I didn't sleep. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that red stamp—BIOHAZARD/REJECT—burning into my retinas like a brand. My wolf, usually so quiet she was almost nonexistent, prowled restlessly at the edges of my consciousness. She had no name yet, had barely spoken to me in all these years, but now she radiated unease. Something was wrong. We both felt it.

By dawn, I'd made my decision.

Gamma Morrison didn't bother looking up when I entered his study. He was reviewing documents, a cup of coffee steaming at his elbow, every inch the composed pack official. Luna Morrison sat in her usual chair, spine rigid, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

"I'll do it," I said.

Now he looked up. Surprise flickered across his face before settling back into that mask of cold authority. "You'll sign the territory deed."

"Yes." I kept my voice steady, my hands loose at my sides even though everything in me wanted to clench into fists. "But not yet."

Luna Morrison's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I'll sign over the territory and step aside for Juliet." Each word tasted like ash. "But only after Killian completes the formal Mate Ceremony with me."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.

"You can't be serious," Gamma Morrison said finally. "Why would we—"

"Because I'm not stupid." I met his gaze, channeling every ounce of the strategic mind my grandfather had taught me to cultivate. "If I just hand over the deed now, before any formal bond is established, the Council can contest the transfer. Grandfather's will specified the territory passes to my mate's pack upon my mating. If there's no ceremony, no official record, they'll argue I gave it away under duress. The Black Moon Pack could lose everything in litigation."

I watched the calculation move behind his eyes. He was a political animal—he understood leverage, understood legal loopholes.

"But if Killian completes the ceremony with me first," I continued, "then the transfer is legitimate. Afterward, he can reject me, Juliet can take my place, and the territory is secure. Everyone gets what they want. I just—" I let my voice crack, just slightly. Let them think I was broken enough to beg. "I just need this one thing. To stand at that altar, to have the dignity of a real ceremony before... before it all ends."

Luna Morrison studied me with open contempt. "You want your dignity? After bringing this shame on our family?"

"I want the contract to be ironclad," I said flatly. "So no one can come after any of us later. Isn't that what you taught me? Always think three steps ahead?"

Gamma Morrison leaned back in his chair. I could see him running through the scenarios, weighing risks. The territory was valuable—rich hunting grounds, strategic location. Losing it to a Council challenge would be catastrophic.

"Fine," he said finally. "I'll contact the Black Moon Pack. The ceremony will proceed as scheduled in three weeks. You'll stand at that altar, complete the formalities, and the moment it's done, you'll sign the deed. Then Killian can complete the rejection, and Juliet will assume the Luna position."

"And you'll have your dignity," Luna Morrison added, her tone making it clear what she thought that was worth.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Serena's wooden charm was a solid weight in my pocket.

Three weeks. I had three weeks to figure out what was really happening.

---

The messages to Serena started that afternoon. Simple texts at first—*Hey, can we talk? Need your advice*—then more urgent as hours passed with no response. By evening, my wolf was pacing frantically, projecting images I didn't understand: cold earth, the iron smell of blood, moonlight on still water.

"Stop," I whispered to her. "You're not helping."

But she wouldn't quiet. For years she'd been dormant, barely present, and now she was screaming warnings I couldn't decipher.

On the second day, I called the Moonveil Pack's main line. A border guard answered, his voice gruff and tired.

"I'm looking for Serena Hart," I said. "The healer's daughter. It's urgent."

A pause. Too long. "Miss Hart is unavailable."

"Unavailable how? Is she on a trip? Can you—"

"There's been rogue trouble near our borders," he cut in. "Several pack members are... indisposed. I can take a message."

Rogue trouble. My wolf snarled, claws scraping against the inside of my skull. *Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.*

"Just tell her Amelia called. Please. It's important."

He agreed, but his tone said he wouldn't bother.

I spent the next three days trying every contact I had in Moonveil. No one would talk to me. Serena's phone went straight to voicemail. Her mother, the head healer, didn't respond to my carefully worded letter sent through inter-pack courier.

It was like she'd vanished.

And my parents kept whispering. Late-night conversations behind closed doors, voices too low to make out. Luna Morrison watched me at meals with something that looked almost like guilt before her expression hardened back into contempt. Gamma Morrison avoided looking at me entirely.

On the fifth night, I made my decision.

---

The lockpick set had been my grandfather's. He'd taught me to use it when I was twelve, during one of his visits. "Sometimes, Amelia," he'd said, "the truth is locked away. You need to know how to find it."

I knelt before Gamma Morrison's filing cabinet at two in the morning, my hands steady despite my racing heart. The lock was old but well-maintained. It took me four minutes.

