hurriedly. I could hear the clatter of dishes in the background. "Since you left, the pack is... it’s gloomy. The warriors are restless. And Alpha Adrian, he’s a wreck. He’s been storming around the house, snapping at everyone. He keeps asking if anyone has seen you. But Kayla..."

My grip on the phone tightened. "What about her?"

"She's spending money like water," Jenna hissed. "She’s demanding new furniture, new clothes. She says she needs to look the part for the Alpha Summit next week. But Selene... that’s not why I called."

There was a pause, heavy and terrified.

"She went into your father's cottage before the enforcers boarded it up," Jenna said, her voice breaking. "She cleared out your room. She found the box under your bed."

The air left my lungs. "No."

"She took it, Selene. She took your mother’s ceremonial Luna gown. The silver silk one. She’s at the tailor right now, having it cut. She says it’s too modest. She’s going to wear it to the Summit when Adrian introduces her as the future Luna."

A low growl started in my chest, vibrating through my ribs. That gown was the only thing I had left of my mother. It was sacred. It was meant for the moment I took my place as Luna. For Kayla to touch it—to cut it up and wear it like a trophy over the body of the woman whose husband she murdered—it was a violation so deep it eclipsed my grief.

"Selene?" Jenna squeaked.

"Thank you, Jenna," I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. "Stay safe."

I ended the call and looked at Santiago. The violet hue was bleeding back into my vision, overlaying the room with the color of my wolf’s rage. The trembling was gone. The fear was gone. All that was left was cold, hard purpose.

"She took my mother's dress," I told him. "She's going to wear it to the Summit."

Santiago didn't offer pity. He didn't tell me to let it go. He straightened his cuffs, his golden eyes burning with a predator's approval.

"Then we will go to the Summit," he said simply. "And you will take it back."

I looked at my reflection in the dark monitor. The girl who begged for love in the rain was dead. The woman staring back was ready to burn the world down.

"I don't just want the dress, Santiago," I said, my voice steady. "I want everything."

"Good," the Alpha King replied, opening the door. "Let's get to work."

“You have two choices, Selene.”

Santiago stood by the window of his study, the moonlight casting long shadows across the floor. The Alpha Summit was forty-eight hours away, a gathering of the most powerful wolves on the continent. It was a political shark tank, and usually, people like me—Gammas, omegas, the rejected—were the bait.

“Option one,” he said, turning to face me, his golden eyes unreadable. “You stay here. You heal in the gardens, you let the palace staff wait on you, and you remain a ghost to the world. You will be safe.”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Option two. You walk into that hall by my side. You let them see you. You let Adrian see you. But if you choose this, you are declaring war. There is no going back.”

I looked down at my hands. The knuckles were still bruised from hitting the punching bag earlier that morning. For ten years, I had chosen option one. I had chosen safety. I had chosen silence. And it had gotten my father killed.

“I’m not hiding anymore,” I said, lifting my chin.

Santiago didn’t smile, but the air around him shifted, crackling with approval. “Good. Then you need to learn how to breathe underwater.”

He didn’t mean literally. For the next two days, we didn't spar with fists; we sparred with presence. Santiago taught me how to withstand an Alpha Command—the psychic weight a leader uses to force submission. He would flood the room with his aura, a crushing pressure that felt like gravity had doubled, and force me to hold his gaze.

“Don’t fight it,” he instructed as my knees buckled under the sheer power of his spirit. “If you fight the ocean, you drown. Ride it. Let it flow past you like water around a stone. You are the stone, Selene. You are unmovable.”

By the morning of the Summit, I was exhausted, but I was still standing.

My transformation began at dawn. A team of stylists, sworn to secrecy by the Crown, descended on my suite. There were no pastels, no soft floral prints like the ones Adrian used to prefer on me because they made me look “sweet” and “manageable.”

Instead, they dressed me in midnight blue—the color of the Lycan Royal Family.

The gown was made of heavy silk that poured over my body like liquid night. It was strapless, exposing the expanse of my shoulders, with a slit that ran dangerously high up my left thigh. But the slit wasn’t for show.

“Ready?” Santiago asked from the doorway.

I nodded, lifting the hem of the dress. Strapped securely against my thigh was a leather holster holding two silver daggers. They were thin, balanced, and deadly.

“I hope I don’t have to use them,” I said, smoothing the silk back down.

“Better to have a blade and not need it, than to need a blade and only have a prayer,” Santiago replied. He walked over to a velvet box on the vanity table and opened it. Inside lay a choker made of diamonds so clear they looked like ice, set in white gold.

He lifted it from the velvet. “Turn around.”

I did, sweeping my hair off my neck. His fingers brushed against my skin, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. He fastened the clasp over the fresh mating mark he had given me on the plane.

“Why cover it?” I whispered. “Shouldn’t they know I belong to you?”

“Not yet,” he murmured against my ear, his breath warm. “Let them wonder. Let Adrian drive himself mad trying to figure out why he can’t smell you. Confusion is a weapon, Selene. Wield it.”

We took the royal limousine to the venue, a massive glass-domed convention center in the heart of the neutral territory. The paparazzi were swarming the red carpet, flashes popping like lightning storms. We waited in the tinted darkness of the car until the announcer called the Blackwood Pack.

I watched through the window as a sleek sports car pulled up. Adrian stepped out, looking every inch the arrogant Alpha in a tuxedo that cost more than my father’s life insurance. He turned and offered his hand to someone inside.

Kayla emerged.

A cold, metallic taste filled my mouth.

She was wearing it. My mother’s ceremonial Luna gown. The delicate silver lace that my mother had been married in, the silk that had been wrapped in tissue paper for twenty years. But Kayla had butchered it. She had cut the hem to her knees and lowered the neckline until it was trashy, trying to modernize a relic she had no right to touch. It didn't fit her; it bunched at the waist and gaped at the chest, rejecting her just as much as I did.

“Breathe,” Santiago’s voice cut through the red haze in my vision. He took my hand, his grip firm and grounding. “She looks like a child playing dress-up in a graveyard. You look like a Queen coming to collect a debt.”

The doors to the Grand Hall opened for us ten minutes later.

The room was a sea of chatter, clinking glasses, and political maneuvering. But the moment the herald announced, “His Majesty, King Santiago, and guest,” the sound died instantly.

It was a vacuum of silence.

We stepped onto the balcony overlooking the ballroom floor. Santiago radiated power, his aura rolling off him in waves that made the Alphas below instinctively lower their heads. But he didn’t walk in front of me. He walked beside me.

We descended the grand staircase. Every eye was on us. I kept my chin high, my face a mask of bored indifference, just as Santiago had taught me. I felt the weight of their stares—hundreds of predators assessing fresh meat—but I let it flow past me. I was the stone.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea.

And then, I saw him.

Adrian was standing near the champagne fountain, a glass halfway to his mouth. Kayla was clinging to his bicep, whispering something in his ear, probably complaining about the lack of attention.

Adrian looked up, annoyed at the interruption to his evening. His eyes landed on Santiago first, widening in deference. Then, they slid to me.

He frowned. He squinted, as if trying to bring a blurry picture into focus. He didn't recognize the woman in the royal blue silk. He didn't know the woman with diamonds at her throat and death strapped to her thigh.

Then, I smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

The glass slipped from his fingers.

It shattered on the marble floor with a sound like a gunshot, echoing through the silent hall. Champagne splashed onto Kayla’s stolen shoes, but Adrian didn't even blink. He just stared, the color draining from his face, his mouth forming a single, silent word.

*Selene.*