20. The judgement of the moon

The descent from the private jet into the cool, salt-heavy air of Marseille felt like stepping into the mouth of a waiting beast. We didn’t head for the limestone arches of the estate. We didn’t head for the safety of our bedroom. The black SUVs sped toward the northern cliffs, where the ancient amphitheater sat—a natural scar in the earth where the Roux pack had judged its own for five centuries.

My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs as I stepped out of the car. The night was oppressive. Above us, the moon was a bloated, silver eye, watching. Hundreds of pack members stood on the surrounding ridges, their human forms motionless, but their eyes—those glowing embers of amber and gold—betrayed their hunger. They weren’t just here to witness; they were here to see if their Alpha was still the Apex, or if he was finally prey.

“Stay close,” Girard murmured. He had shed his ruined suit jacket, standing now in a black silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Even in the dim light, I could see the fresh scars on his forearms from the vault. He didn’t look like a CEO tonight. He looked like a warlord returning from a crusade.

We walked into the center of the stone circle. Five elders sat on raised stone benches, their faces weathered like the cliffs themselves. In front of them stood Soline. She was dressed in a gown of white lace that looked like a mockery of a wedding dress, her eyes bright with a manic, triumphant light.

“The prodigal Alpha returns,” Soline’s voice rang out, amplified by the natural acoustics of the stone. “Tell us, Girard. Do you bring the scent of victory, or do you bring the stench of the laboratories that broke you? We felt the shift. We felt the Primal scream. You let the beast take the wheel, and you did it for a human.”

The crowd let out a low, vibrating murmur—a collective growl that made the ground beneath my feet tremble. I felt the Lien de Sang pulse with Girard’s rising heat. He was a volcano on the verge of eruption, but he held it back, his jaw tight.

“I did what was necessary to preserve our blood,” Girard said, his voice a subsonic hum that seemed to rattle the very stones. “The Morettis are dead. The virus is neutralized. If that is failure in your eyes, Soline, then perhaps you’ve forgotten what it means to lead.”

“Leadership is about purity!” Soline shrieked, stepping into the center of the circle. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Look at her! The daughter of the man who tried to harvest us. You’ve let her into your bed, into your mind, and now into our blood. She is a poison, Girard. A leash that makes you hesitate when you should kill.”

One of the elders, Silas, stood up. His eyes were a dull, milky gray, but his presence was suffocating. “The law is clear, Girard. An Alpha who cannot master his beast—or his mate—is a danger to the pack. Soline has challenged your fitness. She has called for the Rite of Scission.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. I didn’t need the bond to know what that meant. The Scission was a forced severing of the mate bond. It was a psychic execution. If they broke our link, it wouldn’t just leave us lonely; it would shatter our minds.

“You will not touch her,” Girard growled, his shadow lengthening as the moon hit its zenith. His claws began to tip his fingers, the silk of his shirt straining against his expanding muscles.

“It is not his choice to make,” Soline countered, her eyes fixed on me. “If the Luna is as strong as he claims, let her prove it. Let her face the Trial of the Seven.”

“No,” Girard roared, but Silas raised a hand, and a dozen Enforcers stepped forward, their eyes glowing a lethal red.

“If she refuses, you are both exiled,” Silas declared. “And the pack will hunt you until the sun rises.”

I looked at Girard. I could feel his desperation, his need to shift and tear every throat in this circle to keep me safe. But I also felt the pack. They were on the edge. If he fought them now, he would lose his throne forever. We would be runners, always looking over our shoulders.

I stepped in front of Girard, my hand going to the obsidian pendant at my throat. It was humming, a warm, rhythmic vibration that felt like a second heartbeat.

“I accept,” I said, my voice echoing with a clarity that surprised even me.

“Arielle, no,” Girard hissed, grabbing my arm.

I turned to him, leaning in until our lips almost touched. The heat between us was a physical wall, a desperate, erotic charge that ignored the hundreds of watchers. “Trust me, Alpha,” I whispered. “You showed them the monster. Now let me show them the Queen.”

I stepped toward Soline, the blackened silver ring on my finger glowing with a faint, violet light. The trial was simple: seven minutes in the center of the circle while the pack’s strongest telepaths tried to crush my mind. If I stayed standing, I was the Luna. If I fell, I was a traitor.

“Start the clock,” I said.

Soline smiled, and the world turned to white-hot agony.