The files inside were meticulously organized—pack alliances, territory surveys, financial records. I rifled through them with practiced efficiency, looking for anything about the Black Moon Pack, anything about—

There. A sealed envelope marked *CONFIDENTIAL: BLACK MOON CORRESPONDENCE*.

My hands shook as I broke the wax seal.

The letter inside was brief, written in strong, angular script on the Black Moon Alpha's personal stationery:

*Morrison— The witness from Moonveil has been handled. Ensure your daughter asks no questions. The alliance proceeds as discussed. Destroy this correspondence. —Adrian Ellis*

Attached was a single page. An official death notification from the Moonveil Pack.

*Serena Hart. Age 22. Cause of death: Rogue ambush. Date: [two weeks prior]*

The world stopped.

I read it again. And again. The words didn't change.

*Serena Hart.*

*Rogue ambush.*

*Two weeks prior.*

My wolf howled, a sound of pure anguish that echoed through my mind. The wooden charm in my pocket suddenly felt like it was burning.

Serena was dead.

And they'd known. My parents had known. The Black Moon Pack had known.

*The witness from Moonveil has been handled.*

Witness to what?

I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound trying to claw its way out of my throat. Not grief. Not yet. I couldn't afford grief.

I photographed both documents with trembling hands, returned them to the file, relocked the cabinet. Walked back to my room on legs that didn't feel like mine.

In the darkness, I finally let myself pull out Serena's wooden wolf charm. Ran my thumb over the careful grooves she'd carved.

"I don't know what you saw," I whispered to her memory. "But I'm going to find out. I promise."

My wolf settled, her rage crystalizing into something colder. Sharper.

Three weeks until the ceremony.

Three weeks to learn the truth.

And then Killian Ellis would answer for whatever he'd done.

The safehouse sat on the edge of my inherited territory, a small cabin my grandfather had built decades ago when he still patrolled these hunting grounds himself. No one in the Morrison family knew about it—he'd made sure of that, teaching me the path through the thick pine forest when I was fourteen, pressing the key into my palm like a secret.

Now I stood in its dusty interior, the morning light struggling through grimy windows, and pulled the lockbox from beneath the floorboards where he'd hidden it.

Inside: his old Council liaison credentials, still active. A laptop with access codes scrawled on yellowing paper. And a note in his careful handwriting: *For when you need the truth they won't give you.*

My hands shook as I booted up the system. The Council database loaded slowly, its outdated interface a relic from when my grandfather had served as territorial arbitrator. But the records were all there—death reports, rogue activity logs, pack travel notifications spanning decades.

I started with Serena's death. Moonveil Pack border. Two weeks ago. Logged as rogue ambush.

Then I pulled Killian's travel itinerary—future Alphas had to register inter-pack visits with the Council for security purposes. He'd been at a border summit with Silverfang leadership. Twenty miles from where Serena died.

Close, but not damning.

I kept searching.

Three months prior: unmated she-wolf from the Riverbend Pack. Rogue attack. Killian had been visiting their territory for alliance negotiations.

Six months before that: two she-wolves from the Pinewood Pack, found torn apart near their northern border. Killian had attended their Alpha's son's coming-of-age ceremony.

My wolf snarled, her presence suddenly sharp and focused. She'd been trying to warn me. All those years of silence, and now she was screaming.

I went back further. Cross-referenced every rogue attack involving unmated she-wolves in the past three years with Killian's documented travel.

Twelve deaths. Twelve.

Every single one within five miles of wherever Killian Ellis had been.

The pattern was undeniable. Methodical. A hunting ground that followed him from pack to pack, disguised as random rogue violence.

I sat back, staring at the screen until my vision blurred. This wasn't just murder. This was sport.

Serena's wooden charm pressed against my leg through my pocket. *Witness*, the letter had said. She'd seen something. And they'd killed her for it.

I needed proof. Real proof—something that couldn't be dismissed as coincidence or conspiracy theory.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I'd sworn never to use.

"Silas speaking." The voice was cautious, rough from years of keeping his head down.

Silas had been my grandfather's tech specialist, an Omega who'd been cast out of his birth pack for refusing an Alpha's advances. My grandfather had given him work, protection. After the old man died, Silas had disappeared into the underground network of rogues and displaced wolves.

"It's Amelia Morrison," I said quietly. "I need your help."

A pause. "The Gamma's daughter. Heard you found your mate. Congratulations."

The word made my stomach turn. "My mate killed my best friend. And I think he's killed eleven others. I need you to recover footage from the Silverfang border sensors."

Another pause, longer this time. "That's dangerous territory, Miss Morrison. If you're right about what's on those files—"

"Then I need to see it." My voice didn't shake. It couldn't. "My grandfather trusted you. I'm asking you to trust me."

