Juliet POV

The heavy tires of the Royal Pack's bulletproof SUVs crunched against the gravel, breaking the suffocating silence. Bryce didn't spare us another glance as his guards loaded his wheelchair into the lead vehicle. Braydon peeled out seconds later, his suffocating golden aura lashing out in a humiliated rage that rattled the Packhouse windows.

The grand, farcical wedding procession had evaporated.

Elder Edwina stepped out onto the porch, her wooden cane thumping ominously against the floorboards. She released the oppressive, stale scent of an aged she-wolf, her sharp eyes sweeping over the gossiping crowd. "Show's over. Return to your duties," she snapped.

As the Pack members scattered, a sleek, unassuming black sedan rolled slowly past the gates. The tinted rear window lowered just an inch. Inside sat Ezekiel Scott, the reclusive, top-tier Lycan King. His deep, unfathomable gaze locked onto my bloodied form for a fraction of a second before the window glided up and the car vanished down the road.

*Did you see her face? She's a dead woman walking,* a voice whispered through the Pack's Mind-Link.

*Luna Queen Augusta will skin her alive for humiliating the royals,* another replied.

*Clang.*

The heavy iron gates of the Palmer Packhouse slammed shut, cutting off the whispers.

Before I could even catch my breath, a brutal hand twisted into my hair. Alpha Harold dragged me across the courtyard and hurled me onto the freezing cobblestones. His gray wolf scent exploded in a violent frenzy.

He kicked me squarely in the ribs. I bit down on my tongue, tasting fresh copper as my vision blurred. My fingers twitched, brushing against the fabric of my pocket where the jagged, Silver-laced whip barb rested. My operative instincts screamed at me to drive it straight into his jugular.

"You useless, wretched mistake!" Harold roared, raising his foot for another crushing blow.

"Stop, Harold," Edwina's cold voice sliced through his rage. She hobbled down the steps, her eyes devoid of any grandmotherly warmth. "Beating her to death here serves no purpose. Prince Bryce is already on his way to the palace. The Luna Queen's wrath will fall upon our Pack."

Harold froze, his chest heaving. "Then what do you suggest, Mother?"

"We play the victims," Edwina said smoothly, looking at me like I was a piece of rotting meat. "We hand her over. We tell Augusta that this wolfless Omega went completely insane, that she forged the decree herself out of jealousy. Let the Luna Queen execute her. Her blood will wash our hands clean."

Carmen stepped up beside Harold, a vicious smile twisting her lips. "A brilliant plan, Elder."

"You bitch!" a shrill voice shrieked.

Charlize burst from the Packhouse doors, reeking of cloying, sweet roses. Her face was contorted in pure, unadulterated hatred. Her secret lover had been humiliated, her grand plans delayed. She threw herself onto me, her manicured hands slapping my bruised face left and right. "You ruined everything! You ruined Braydon!"

I didn't just take it. I was done being their punching bag.

With a surge of adrenaline, I twisted my hips and violently bucked her off. Charlize hit the cobblestones with a shriek. Before she could scramble away, I lunged. I pulled the blood-crusted Silver barb from my pocket and slashed it diagonally across her left cheek.

*Hiss.*

The sound of burning flesh was instantaneous. Charlize let out a bloodcurdling, agonizing scream as the Silver seared through her skin, guaranteeing a permanent, unhealable scar.

"My baby!" Carmen shrieked in absolute horror. "Get her off! Pull her off!"

Two burly Warriors grabbed my arms, hauling me backward. Carmen rushed forward and slapped me so hard my ears rang, but I just spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at her designer shoes and let out a dark, breathless laugh.

"Touch me again," I whispered, my eyes locking onto Harold's with the cold, dead stare of a reaper, "and I'll make sure the Luna Queen knows exactly whose idea that forged decree was. I'll drag this entire family to hell with me."

Harold's face paled, his fists trembling with a mix of fury and genuine unease. "Drag this animal to the Pack Shrine," he ordered the Warriors, his voice shaking. "Leave her on her knees before the Alpha statues until the royal summons arrives."

They dragged me by my arms, leaving a trail of my blood across the courtyard. They threw me onto the hard wooden floor of the cold, dimly lit Shrine and slammed the heavy oak doors shut.

Outside, my newly awakening White Wolf hearing picked up Edwina's hushed, venomous whisper to Harold. *"If by some miracle she survives the palace today, we announce she died of a sudden illness in three days. She does not live to see the weekend."*

I knelt before the towering stone statues of the Moon Goddess and the past Alphas, my breathing shallow. I reached into my torn pocket, my fingers brushing against something metallic that definitely wasn't the Silver barb.

