The ceremony took place under a full moon, just the two of us and the ancient stone circle that marked sacred ground in the Lycan territory. No crowds. No politics. Just Jericho and me, and the bond that had saved my life.

He stood across from me in the moonlight, his dark eyes reflecting silver. When he reached for my hands, that familiar electricity sparked between us, but softer now. Familiar.

"Kaia Ross," he said, his voice carrying across the silent clearing. "I claim you as my mate, my equal, my Queen. From this night forward, your battles are mine. Your joy is mine. Your life is bound to mine."

My throat tightened. The words were simple, but they meant everything. No one had ever called me their equal before.

"Jericho Hayes," I whispered back. "I accept your claim. I give you my loyalty, my strength, my heart. From this night forward, we stand together."

When he pulled me close and pressed his lips to the mark on my neck—the one that had appeared the night we met—the bond flared bright and hot between us. Complete. Unbreakable.

I was his. He was mine. And for the first time since that night in the mud, I felt whole.

---

The pregnancy hit me like a freight train.

I'd been feeling off for weeks—nauseous, exhausted, my wolf restless in a way I couldn't explain. When the healer confirmed it, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"You're carrying a pup," she said gently. "But given your late-bloomer status, this won't be easy. Your body is still adjusting to your wolf. Adding a pregnancy on top of that..."

She didn't finish, but she didn't have to.

Jericho never left my side. When the morning sickness got so bad I couldn't keep anything down, he held my hair back and brought me water. When my wolf grew agitated and I couldn't sleep, he shifted and curled around me, his presence calming the chaos inside.

"You're stronger than you think," he told me one night, his hand resting on my growing belly. "This pup is lucky to have you as a mother."

I wanted to believe him. But some nights, when the pain got bad and my body felt like it was tearing itself apart, I wondered if I was strong enough for this.

Then Eddie was born, and nothing else mattered.

He was tiny. Perfect. His eyes were Jericho's—dark and knowing—but his hair was mine, soft and light. When they placed him in my arms, my wolf surged forward, protective and fierce.

Mine. Ours.

But the healer's face was grave when she examined him.

"His wolf spirit is weak," she said quietly. "He's a late bloomer, like you were. He'll need constant protection until his wolf awakens."

Jericho's hand found mine, squeezing tight. "Then we'll protect him."

And we did. For five years, we built a life around Eddie. A safe life. A happy one.

Until the letter arrived.

---

The Grand Alpha Summit. New York.

I stared at the formal invitation, my hands shaking. The Lycan Council was calling all pack leaders to address rising Rogue activity. It was political. Necessary. And it meant going back to the place that had destroyed me.

"You don't have to go," Jericho said, reading my expression.

"Yes, I do." I set the letter down, forcing my voice steady. "I'm your Queen. If you're going, I'm going."

He studied me for a long moment. "Then we do this smart. We keep your identity hidden until the main Gala. Let's see which packs can be trusted before we reveal who you are."

I nodded, but my wolf was already restless. She remembered New York. Remembered the mud and the rain and the pain.

She wanted blood.

---

The hotel lobby was massive, all marble and gold and the kind of luxury that screamed old money. I kept my sunglasses on, my hair tucked under a baseball cap, Eddie's small hand gripped tight in mine.

Jericho was arriving later with the formal entourage. For now, I was just another guest. Anonymous. Safe.

Then I smelled it.

Cedar and smoke. The scent hit me like a punch to the gut, dragging up memories I'd buried deep. My wolf snarled, recognizing it instantly.

Alistair.

I turned, and there he was. Older. Harder. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, his eyes ringed with exhaustion. He looked like a man barely holding himself together.

He looked like hell.

Our eyes met across the lobby, and I saw the exact moment his wolf caught my scent. His nostrils flared. His pupils dilated. He took a step toward me, his expression shifting from exhaustion to something hungry.

"You," he said, his voice rough. "I don't know you."

I should have walked away. Should have grabbed Eddie and disappeared into the crowd.

But I didn't.