"When?"

"Tonight. The sensors backup to a local server every forty-eight hours before uploading to Council archives. If we wait, the footage gets compressed, corrupted. We need the original files."

He sighed. "Send me the coordinates. And Miss Morrison? If this goes sideways, we were never in contact."

"Understood."

---

The border server station was little more than a concrete bunker hidden in thick underbrush, its surveillance equipment monitoring the neutral zone between Silverfang and Moonveil territories. Silas worked in silence, his fingers flying across the keyboard while I kept watch at the door.

"Got something," he said finally. "Footage from the night your friend died. It's corrupted—looks like someone tried to wipe it—but I can recover most of it."

My heart hammered. "Show me."

The screen flickered. Grainy night-vision footage resolved into shapes: the forest clearing where Serena's body had been found. The timestamp read 23:47—less than an hour before the 'rogue attack' was reported.

Serena appeared on screen, her silver healer pendant catching the moonlight. She was walking quickly, nervously, glancing over her shoulder.

Then a massive black wolf emerged from the treeline.

Not rogues. One wolf. Enormous, its coat gleaming even in the poor-quality footage. I'd seen that wolf before—at the territory summit, when Killian had shifted to demonstrate his Alpha strength to the assembled packs.

Serena turned to run.

The wolf was faster.

I watched him bring her down. Watched her struggle, her mouth open in a scream I couldn't hear. Watched him tear her throat out with brutal efficiency.

And then—another figure stepped into frame.

Human-form. Female. Moving with casual ease to where Serena's body lay twitching.

Juliet.

She knelt beside Serena's corpse, said something to the black wolf, then reached down and yanked the silver pendant from Serena's neck. Even in the grainy footage, I could see her laughing.

The wolf shifted. Killian's human form materialized, naked and blood-splattered. He pulled Juliet to her feet, kissed her with savage possession.

Then they dragged Serena's body toward the border marker, staging the scene to look like she'd been caught by rogues.

"Goddess," Silas breathed. "Miss Morrison, this is—"

"Copy everything," I said. My voice sounded distant, detached. "Multiple backups. Encrypted. And Silas? You were never here."

He nodded, fingers already moving. "What are you going to do?"

I touched Serena's wooden charm in my pocket. "Whatever it takes."

---

The message to Killian was simple: *Need to discuss territory transfer details. Private meeting? Tomorrow, 3pm, my grandfather's cabin.*

His response came within minutes: *Finally ready to be reasonable. Don't waste my time.*

I spent the night preparing. The micro-recorder Silas had given me was smaller than my thumbnail, hidden in a false seam in my sleeve. I practiced my broken, submissive posture in the mirror until it looked natural. Rehearsed my trembling voice.

By the time Killian's black Mercedes pulled up to the cabin, I was ready.

He walked in like he owned the place, his Alpha aura preceding him like a physical force. In any other circumstance, I might have dropped my eyes, submitted to that overwhelming presence. Today, I let my wolf rise to meet it—she was snarling, ready to tear his throat out.

But I kept my head bowed. Played my part.

"You wanted to talk," he said, not bothering with pleasantries.

"The territory deed," I whispered. "I'll sign it. I just—I need to understand. The medical report. Was it really that bad? Was I really so... defective?"

His laugh was cruel. "You want the truth, Amelia? Fine. Juliet is twice the wolf you'll ever be. She did what was necessary to keep my pack clean. The report was easy to fake once she switched the files—your blood was perfectly healthy, but who's going to believe an Omega?"

My nails dug into my palms. "And the ceremony? Why agree to it if you never wanted me?"

"Your territory is worth the inconvenience." He stepped closer, and I fought not to recoil. "Besides, breaking you publicly will send a message. Future Alphas need to know how to handle disappointing mates."

"Serena," I breathed. Let my voice crack. "She was asking about you. Before she... before the rogues—"

"Your little healer friend shouldn't have been wandering where Alphas hunt." His smile was sharp, predatory. "She saw Juliet and me near your pack border. Started asking questions about the other she-wolves who'd disappeared. Couldn't let that continue."

The recorder captured every word.

"You killed her," I whispered.

"I protected what's mine." He grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "And soon, you'll sign over what's yours. Then you'll spend the rest of your pathetic life remembering that you were never good enough for an Alpha like me."

I smiled.

It must have surprised him—his grip loosened slightly.

"Thank you," I said softly. "That's all I needed to hear."

Confusion flickered across his face. Then rage. "What—"

But I was already moving toward the door, the recorder safely tucked away, evidence secured.

"See you at the ceremony, Killian. I promise it'll be unforgettable."