I pulled it out. My breath hitched.

It was a sleek, leather-bound roll. Inside rested my custom-made, microchipped gold needles from my past life—a three-thousand-dollar set I used for advanced nerve block procedures. How they had crossed over with my soul, I had no idea.

But the moment my bloodied fingertips touched the cool gold, a strange, profound warmth pulsed up my arm. It resonated deep within my chest, awakening a dormant, ancient energy. My White Wolf's Healer bloodline was answering the call.

I gripped the needles tightly, my eyes fixed on the cold stone face of the Moon Goddess. Let the Luna Queen summon me. I was ready.

Juliet POV

I knelt in the dim Pack Shrine, the cool gold of my needles grounding me. Over an hour had passed. The agonizing burn of the Silver in my back was a constant, suffocating fire, but my mind remained razor-sharp.

"Kneel straight, you wolfless trash," a voice sneered from behind me.

Before I could brace myself, a heavy boot slammed into my injured spine. White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. It was Dori, Edwina's Omega servant, trying to earn favor by tormenting a bleeding girl.

My operative instincts bypassed my physical exhaustion. I spun, dropping low, and swept her legs out from under her. Dori hit the hard wooden floor with a shocked gasp. In a fraction of a second, I was on top of her, my bloody knee driving ruthlessly into her elbow joint.

"Alpha Harold will—" she choked out, her eyes wide with sudden terror.

I pressed my knee down harder, leaning in until my face was inches from hers. My eyes were dead, devoid of any hesitation. Dori whimpered. Her weak, cowardly Inner Wolf shrank back, instinctively terrified of the lethal, cold-blooded intent radiating from a supposed wolfless Omega.

At 3 PM, the heavy Shrine doors creaked open.

Carmen walked in, followed by a stern woman in a pristine, dark uniform—Gail, the Luna Queen's head official. Seeing the Royal escort, Carmen immediately rushed toward me, her face twisting into a mask of fake, maternal heartbreak.

"Oh, Juliet, look at you," Carmen cooed, reaching out to adjust my torn collar.

Under the fabric, her manicured nails dug viciously into my raw Silver wound. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming as the metal toxicity flared.

"You will die on Royal grounds today," Carmen whispered, her voice barely a breath, masked by her nauseating, cheap perfume.

I didn't flinch. I channeled the searing, soul-tearing pain directly into my right arm, raised my hand, and delivered a brutal, bone-rattling slap across her face.

*Smack.*

The sound echoed sharply through the Shrine. Carmen crashed to the floor, clutching her rapidly swelling cheek in absolute disbelief.

"If I die, I'm dragging you to hell first," I said coldly, looking down at her.

Standing by the door, Gail’s eyes widened. A flicker of profound shock broke her stoic facade. She clearly hadn't expected a battered, wolfless girl to possess such a terrifying, unyielding aura.

By sunset, the black bulletproof SUV came to a halt outside the towering iron gates of the Royal Pack. The white marble path stretched endlessly toward the inner palace, lined with heavily armed Warriors.

"The Luna Queen demands a Penance Walk," Gail announced, her voice echoing in the crisp evening air. "Kneel every three steps. Bow your head to the stone every nine."

It was a blatant, humiliating display of power. I stepped out of the vehicle, my legs trembling from severe blood loss.

*One, two, three. Kneel.*

The hard stone bit into my shattered knees.

*Nine. Bow.*

My forehead struck the pristine marble, leaving a smear of fresh blood. The pain was blinding, but my White Wolf's faint, dormant healing energy pulsed just enough to keep me conscious. I brushed the leather roll in my pocket, my mind calculating every variable. *Prince Bryce, you better be in that palace. You are my only way out of this slaughterhouse.*

By the time I reached the Luna Queen's palace, darkness had fully fallen.

"Wait here," Gail ordered coldly.

I was left kneeling on the freezing marble porch. Half an hour dragged by. The night wind bit into my open wounds, but I kept my spine rigid, refusing to shiver.

Through the heavy oak doors, a terrifying, intoxicating scent bled into the cold air. Violent thunderstorms and dark cedar. Lycan King Ezekiel. Just breathing it in made my dormant wolf stir with an ancient, inexplicable reverence. The sheer weight of his presence inside that room was suffocating.

