Lupus's POV

The sun rose red this morning. Not warm. Not welcoming. Just... accusing. I haven't slept. My eyes burn, and my wolf prowls under my skin like a caged animal. I stand on my balcony, staring down at the training yard. Warriors sparring. Laughing. Breathing freely. They don't know their former Alpha and Luna-my parents-are locked in stone rooms beneath their feet. Angela slides her arms around me from behind, her voice honey-sweet.

"You're up early."

"I didn't sleep."

She hums, pleased. "Leadership changes you. You'll adjust." She doesn't understand. Or maybe she does-and likes it. Because this is the first morning I wake up and realize my own body doesn't feel like mine anymore. My wolf is restless. He keeps whispering her name. Taylor.

I try not to think it. But it's like holding back the tide with my bare hands. By midday the whispers start-echoes carried through the pack bond even without linking. Where are the elders?

Why is the Alpha acting strange? Why does Angela sit beside him like she rules too? I walk into the training yard and every back straightens. They bow. They obey. But their eyes don't shine with trust.

Respect is still there-but fear has joined it. "Alpha," a young warrior says, voice cracking. Then-too bold or too frightened to stop- "Is it true something happened to the elders?"

Angela answers before I can. "The elders are resting. And it isn't your place to question your

Alpha." But the words ring hollow, and I feel it. My wolf snarls-not at the warrior... but at me.

You did this. I clench my jaw hard enough to crack a tooth. Night falls thick and heavy.

I'm just about to turn in when a howl splits the silence. Raw. Terrified. Familiar.

My mother. I'm shifting before thought catches up-bones snapping, fur exploding from skin. My paws hit the dirt and I tear across the grounds. I don't even remember getting to the holding halls-just stone doors, guards frozen, and the scent of my bloodline choking the air. I force the door open.

My mother is on the floor, shaking, fists full of dirt like she's trying to crawl through it to reach

me. My father kneels beside her, eyes blazing and broken all at once.

"Is this who you are now?" he asks quietly. "A wolf who cages his own parents?" His words hit harder than claws ever could.

"You don't understand," I grit out.

"No," he says. "We understand perfectly."

My mother whispers, "Lupus... please. I can feel you fading. You're losing yourself."

My head snaps up. "No one is fading." But my wolf whimpers, tail tucked.

My father rises slowly, shackles clinking. "You rejected your mate," he says. "But you can't reject the Moon's choice. She still bleeds through you. And you are tearing apart everything tied to her."

Taylor's name detonates inside my chest. I stagger back, breath strangling me. I turn and run before I start breaking bars-or myself. The cliffs are quiet. Only the river below-Taylor's favorite place-singing like it always did. I remember how she said the water sounded like the Goddess humming. I told her she was dramatic. Now I'd give anything to hear her talk nonsense again.

"I don't need her," I say out loud. My voice comes out thin. Even I don't believe it.

My wolf presses against me. Go to her. Fix it. Fix us. My knees nearly buckle. Leaves rustle behind me I don't turn. I know that scent. Angela.

"I was wondering where you disappeared to," she says softly.

"You followed me," I say.

"I follow you everywhere," she replies. "Someone has to keep you from falling."

I stiffen. "I don't fall." Her smile is soft and sharp all at once.

"No. But you're starting to look over the edge." She steps closer, fingertips tracing my jaw like she's moulding me out of clay. "Let the past die. Taylor is gone. The elders will be forgotten. Soon, the pack will fear you enough to never question you again."

Fear. Not loyalty. Not love. My wolf recoils hard. Angela's touch suddenly feels like chains.

And the truth hits me like a blade to the gut: Taylor wasn't my weakness. She was the one thing holding me together. Angela looks into my eyes and I finally understand- She doesn't want to share power. She wants to own it. Own me. And for the first time since I became Alpha... I am afraid. Not of enemies. Of myself. And of what happens if I don't turn back now.

Lupus's POV

Morning came slowly. The sunlight slipped through the tall windows like water, quiet and soft,

but it didn't warm me. It never did anymore-not since that night.

Angela was already awake when I entered the study. She sat at my desk with a pile of reports,

her fingers moving over the parchment with precision.

She looked up and smiled, and I felt the pull again-the one that always made me want to

believe everything was fine if she said so. "You don't have to worry about today," she said softly. "I've handled most of it."

I nodded. It was easier to believe her than to argue. And I did. I always did.

By the time we reached the council hall, I realized just how much of my authority she had quietly

absorbed. The moment I sat, she slid in beside me, as though the seat was hers by right.

