The invitation arrived on a Tuesday, sealed with the official mark of the Global Alpha Summit. I watched from the shadows as Dante's hands trembled, breaking the wax seal with unnecessary force.

"The Global Alpha Summit," Marcus read over his shoulder, his voice carefully neutral. "All pack leaders are required to attend."

Dante's laugh was hollow, echoing through the empty room that once held my shrine. "What does it matter? The Shadow Ridge Pack is crumbling anyway."

"You need alliances," Marcus insisted, his eyes meeting mine briefly as I stood in the corner of the room—invisible to them both. "The northern territories are vulnerable. Three more attacks last week."

I shouldn't have been there. Shouldn't have returned to Seattle after three years. But some bonds pulled harder than reason.

"I heard something," Dante murmured, his fingers tracing the embossed lettering on the invitation. "There's a witch in New York. Someone who can communicate with the dead."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "Alpha, you need to accept that Eva is—"

"Don't say it," Dante snarled, his eyes flashing amber. "Don't you dare say it again."

I stepped back as Marcus bowed his head in submission, though I could see the guilt etched into every line of his face.

"I'll go," Dante said finally, rising from his chair. "Not for alliances. For answers."

He crossed to a locked cabinet, pulling out a velvet-wrapped package with reverent care. Even from where I stood, I could smell the faint metallic scent of my own blood—the portrait he'd commissioned for Amaya's coronation.

---

The private airstrip hummed with activity as our jet touched down. Kenzo's hand rested protectively at the small of my back as we descended the stairs.

"Ready?" he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

I nodded, adjusting the delicate veil that partially obscured my face. "Ready."

The welcoming committee waited at the bottom of the stairs—lower-ranking Alphas from neighboring territories, their postures already shifting as my aura expanded outward. One by one, they lowered their gazes, necks baring instinctively before the Lycan Queen.

"Welcome to New York," said Victor Blackwood, the nearest Alpha, his voice strained as he fought against his body's natural submission.

I stepped forward, feeling Silver—my wolf—rise within me, adding her strength to my own.

"Thank you for the welcome," I replied, my voice carrying the subtle French accent I'd acquired during my years in Paris.

Isabella's tiny hand slipped into mine as she descended behind me, her heterochromia—one golden eye, one silver—drawing curious glances.

"Maman," she whispered, "does Papa know we're here yet?"

"Of course, little one," I assured her, squeezing her hand gently. "He's waiting for us at the hotel."

The air around us seemed to vibrate with power as our Lycan warriors formed a protective circle. I could feel the lower Alphas struggling against the instinct to kneel.

"The car is ready," announced Jean-Luc, my head warrior, gesturing toward the waiting limousine.

As we moved toward the vehicle, I caught a familiar scent on the wind—rainwater and iron, though masked now by expensive French perfume. My own scent. The one Dante had once claimed would be etched in his memory forever.

---

The opening reception glittered with crystal and silver, the hotel ballroom transformed into a showcase of wealth and power. I stood near the entrance, Kenzo at my side, watching as pack leaders from around the world mingled and maneuvered.

And then I saw him.

Dante stood alone in the corner, a glass of whiskey clutched in his pale hand. His once-commanding presence had diminished to a hollow shell—clothes hanging loose on his frame, dark circles shadowing his eyes, beard unkempt and wild.

He ignored Amaya completely as she attempted to network with other Lunas, her smile brittle as she tried to maintain the facade of her position.

"He looks terrible," Kenzo observed quietly.

"He destroyed himself," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.

Across the room, Dante lifted his head suddenly, nostrils flaring as if catching a scent. For one heart-stopping moment, his gaze swept directly toward me.

I held his stare, my expression cold and detached, though my heart hammered against my ribs.

"Does he recognize you?" Kenzo asked, his hand tightening around mine.

"No," I said, though uncertainty flickered through me. "Eva Dunn died in that fire."

As if summoned by her name, Dante's fingers reached for the velvet-wrapped package at his side—the portrait painted with my blood.

Our eyes locked across the crowded room, and for just a moment, I saw something flicker in his gaze—recognition? Impossible.

I turned away, focusing instead on the gathering before us. Let him wonder. Let him suffer.

The memory of the needle in my arm—of his hands holding me down as he took my blood for his new Luna's portrait—surged through me, extinguishing any flicker of pity.

Eva Dunn was dead. And I was here to bury her forever.

The negotiation room buzzed with tension as Alphas from across the globe debated territory disputes. I sat beside Kenzo, my posture relaxed yet regal, listening as Victor Blackwood argued for expanded hunting rights along the Canadian border. The air conditioning hummed overhead, circulating the stale air of too many wolves in too small a space.

