***CONRY***

"This is the third patrol found slaughtered at our borders, and still no one can give me a valid explanation!" My fist slammed against the oak table, the sound echoing like thunder through the council chamber. Shadows from the torchlight danced along the walls, shivering with each impact. "Do you all want to lose your heads?"

The gamma nearest me flinched, shoulders caving under my glare. The elders, dressed in ceremonial robes, shifted uneasily but said nothing. Their silence weighed heavier than words. Cowards. Every life lost was one of ours, yet they sat like statues.

"Speak!" My voice rumbled like an approaching storm. "Someone give me a damn answer!"

At last, the leader of the gammas cleared his throat, sweat sparkling at his temple. "Alpha... we believe the attacks are coming from the neighboring pack-Alpha Blake's pack."

My brows rose. Blake? The name hit me like a blade to the ribs. "Blake?" I repeated, tasting bitterness. "Why in the hell would he dare?"

No one moved. The silence dragged until my patience snapped. "Do we have unfinished business with him?" I demanded.

A wave of heads shook in unison, though none dared meet my eyes. "None that we know of, your highness," one of the gammas answered, voice tight.

"Then why suddenly strike my people? Did our patrols cross into his territory?" My words were sharp enough to draw blood.

Again, heads shook. No. Always no. My wolf pressed against my skin, restless, hungry for truth.

I grabbed my goblet and drained it in one pull, the cool water doing nothing to calm the fire inside me. "There's no proof," I muttered, setting the cup down with force. "For all we know, our men wandered too far. I will not risk a war on rumors."

"There was... one survivor," an elder whispered from the far end of the table, voice trembling.

My head snapped up. Finally. A lead. "Then where is he?"

The doors opened. Guards ushered in a trembling boy, barely old enough to stand without swaying. His clothes were in tatters, stained with dried blood and dirt. His eyes-wide, glassy-were the eyes of someone who had stared into death.

"Him?" I scoffed, gesturing with a sweep of my hand. "Since when do we send children to the patrol lines?"

The gamma bowed, shame all over his face. "Forgive us, Alpha. He insisted on proving himself."

A curse burned the back of my throat. That gamma would answer to me later. I leaned forward, my voice slicing through the chamber. "You were there?"

The boy's lips quivered. His whole body shook, each breath shallow. At last, he broke into sobs. "They were so fast... we couldn't fight back. Shadows in the trees. Teeth and claws everywhere. We-" His voice cracked. "We didn't stand a chance."

The chamber fell into silence, broken only by his sobs. Pathetic, but real. I studied him, searching for something useful, but found only terror.

"Useless." I waved my hand. "Take him away."

The guards dragged him out as his cries echoed behind him. I rubbed my temple, the ache burrowing deep. "Artemis," I growled, turning to my beta, "arrange a meeting with Blake. Now."

"Yes, Alpha." Artemis bowed and hurried from the chamber. Minutes later, he returned with a raven's scroll tied in black silk. His face was grim as he handed it over.

I broke the seal, scanning the words. My jaw clenched. "Blake has agreed to meet-at the boundary."

Too quick. Too willing. Trouble brewed in his readiness.

"That cunning bastard," I muttered under my breath. My wolf snarled in agreement.

"Then we go," I ordered. "If he dares play games, we'll be ready."

The boundary stank of old blood and moist soil. Mist clung to the ground, curling around our boots. I paced restlessly, my wolf bristling beneath my skin, every instinct screaming that something was wrong.

"It's been thirty minutes," I snapped, scanning the treeline. "Where the hell is he?"

A raven shrieked overhead, black wings slicing the sky. Artemis caught it mid-flight, untied the message, and passed it to me. My eyes skimmed the words, fury bubbling in my gut.

"Typical Blake." I crushed the scroll in my fist. "He's changed plans. He wants us to come to his Luna Choosing Ceremony."

Artemis frowned. "What does that have to do with us?"

"Less talking," I barked. "More moving."

***

Three hours later, we arrived at Blake's hall. It loomed against the night sky, banners snapping like the tongues of serpents in the wind. Guards in black and silver armor lined the path, eyes cold and sharp. Inside, the hall was already packed-wolves pressed shoulder to shoulder, the air heavy with the scent of wine, sweat, and anticipation.

They ushered us to our seats like honored guests, but every detail screamed of a trap. This wasn't a ceremony-it was a show of power. Blake's wolves moved with precision, their posture designed to intimidate.

I leaned back, feigning disinterest. Let him enjoy himself. A man who flaunts his strength so loudly often hides a weakness.

Bored, my eyes drifted toward a commotion near the far wall. A girl was being maltreated, her thin frame stumbling under the weight of blows. Laughter rose from the bullies around her.

She lifted her head, and in that instant, our gazes collided.

