C3

The fire in the hearth crackled, throwing long, skeletal shadows across the War Room maps. Serena stood by the window, her reflection ghost-like against the glass. The betrayal had shifted something deep in her marrow; the "perfect Luna" was dead, and something colder, sharpened by eight years of tactical training, was taking her place.

"How are we going to breach his defenses, Freya?" Serena asked, her voice devoid of the tremor that had defined her morning. "The man is a ghost within the underworld."

Freya leaned against the mahogany desk, crossing her arms. "Isabella’s gathering ground—the Nightwood House. That’s where he stalks his prey. Rowan Ashcroft is a shadow, yes, but he has a singular weakness: the vintage blood-wine Isabella imports. He’s there every moon-cycle, usually on the night of the hockey finals. He likes to watch the violence from the dark."

Serena turned, her brow furrowed. "Are you certain? That’s high-risk territory. If Lucian catches wind that I’m meeting with a man like Ashcroft..."

"My sister might have walked away from the Blackthorn Legal Council to run a den," Freya countered, a sharp glint in her eyes, "but she’s built a network of elite collectors and killers that even the Graves family fears. Isabella will get you in the door. The rest is on you."

Serena looked down at her hands. They felt heavy, clumsy. "I might be walking in with empty paws. I don't know if I can truly hurt him."

"Valeria, bring the device," Freya commanded, ignoring the doubt.

A younger woman stepped from the shadows of the doorway, clutching a small, silver thumb drive. Serena’s breath hitched—her sister’s name was Valeria, a constant sting in her mind, but this was her tech-specialist, a different wolf with a shared name.

"Just in case that bastard tries to wipe the scent trail or lock the archives from a distance," the specialist whispered.

Freya pressed the drive into Serena’s palm. "Drain every scrap of intel, Serena. Every hockey contract, every mafia hit-list, every offshore account he left on your machine. We’ll sift through the guts of it later."

"I’m an artist, not a data-thief," Serena murmured, looking at the laptop that sat innocently on the side table. "My laptop is for watching game highlights and sketching. He only used my tech because he thought I was too soft to look. This could take hours."

"If there’s one wolf in this pack worth risking a trial before the Elder Council for, it’s you," Freya said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a growl. "Besides, his comment about you being a 'proud aunt' to your sister’s bastard just lit a fire under my fur. Does he think we’re going to run in the same pack after this? Let the world burn, Serena. Let’s start with his legacy."

The heavy oak doors creaked open, and Serena’s mother, Evelyn, stepped in, her face etched with a worried grace. Behind her was Caleb Turner, a high-ranking soldier who had always looked at Serena with a quiet, protective reverence.

"He claims the union is a blood-debt because of Elder Victor’s will," Serena told them, her eyes red-rimmed. "The trust fund for the firstborn heir is tied to the Graves name. I don't want to destroy a pup's future, Freya. I’m not that cruel."

"You aren't," Freya snapped. "Pups in the rogue territories survive on scraps every day. That heir will have more gold than it knows what to do with, but we don't have to make the path to the throne easy for Lucian and your traitor sister."

"This is madness," Evelyn whispered, her hands fluttering to her throat. "We’re declaring war on the Graves lineage."

"Yes, we are," Caleb interjected, his voice a low rumble of support. He stepped toward Serena. "Hide this drive in the hollow of your hockey stick or somewhere he won't scent it when I bring the moving truck on Saturday. Are you ready to hunt, Serena?"

Serena closed her eyes, feeling the cold metal of the drive in her hand. "I am. I’m not playing the victim in his tragedy anymore."

"The Bloodtide wedding is set for the day the council dissolves our bond," Freya added, checking her phone. "Your sister had the audacity to send a telepathic invite. She wants you there to witness her crowning."

"She can rot in the silver mines," Serena spat. "I’m not showing up to celebrate my own execution."

Evelyn stepped forward, her eyes pleading. "She’s your blood, Serena. I’m caught in the crossfire of this pack feud. I have to think of the family..."

"There is no middle ground, Mother!" Serena roared, her wolf finally breaking through the surface. "Your daughter scented my mate and hunted in my den for a year while I was busy protecting our borders! She’s a rogue in wolf’s clothing!"

"Evelyn, enough," Caleb said, placing a firm hand on the older woman's shoulder. "A mistake is missing a shot on the ice. A mistake is forgetting a council meeting. Systematic adultery with your sister’s Alpha while you’re mated to another wolf is a declaration of war. I’m here now, Serena. I’ve got your back."

"Caleb, she’s not a rogue," Evelyn pleaded. "She’s just... confused by the moon."

"No, Mom," Serena said, her voice turning deadly quiet. "She’s a predator. Lucian gave her a divorce decree like it was a scouting report and told her to vacate the den so Valeria could move in. And now she demands the Graves Glass Estate because 'the baby needs the Alpha’s sun-room'? It’s disgusting."

Evelyn blanched. "She asked for the house? You didn't tell me that part."

"Why bother? You’d just find a way to justify it. I’m keeping the estate. I’d rather burn it to the ground and salt the earth than let them raise a pup in my sanctuary."

"I’ll bring the gasoline," Caleb offered darkly. "You can move into my territory tonight."

Serena looked at her mother, seeing the divide between them widening into a canyon. "I hate them. I want to rip the throat out of everything we built."

"You don't hate your sister, Serena," Evelyn insisted. "You're just wounded."

"Stop telling me how to howl, Mother!" Serena’s voice cracked. "I loved him. I spent eight years being the perfect Luna. I quit the Blackthorn Council because he wanted a trophy on his arm at the hockey banquets. I followed his training cycles, ate the raw-heart diets he demanded so I’d stay lean, and wore my hair long because he liked to wrap it around his fist when he claimed me. I gave up my identity for a man who replaced me like a worn-out jersey."

The room went silent. The weight of eight years of repressed sacrifice hung in the air.

"I hope their pup has beady eyes and a weak howl," Serena whispered.

"Serena! The pup is innocent blood!" Evelyn gasped.

"I didn't wish it dead, Mother. I just wished it lacked his charm. I hope it’s a female, too. Nothing would sting Lucian’s ego more than failing to produce a male heir on his first try with his 'new' mate."

Caleb chuckled humorlessly. "You know, Mom, you gave us these dramatic names from the old human films. Maybe this is just the script you wrote for us. You always did love a tragedy."

"Not funny, Caleb," Evelyn snapped. "I have to support her. She’s carrying a Graves heir now, and the pack hierarchy is shifting. She’s in a vulnerable position."

"She put herself there," Serena said, turning back to the window. "She deserves the silver. But he’s the one I want to bleed. I want Lucian Graves to feel the humiliation of losing his territory the way I lost mine."

Caleb leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, if you really want to kick the hornet's nest... you could always mate with his brother, Dominic."

Serena’s eyes snapped to his, a dangerous, dark ambition finally taking root. "Dominic," she breathed. "Now that would be a scandal the Graves name wouldn't survive."