I'd chosen my perfume carefully that morning—a delicate blend of French lavender and vanilla that masked my natural scent. Three years in Paris had given me more than just a title; it had given me the tools to hide what I once couldn't.

"The northern territories have always belonged to—" Victor's voice droned on.

A chair scraping against carpet made me glance up. Dante Ross sat three tables away, looking half-dead and utterly bored. His eyes were glazed, fingers tapping restlessly against his whiskey glass. Amaya sat beside him, her smile tight as she tried to maintain the facade of the devoted Luna.

Poor Amaya. She'd won the title but never the man.

I turned my attention back to the debate, but something had shifted in the room. The air conditioning had kicked into high gear, and with it came a change in air flow. My carefully applied perfume had worn thin from the heat of debate and exertion.

"—and furthermore, the Shadow Ridge Pack has historical claim to—"

"Enough!"

Dante's voice cracked through the room like thunder. Every head turned as he shot to his feet, his chair clattering backward onto the floor. His eyes were wide, nostrils flaring wildly as he inhaled deeply.

"Eva?" he whispered, so softly I almost missed it.

My heart stuttered painfully in my chest. Kenzo's hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently.

"Eva!" This time louder, more certain.

The room fell silent. Amaya's face drained of color as Dante's gaze locked onto our corner of the room.

"You're dead," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're dead but I can smell you."

Marcus appeared at his side instantly, his hand on Dante's shoulder. "Alpha, please—"

"Get off me!" Dante roared, shrugging him off with a strength that sent Marcus stumbling backward. "I smell her! She's here!"

Kenzo remained perfectly still beside me, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps Alpha Ross requires medical assistance," he suggested smoothly to the stunned room. "The stress of leadership can sometimes—"

"No!" Dante's eyes locked onto mine with terrifying intensity. "It's her. It's Eva."

---

The corridors outside the negotiation room erupted into chaos as Dante charged through them like a bloodhound on a trail. I could hear the commotion from our suite as Kenzo double-checked our security arrangements.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching mine.

I nodded, adjusting the silver crescent moon pendant at my throat. "It was inevitable."

The sound of shouting grew louder as Dante approached our wing of the hotel. Marcus's voice carried through the walls, pleading with him to stop, to think rationally.

"Alpha, please! You're embarrassing yourself! There's no one here!"

"I know what I smell!" Dante roared back. "I'd know her scent anywhere!"

A crash echoed down the hall—probably a security guard being thrown aside. Kenzo's warriors moved into position, their faces grim.

"He's using his Alpha strength," Jean-Luc reported from the doorway. "Two guards are down already."

"Let him come," I said calmly, moving to stand by the window. "This ends today."

The pounding on our door began almost immediately—violent, desperate thuds that shook the frame.

"Open this door!" Dante's voice was raw, unhinged. "I know she's in there! Eva! EVA!"

Kenzo exchanged a glance with me before nodding to Jean-Luc. The warrior stepped aside as Kenzo moved toward the door.

"Alpha Ross," Kenzo said coolly as he opened it. "Your behavior is unbecoming of an Alpha."

Dante tried to push past him, but Kenzo's Lycan aura flared—not as overwhelming as an Alpha's brute force, but more refined, more powerful. Dante stumbled back a step.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his eyes wild. "I heard her voice!"

"There's no one here but my mate and I," Kenzo replied evenly.

"I don't believe you," Dante snarled, trying again to force his way in.

Kenzo stepped aside deliberately, revealing me standing by the window. I turned slowly to face him.

Dante froze.

I was no longer the frail girl in the grey dress who had begged for his mercy. The woman before him wore tailored silk that emphasized her curves, her posture regal and confident. My hair fell in elegant waves past my shoulders, and my eyes—once downcast in submission—now met his without flinching.

"You're dead," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You're dead but I can smell you."

I stepped forward, allowing my Royal Aura to expand just enough to push him back physically without touching him.

"Eva Dunn died in a fire, Alpha Ross," I said in my new, accented voice. "You buried her."

His wolf whined in submission to my higher rank, even as his Alpha instinct raged against it. Behind him, security guards approached cautiously.

"You're lying," he said, but doubt flickered in his eyes as he took in my transformation. "Your scent—"

"Is that of Lylah Rodriguez, Lycan Queen of the Parisian Crescent Pack," I finished for him.

As security dragged him away, his eyes never left mine—filled with confusion, desperation, and the first glimmer of something I'd never seen there before.

Fear.