My wolf surged forward so violently it stole my breath. Mate.

My chest tightened, heart hammering in a way no battle ever had. The noise of the hall faded until only she remained in my vision. Her face was streaked with tears, but beneath them lay fire-unyielding, defiant.

I gripped the armrest until the wood groaned. Of all places... here? In Blake's den? The Fates had a cruel sense of humor.

I rose, ready to claim her then and there, but the bells tolled, drowning the moment. The ceremony began. Blake, dressed in ceremonial silver, strode to the dais. Within minutes, he marked his Luna before the roaring crowd. Applause thundered, wine flowed, and wolves howled in approval.

But my mind was elsewhere. My mate. The girl.

Slipping from my seat, I moved like a shadow, following the faint trace of her scent through the hall's corridors.

I found her outside, crumpled in the shadow of a stone pillar. Her sobs were softer now, her body trembling, but when the bullies returned-smirking, ready to torment her again-she rose. This time, she fought back.

A fist to the gut. A knee to the ribs. Fierce. Defiant. Her spirit burned bright even in the darkness.

I stayed hidden, my wolf pressed against the surface of my skin, watching with hunger and awe.

Her strength ignited something inside me-something I hadn't felt in years.

Not just desire. Possession. Destiny.

That woman is mine.

***VERA***

The metal clamped hard against my wrists, cold and merciless. Each rattle of the chain felt like a taunt.

"Why am I being held?" I demanded, stumbling as two guards yanked me toward the packhouse. My voice cracked, but not from fear - at least, I told myself it wasn't.

They didn't answer. One tightened the manacle and I bit my lip as the iron dug into my skin. My wolf whimpered inside me, too weak to help.

"Oh, so now I'm a criminal? You're going to bind me because I dared to stand up for myself?" I twisted in their grip and glared at the soldiers. "Because I fought back against a group of spoiled girls who cornered me? That makes me the crazy one?"

The taller guard tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The world tilted and I stared upside-down at the dirt path as we moved.

"Let go of me!" I thrashed, wriggling against his back, but he was solid as a mountain. My stomach churned with every step.

"The Alpha said you're to be held," he finally said, voice flat. "He called you his breeder."

The word cracked like a whip.

Breeder.

I froze. "In other words," I spat, "his sex slave. Is your Alpha that desperate? Didn't he just claim a Luna - my sister, no less - and he thinks I'll agree to-" I broke off with a bitter laugh. "Not in any lifetime."

"You don't have a choice, miss." The other guard didn't even look at me. His tone sounded almost apologetic.

The path swung beneath me and all I saw was red. If I ever got my hands on a dagger and the goddess granted me one chance, I would bury it in Blake's chest without hesitation.

They carried me through the towering gates of the packhouse. The scent of pine and stone should have been comforting - it had been home once. Now it reeked of power and cruelty.

Inside, the air smelled of lavender oil and polished wood. Blake's maids swarmed me, their hands soft but mechanical as they stripped away the dirt of the scuffle. They scrubbed my skin, dressed me in silks that weren't mine, painted me like a doll. My wrists stayed shackled the whole time; iron cut into the illusion of glamour.

It was obscene - dressing me like a prize while the chains clinked with every movement.

Tricia. My chest ached at the thought of her. If she knew Blake had locked me up and dressed me like this, would she defend me - or would she smile and look away because she was Luna now?

The maids tried to curl my hair and I jerked my head aside. "Stop. Enough." My voice broke, louder this time. "I want to speak to the Alpha."

One of them froze, brush in hand. The others glanced at each other like startled deer.

"Do not touch me again," I snarled, patience gone.

The head maid cleared her throat softly. "I'm sorry, miss, but the Alpha is currently in a meeting with the Alpha of Furcroft. He'll attend to you afterward."

Attend. As if I were a guest. As if I hadn't been dragged here in chains.

"Attend to me," I scoffed. "You mean try to bed me. Untie me! You're holding me against my will - doesn't anyone in this house know rights?"

The head maid's eyes flickered, just for a moment, with something like sympathy. "Under other circumstances, perhaps. But when the Alpha orders..." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Everyone obeys."

My wrists throbbed, swollen under the iron. I lifted them toward her, voice quieter now, almost desperate. "They're cutting into me. Do you want me dead before I even meet him?"

The maid hesitated, then sighed and nodded at a guard. Reluctantly he unlocked the cuffs around my hands, though my ankles stayed bound. Relief rushed through me, pins and needles in my fingers.

"It isn't wise to free a slave," the guard muttered. "She'll try to escape."

Slave. The word made bile rise in my throat.

Before I could reply, the room hushed.

"Special demands," one maid whispered, bowing her head. "The Alpha is here."