Finally, the heavy doors creaked open. Gail stepped out, her eyes lingering on my blood-soaked, battered form with something akin to quiet disbelief.

"The Queen will see you now," she said.

I forced my numb legs to stand, squared my bleeding shoulders, and stepped over the threshold.

Juliet POV

I stepped over the threshold, and the heavy oak doors shut behind me with a resounding thud that felt like a death knell.

The Queen's Audience Chamber was a blinding display of opulence. Wolf totems carved into the golden walls gleamed under the crystal chandeliers, but the air inside was suffocating. It was thick with the sharp scent of pine—Luna Queen Augusta’s oppressive aura—and beneath it, the terrifying, intoxicating smell of violent thunderstorms and dark cedar.

I didn't need to look into the shadows on the left to know Lycan King Ezekiel was watching me. My dormant White Wolf trembled, instinctively recognizing an apex predator.

"On your knees," Augusta commanded from her elevated throne.

My shattered knees hit the freezing marble floor. The impact sent a fresh wave of liquid fire radiating from the Silver barbs still embedded in my back, but I locked my jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.

To my right, Prince Bryce sat in his wheelchair, his pale face twisted in a mixture of humiliation and dark fury.

"You dare defy a Royal decree, you wolfless trash?" Augusta’s voice was a lethal whip. Her Luna aura crashed down on me, trying to force my face back into the stone. "You humiliate my son in front of your pathetic Pack, and you think you will leave this room alive?"

I forced my head up, meeting the Queen's furious gaze. My operative training kicked in, calculating the exact angle of my defense.

"I refused a lie, Your Majesty," I rasped, my voice remarkably steady despite my bleeding throat. "Alpha Harold forged a death warrant against my mother, falsely accusing her of mating with a Rogue. He intended to use my corpse to pave the way for his favorite daughter, Charlize, to marry the Alpha Heir."

Augusta’s eyes narrowed, but her killing intent didn't waver. "Pack politics are beneath me. You still publicly rejected a Prince of the Royal Pack. For that alone, I will have you torn apart."

She raised her hand to summon the guards.

*“Hold.”*

A single, low syllable rumbled from the shadows. It wasn't loud, but it vibrated through the marble floor and straight into my bones.

Ezekiel leaned forward, the dim light finally catching his chiseled, battle-hardened face. His abyssal black eyes locked onto mine. He saw right through me. He knew exactly what I was doing—using the Royal Pack as a blade to sever my father's throat.

Instead of exposing me, a dark, amused smirk played on his lips. Suddenly, a wave of pure Lycan dominance swept through the room. It didn't crush me; instead, it effortlessly shattered Augusta’s suffocating Luna aura, allowing me to breathe.

"Let the little wolf finish," Ezekiel murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "She was about to tell us the real reason she couldn't marry the Prince."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Ezekiel was testing me. He was giving me exactly one chance to play my final card.

I looked back at Augusta, stripping away every ounce of my pride to deliver the ultimate, fatal truth in the werewolf world.

"I am broken, Your Majesty," I said, my voice dropping to a hollow whisper. "The years of abuse and the Silver whipped into my flesh have destroyed my internal organs. My cycles stopped years ago. I am barren."

The word echoed in the dead silence of the chamber.

In a society where bloodline and the strength of the Pack were everything, a barren female was worse than dead. She was a curse.

Augusta froze. The sheer disgust on her face morphed into something far more dangerous—a cold, calculating wrath directed entirely away from me.

"Harold Palmer," Augusta hissed, her manicured nails digging into the armrests of her throne. "He dared to offer the Royal Pack a barren, defective vessel? He thought he could insult our bloodline with a ruined Omega?"

I exhaled a microscopic breath. It worked. The target on my back had just been painted onto my father's chest.

But my relief didn't even last a second.

A sudden, horrifying gasp ripped through the room.

I snapped my head to the right. Bryce was gripping the armrests of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles were bone-white. His face had drained of all color, replaced by a sickly, ashen gray.

"Barren..." Bryce choked out, the word tearing from his throat like jagged glass.

The word had triggered something catastrophic. His eyes rolled back, flooding with manic, bloodshot red. A guttural, agonizing roar erupted from his chest—the sound of a half-dead Inner Wolf violently turning on its own host.

"Get Jobe!" Bryce screamed hysterically, his body beginning to violently tremor. "Get the Pack Doctor! Now!"

He thrashed wildly, his paralyzed legs jerking with unnatural, terrifying spasms as his wheelchair tipped dangerously to the side.