"No," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. "You don't."

He moved closer, and I could see it now—the way his pack was failing. The weight of bad decisions pressing down on his shoulders. He looked at me like I was salvation.

He had no idea who I was.

And I wasn't ready to tell him.

He followed me to the elevators.

I could feel him behind me, his presence heavy and suffocating. Eddie's hand tightened in mine, and I squeezed back, trying to reassure him even as my own heart hammered against my ribs.

"Wait," Alistair said, his voice low. "Just—wait."

I stopped. I shouldn't have, but I did. Maybe some part of me needed to hear what he'd say. What excuse he'd offer for the way he'd destroyed me.

He stepped around to face me, blocking my path. Up close, he looked worse. Dark circles under his eyes. A tightness around his mouth that spoke of sleepless nights and bad decisions.

"My Luna is useless," he said bluntly. "The pack's failing. I need—" He stopped, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in my scent. His pupils dilated. "You smell incredible."

I said nothing.

"I can offer you protection," he continued, his voice dropping to something that might have been seductive if it wasn't so pathetic. "A place in my pack. You'd be my Pack Mistress. All you'd have to do is warm my bed."

The words hung in the air between us.

Slowly, I reached up and removed my sunglasses.

Recognition hit him like a physical blow. His face went white. Then red.

"Kaia," he breathed.

"Hello, Alistair."

For a moment, he just stared. Then his expression twisted into something ugly. "You survived. Of course you did. What, did you spread your legs for some Rogue Alpha? Is that how you're still breathing?"

I felt Eddie flinch beside me. My wolf snarled, pushing against my skin, but I held her back.

"You look like hell," Alistair continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "Bet you've been living in the gutter, haven't you? Scraping by. That's why you're here—looking for scraps."

Before I could respond, a shrill voice cut through the lobby.

"Alistair!"

Nola.

She swept toward us in a cloud of expensive perfume and fake fur, her heels clicking against the marble. But underneath the designer clothes and carefully applied makeup, I could see the cracks. The desperation.

Her eyes landed on me, and her face contorted with rage.

"You," she hissed. "What are you doing here? How dare you show your face—"

"Nola," Alistair started, but she wasn't listening.

She was staring at my hand. At the locket I'd been holding for Eddie—the one Jericho had painstakingly repaired after Nola destroyed the original. My mother's locket.

"Still clinging to that old thing?" Nola's voice rose, shrill and mocking. "Pathetic. You're pathetic, Kaia. A rogue whore playing dress-up."

She lunged forward and snatched the locket from my hand before I could react.

"No—" I started, but she was already moving.

She threw it.

The locket arced through the air and landed in the lobby fireplace with a soft clink. Flames licked at the delicate silver, blackening it. Melting it.

The last piece of my mother. Gone.

Something inside me went very, very still.

"Mama?" Eddie's voice was small, frightened.

I looked down at him. His face was pale, his breathing shallow. The tension in the lobby was affecting him—too many aggressive wolves, too much hostile energy.

"It's okay, baby," I whispered, kneeling beside him. "We're leaving."

But Alistair stepped forward, his face twisted with anger. He'd been ignored. Dismissed. And his pride couldn't take it.

"You don't walk away from me," he snarled.

His Alpha Aura slammed into the lobby like a tidal wave.

It crashed over me, heavy and oppressive, trying to force me to my knees. My wolf rose to meet it, pushing back, but Eddie—

Eddie gasped.

His small body crumpled, his knees hitting the marble floor. His hands clutched at his chest, his mouth open as he struggled to breathe.

"Eddie!" I caught him before he could fall completely, my arms wrapping around his trembling body. "Someone get a healer! Now!"

Movement at the edge of my vision. A woman in healer's robes—Elena Winters, I recognized her from Shadow Ridge—started forward.

Nola stepped into her path.

"Don't," Nola said coldly. "We're not wasting pack resources on a rogue brat."

Elena hesitated, her eyes darting between Nola and Eddie's struggling form.