The room stiffened. Faces became masks.

Then he entered.

Alpha Blake. His presence filled the chamber like smoke, heavy and suffocating. His eyes found me immediately, and a slow smile curled his lips.

"Ah, Vera," he purred, stepping closer. "Darling Vera. Ever so innocent."

His hand slid down my collarbone, tracing lower, and I flinched. Rage flared hot and uncontainable. I spat in his face.

Gasps rippled through the room.

A guard surged forward, hand raised to strike, but Blake lifted a finger. "Enough."

He wiped his cheek with infuriating calm, then held out his hand. A maid rushed a cloth into his palm. He cleaned himself slowly, then pressed the damp rag to my lips and forced it in.

"Your first act of service," he murmured. "Get used to it."

They released my chains and shoved me to my feet. My knees shook, but I forced myself upright.

They shoved a jug into my hands and guided me behind him into the great hall.

The moment I entered, smoke choked my lungs. Thick, pungent, clung to my hair and clothes. The hall was grand - polished tables, carved beams, silver goblets - but it felt like a gilded cage.

Two packs sat across from each other. Blake's men lounged like they owned the room. Opposite them, the Alpha of Furcroft and his entourage sat straight-backed, silent, assessing.

I kept my head low and moved from table to table, pouring drinks. The chains around my ankles clinked softly with each step.

But someone stared. Heavy. Sharp. Pinning me.

When I dared to look up, my heart stumbled.

Eyes. Icy blue, glinting in the haze. Familiar. The same eyes I had seen watching me from the trees before.

And they were fixed on me.

He smiled, slow and deliberate. My stomach flipped.

Alpha Conry.

The air seemed to crackle as he leaned forward. "Let's get this discussion started. I want to purchase the small packland between our borders."

My hands trembled as I poured. His voice rolled over me like thunder - commanding, dangerous, yet strangely steadying.

"That pack isn't for sale," Blake said smoothly.

"Why not?" Conry's gaze never left me.

Blake smirked. "Because it was entrusted to me. Not everything can be bought."

"You put it up for trade, Blake." Conry's voice hardened. "Quit lying and name your price."

"Twice the market value," Blake sneered.

"I'll pay the market value."

"Twice."

The tension coiled like a bowstring ready to snap. My pulse hammered in my throat.

Then Conry's words cut through the smoke like a blade.

"I'll pay twice... if she comes with it."

Silence. Every head turned.

My heart stopped.

Please, goddess. Not me.

But Conry pointed. Directly at me.

"She?" Blake chuckled. "Conry, you've got terrible taste. She's hardly worth a copper. She was to be one of my playthings." His sneer crawled across my skin. "I could give you someone prettier."

For the first time I didn't resist the thought. If it meant leaving Blake's shadow, I would gladly be sold to a stranger.

Conry's expression didn't change. "I don't want prettier. I want her."

The room held its breath.

Blake studied him, then burst into laughter. "Fine. Why argue? She's yours."

A scroll was brought and signed.

My hands trembled as the realization settled. I wasn't free. But I was no longer Blake's.

Conry looked at me fully now, his eyes burning. "What's your name, little one?"

I froze. "Me?"

A glass shattered against the wall beside my head, exploding shards at my feet.

"Of course he's talking to you," Blake barked.

Conry's voice sliced across him. "Blake." Calm but edged. "She is mine now. If you lay a hand on her, you insult me. And I don't forgive insults."

The room stilled. Blake's lips thinned and he leaned back in silence.

Conry returned his gaze to me. His voice softened but his eyes still pinned me. "Your name, Diva?"

The word curled around me like smoke.

"Vera," I whispered, forcing strength into my tone. "Vera Stormborn."

His lips curved into something that made my pulse jump.

"Quite ethereal," he murmured.

***TRICIA***

"I think Conry has lost his mind." Blake's voice was low, edged with something sharp as broken glass, as he eased the door open and stepped into the room. The air around him smelled metallic - anger made human. I patted the mattress twice, a small old gesture to steady him. "Sit," I said, fingers finding the familiar line of his jaw as if I could hold him steady that way.

He didn't meet my eyes at first. He sat with his shoulders hunched like a man bent under weather. When he finally spoke it was nearly a whisper.

"I sold your sister to Conry," he muttered. "He struck a deal I couldn't refuse."

The words stirred something inside me. For a second everything muffled - the hearth's hum, the distant clink of cutlery. "You sold my sister," I echoed, feeling the room tilt. "You... without telling me?"

Before I could finish, his hand closed around my throat. It was sudden and brutal. He slammed me back against the wall with such force that the breath left me like something taken and dropped. For a moment my world narrowed to the tight ring of his fingers and the drum of my heartbeat until the room spun.