Not behind me. Not to the side. Beside. My presence barely mattered. The first report came from the border patrol. "Tracks were spotted yesterday," one of the betas said.

Angela's hand rested lightly on my arm, and she answered before I could even process the

words. "No, the wolves were likely passing travellers. Nothing to worry about."

I opened my mouth to speak. The words felt hollow. She was already smoothing the edges of

my hesitation, turning my concern into calm certainty. The pack nodded. Relief flickered in their eyes. I should have corrected her, but I didn't. Not then. The training grounds were next. I walked beside her, but I felt like I wasn't really walking at all.

She moved with an ease that made every step I took feel awkward, slower. She corrected a young warrior gently: "Lift your elbow a little higher." Another one, "Step left before you strike."

Every instruction came with a glance at me, as if checking that I agreed silently. The warriors

obeyed without question. Respect, yes. Loyalty, maybe. Fear, probably. And I let it happen.

I felt my wolf stirring beneath the skin. Quiet, watching, patient. Not angry. Not warning. Just observing. He knows something is changing in me, something I can't-or won't-see yet. Later, Angela handled a minor dispute between two families. I sat back, arms crossed, pretending to review another report, while she smoothed tempers with calm authority. She never shouted. She didn't need to. Her words were precise, deliberate, controlling without force.

When she returned, she gave me a tidy summary: "All settled." And I said, "Good."

I felt nothing. Not pride. Not satisfaction. Just a hollow recognition that she had done my job

better than I could have. I caught glimpses of the pack reacting to her. A warrior bowed slightly deeper than necessary. Another lingered by the doorway to watch her pass.

They didn't see me. They didn't need to.

Halfway through the day, I realized the truth: I wasn't noticing that I had stopped leading. Angela

was. I wasn't guiding the pack. I was... approving her. And approval was all she needed.

The afternoon brought the council of elders. I walked in thinking I might finally assert myself.

But Angela spoke first, clarifying points, correcting minor errors, phrasing suggestions in ways

the elders nodded at instinctively.

She smiled at me once, lightly, and I felt something tighten in my chest-a combination of awe

and unease. By the time I opened my mouth, she had already answered. My own voice sounded small and weak.

"Your decisions are solid, Alpha," she said afterward, brushing her hand against mine.

"The pack respects you. Trust yourself."

I nodded. The words felt hollow even to me. But it was easier to let her guide me than to

confront the reality I didn't want to see: that I was no longer steering my own pack.

Training ended, and the sun dipped low over the horizon. Angela walked with me back to the

hall, slipping her hand into mine casually. She didn't squeeze, didn't demand. Just rested there,

as if she had always belonged.

I kept my gaze on the horizon. There was a strange weight in my chest. Not anger, not fear.

Something quieter. A tug I couldn't name.

Her presence had become my rhythm. I followed her subtly, almost unconsciously. Every

correction, every quiet suggestion, every soft word of reassurance slowly guided the pack, and

me, without either of us admitting it. Even my parents' cells seemed less urgent. Angela had dismissed two guards today, saying they were unnecessary. I didn't stop her. I watched her do it with the quiet ease of someone rearranging the world. And I let her. Because it was easier. Easier to let her handle it than to feel the responsibility pressing down. Easier to tell myself she

was helping. Easier to believe she was guiding me. And the truth, the one I didn't allow myself to think too long, whispered in the corners of my mind:

She isn't helping.

She is taking control.

And I am letting her.

When night fell, I found myself alone in the study again. Angela came in shortly after, soft steps,

quiet smile. She didn't speak of power. She didn't speak of authority.

Only of care. "You're doing well," she said, brushing a hand across my shoulder. "You're learning not to carry everything alone."

I nodded. I wanted to nod. It felt comforting. It felt... normal. And I believed her.

Because admitting the truth was heavier than I could bear. That I had already handed over

pieces of myself without even noticing. That the pack might follow her lead more than mine.

That my wolf sensed it, and I ignored it. I believed her. And that's why I didn't wake up yet.

By midnight, the hall was empty, torches dimmed, and the silence was complete. I sat at the

desk, staring at the reports she had neatly arranged. Each one was a small reminder: she had

been here, shaping everything while I pretended to lead. And the strange, quiet pressure in my chest remained. Not anger. Not regret. Just awareness.

A seed of something I didn't yet have the courage to name.

Angela had moved quietly, flawlessly, and I had followed.

Not out of love, not out of fear, not out of weakness.

I had followed because it was easier.

And the thought made me feel... powerless.