"Let him die," Nola continued, her voice carrying across the silent lobby. "One less piece of trash in the world."

Eddie's breathing grew more labored. His lips were turning blue.

And something inside me snapped.

The glass doors exploded.

Shards rained down like crystal snow as Jericho's security detail breached the entrance. But I barely registered them. All I could see was him.

Jericho.

He strode through the wreckage, his presence filling the massive lobby like a physical force. The air itself seemed to bend around him, crackling with power that made my skin prickle even from across the room.

His Lycan Aura hit like a sledgehammer.

Every wolf in the lobby dropped. Alphas, Betas, warriors—it didn't matter. They all went down, their knees slamming into marble with sickening cracks. Gasps and choked screams echoed off the walls as the pressure crushed them into submission.

Alistair collapsed beside me, his face contorted in agony. Nola hit the floor hard, her designer heels skittering across the polished stone.

But Jericho's aura didn't touch me. It wrapped around me like a shield, warm and protective, even as it destroyed everyone else.

He walked past Alistair without a glance. Past Nola. Past all of them.

His eyes were only for Eddie.

He scooped our son into his arms with a gentleness that contradicted the lethal energy radiating from every inch of his body. Eddie's breathing was still shallow, but the moment Jericho's hands touched him, some of the tension left his small frame.

"Who dared to harm the Lycan Prince?"

Jericho's voice was quiet. Deadly. It cut through the silence like a blade.

No one answered. No one could. They were all too busy trying to breathe under the weight of his power.

He turned to me, his dark eyes softening for just a moment. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head. My throat was too tight to speak.

Jericho's gaze swept the room, landing on each prostrate wolf in turn. Then he spoke again, his voice carrying the unmistakable command of a king.

"Rise."

The pressure eased. Not completely—just enough for them to struggle to their feet. Alistair hauled himself up, his face pale and slick with sweat. Nola clutched at a marble column, her carefully styled hair falling into her face.

Jericho shifted Eddie to one arm and reached for me with the other. His hand found the small of my back, pulling me close. Then he kissed me.

It wasn't gentle. It was possessive. Claiming. A public declaration that left no room for doubt.

When he pulled back, his voice rang out across the lobby.

"This is Kaia Hayes. My mate. My equal. Your Lycan Queen."

The silence that followed was deafening.

I watched the realization dawn on face after face. Shock. Disbelief. Horror.

But it was Alistair's expression that held my attention. The color had drained from his face completely. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. His eyes—those eyes that had once looked at me with love—were wide with something that looked like terror.

"No," he whispered. "No, that's not—she's not—"

"She is." Jericho's tone was ice. "And you will address her as Your Majesty."

Alistair's wolf was fighting him. I could see it in the way his hands trembled, the way his jaw clenched. He'd rejected his true mate. Rejected royalty. And now he was paying the price.

But I wasn't done.

I stepped forward, pulling away from Jericho's protective hold. My wolf surged to the surface, and I felt my eyes shift—white light bleeding through as my Alpha power rose.

I looked at Nola.

She was still clinging to the column, her face a mask of terror and rage. When our eyes met, she flinched.

"You destroyed my mother's locket," I said quietly. "You threatened my son. You told a healer to let him die."

Nola's mouth worked. "I—I didn't mean—"

"I challenge you." The words came out steady. Final. "For the insult to my family. For the destruction of my heirloom. I challenge you to a duel."

Nola's eyes went wide. "No. No, I'm Luna of Shadow Ridge. I don't have to—"

"You do."

The voice came from the edge of the crowd. An older man stepped forward, his silver hair gleaming under the lobby lights. Marcus Blackwood. Head of the Werewolf Council.

He looked at Nola with cold assessment. "An insult to the Royal Family must be answered. You have two choices, Luna Ross. Accept the challenge, or be executed for treason on the spot."

Nola's face went from pale to gray. She looked at Alistair, desperate, but he was staring at me like he'd seen a ghost.

No help there.

She turned back to me, and I saw the moment she realized she had no way out.

"I accept," she whispered.

My wolf smiled.