"I thought he loved me," a small voice inside kept whispering. Everything I'd built - compromises and false loyalties - felt like a debt I now had to pay.

"I'm the Alpha," he said, voice flat as law. "You're here to support me. Do not question my authority."

His grip tightened. I tapped his hand, useless, begging, my taps swallowed into the silence. Then, mercifully, he let go. I crumpled to the floor, breath a small theft from the room.

When my vision steadied I crawled to my feet with the slow dignity of someone unmade and reassembling. I felt hollow, as if the center of me - my taste for power, my appetite for control - had been scooped out. I touched the place his fingers had burned and let out a painful grunt.

I never imagined the man I thought would make me important would see me as a tool to be controlled.

I packed because fury makes hands busy and because movement feels like control. I shoved gowns into trunks, slid letters into pockets, tucked combs into folds of silk. Each fold was a small ritual, a summoning of the woman I had been before ceremony swallowed her whole.

The door creaked. I ignored it and kept folding, believing that if I finished packing I might finish being the person who had stayed silent while my sister was bartered. When at last I closed the trunk and turned, my breath snagged.

Blake was on his knees.

The memory of my throat, the pressure of his hand, sat like a bruise. For a moment I thought it a trick - a new manipulation - but his head bowed, not swaggering, and when he lifted it, his eyes were wet with something not pride.

"What are you-" I began, but he cut in, words clumsy and raw.

"I don't know what came over me," he said. His voice cracked in places that hurt more than his hands ever did. "I sold her because I thought I was securing the pack. I thought-God, Tricia, I thought I could buy safety. Besides, you saw what she did at the party. Who knows what else she's capable of. All in all, I was wrong. I was... blind." He folded his hands like a supplicant, a strange, human gesture from a man who never begged.

The apology landed like a wound stitched with a tremor. He reached up, fingers trembling, and touched the place his palm had burned. Awkward, human - his hand didn't demand; it sought forgiveness.

For a long time I watched him: the rise and fall of his chest, the small shake of his shoulders, the way light made his eyes look younger than the man who'd strangled me. Two different men had swapped faces.

"You don't get to decide who I am," I said at last, voice small and raw. "Not like this. Not with my blood."

He flinched as if struck, then bowed his head. "You're right," he whispered. "I was a coward, thinking I could do what was necessary in the dark while still calling myself a leader. I failed you. The decision should have been yours to make. I am sorry."

The shame in him was real - not performance. This cut him open. He rose awkwardly, and for a moment I wanted to run into the night and never turn back.

Instead I stepped forward and sat across from him on the bed. The room hummed quiet. Outside, wind kept time with the trees. "Why?" I asked because I needed the word like air. "Why her? Why trade blood for a promise that sounds like a threat?"

He swallowed. "I really am sorry. I don't have an excuse. I thought I was protecting the pack. I was wrong." His words sounded honest, but doubt stayed with me.

I thought of nights I'd spent dreaming of a throne I didn't want and of the quiet bargains I'd made to belong. I thought of the way men like Blake wear duty like armor while the people inside suffocate. I remembered my sister's laugh - the small way she cut through everything with light.

"You were supposed to be better," I said. "You were supposed to be better than a man who bargains with women."

He closed his eyes. For once he couldn't argue duty into oblivion. "Tell me how to fix it," he said, voice raw.

"How are you going to fix selling my sister to your rival without starting a war that will cost packs?" I asked, tears blurring my vision.

"Tricia." He reached for my hands.

I let him take my hand. That surrender was not forgiveness but acknowledgment: two lives bound in ways that refused to be neatly cleaved apart. He lifted me and drew me close. His arms were solid and familiar, the smell of him an anchor despite everything.

He kissed my hair first - an apology without words - then my forehead. "I will fix this," he promised. "Words are not enough. I'll bring her back in a way that won't shatter the pack."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to hurl myself into the current and let it carry me. His confession softened something inside the rigid shell I'd built, and forgiveness - uneasy and fragile - unfurled like a small flag.

We sat in the dim blue and let silence do the work of prayer. I forgave, but not fully. Doubt settled over me like a winter cloak - heavy and honest.

When he tightened his arms around me I did not pull away. The embrace felt like possibility braided with threat. I knew, with the stubborn certainty of someone who had loved and been hurt, that forgiveness is not a clean slate. It is a ledger that shifts across years.

He held me while the night moved outside in slow breaths, and I let myself be small and human - caught between the ache of betrayal and the hush of choosing. For now we were bound by vows and mistakes; later the truth would have a voice. Until then, we would learn, or unlearn, ourselves. Either would be honest. Either way, my doubts would stay; and he, if he was the Alpha I still hoped for, would spend his days proving otherwise.

I finally let sleep take me, unaware the news I'd receive tomorrow would change my story.