CHAPTER 2: Blythe Everard POV

"The pack elders from the Elderfang Research Hall swore Calista would never break her coma, which is the only bloody reason I allowed our Moon-Bond to be registered six years ago!" High Alpha Caspian Northcott’s voice thundered through the master chambers, his dark alpha presence suffocating the room.

Blythe Everard lifted her chin, staring directly into the harsh gold of his eyes without flinching. Her claws twitched against her palms, her inner wolf growling softly at the cold threat in his voice.

"I am your recognized Luna Sovereign by ancient pack law, Caspian," Blythe said, her voice steady despite the agony slicing through her chest. "Why should I abandon my own territory and step down from the Everard Alpha Tower just because your former fated wakes up?"

Caspian stepped forward, his massive frame looming over her until she was forced back against the stone wall. The shadows in his eyes darkened with pure hostility.

"Why?" Caspian growled, leaning in until his sharp fangs grazed her cheek. "Because according to Calista's mind-link the moment she opened her eyes, you were the rogue wolf who rammed her transport off the cliff during the border raid six years ago!"

Blythe gasped, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it.

"And if I swear to you on my bloodline that I never laid a claw on her? Would you believe your true Luna?"

Caspian sneered, his breath hot against her freezing skin, dripping with total disgust.

"Do you honestly think I would take the word of a scheming female?" Caspian’s tone was lethal, a promise of absolute ruin. "You have a twisted, rotten core, Blythe. I cannot wait to tear away everything you hold dear and make you bleed for every second Calista suffered in that silver-poisoned state!"

The sheer hatred radiating from his pack bond shattered the last fragile thread of hope in Blythe's chest. Six long years she had served him. Six long years she had endured his mother's abuse and his brother's cruel taunts, believing that if she remained loyal, his frozen heart would eventually warm to her.

She was a fool. His heart was solid ice, and her love was nothing more than fuel for his wrath.

"I did no such thing," Blythe said, her lips pressed into a hard, unforgiving line.

Caspian stepped back, fixing her with a cold, condescending glare that stripped away her royal rank in an instant. "You are a smart female. You know the strength of the Northcott Alpha Dominion. Pack your things and surrender your Luna title, or I will destroy your bloodline's remnants myself."

He turned on his heel, his dark coat sweeping behind him as he slammed the reinforced oak door shut, leaving the heavy chamber suffocatingly quiet.

Blythe turned toward the full-length mirror near the hearth. The female staring back at her was pale, her dark hair dull, her golden eyes dim with years of suppressed pain.

She barely recognized the proud, fiery daughter of the Everard Pack line. She had let herself wither into a ghost just to stay beside a male who viewed her as a criminal.

Blythe drew in a long, deep breath, feeling the phantom ache of the mate mark on her collarbone—a mark he had never truly claimed.

It is time to break the bond, she thought, the realization settling into her marrow like warm sunlight. It is time to let myself go.

The next morning, Caspian was already gone, having taken Calista Veyne to the Silverfang Healing Sanctuary for a full recovery checkup with the pack healers.

Blythe stood before the polished mirror in the quiet suite. She unbuttoned the heavy, dull Omega apron she had worn for six years to keep the peace in his home. She threw it into the hearth fire, watching the fabric catch flame. She pulled on a sleek, skin-tight white leather suit designed for high-ranking pack leadership, seized her iron-clad travel chest, and walked down the grand staircase of the Silvermere Moon Estate.

In the main hall, Benedict Northcott sat sprawled across a velvet throne, his boots resting on the heavy oak table as he sharpened a silver dagger. He looked up, a mocking smirk stretching across his face.

"Hey! Where do you think you’re dragging that chest, Omega?" Benedict barked, his voice carrying the rough, unrefined edge of an arrogant Beta Heir.

Blythe didn't even slow her pace. She offered him only a faint, icy glance, ignoring his command as she headed straight for the grand double doors.

Benedict’s smirk vanished. In a flash of wolf-speed, he blurred across the marble floor and slammed his palm onto her leather chest, blocking her path. His amber eyes flashed with violent arrogance.

"Are you deaf, female? Didn't you hear your Beta speaking to you?" Benedict snarled, pressing his weight against the chest. "Have you scrubbed the training grounds yet? Where is my morning kill? Where do you think you're going without my permission?"

He was only a sixteen-year-old wolf, yet his arrogance was unbounded, treating his elder Luna like a stray dog in his brother's house.

Blythe stared down at his fingers holding her luggage. One by one, she grabbed his wrists, digging her own sharpened claws into his pressure points until his bones cracked beneath her grip.

"Listen closely, you arrogant pup," Blythe said, her voice dropping into a lethal, low register that vibrated with dormant Alpha power. "From this second onward, I will no longer tolerate your pathetic existence."

Benedict winced from the sudden pain, but instead of pulling back, he threw his head backward and howled at the ceiling with exaggerated drama.

"Mother! Mother, get down here! This low-blood b*tch is attacking the Beta Heir!"

Footsteps thundered down the stone steps. Honoria Northcott rushed into the foyer, her face twisting with sudden rage when she saw Blythe holding Benedict. She snatched a heavy, silver-tipped pack whip off the wall display and lunged forward, striking out wildly.

"By the Moon! How dare you lay your filthy claws on my son, you worthless creature! I’ll break your spine!"

In the past, Blythe had absorbed the Matriarch's blows, gritting her teeth for Caspian's sake, convincing herself that family required sacrifice.

Not today.

Before the silver whip could slash her face, Blythe snapped her hand out, catching the leather whip mid-air. With a single, explosive jerk of her arm, she yanked the whip out of Honoria’s hands and threw it onto the marble floor, snapping the leather handle in two under her boot.

"Do not ever raise a weapon against me again," Blythe commanded, her voice ringing through the hall with undeniable authority.

Honoria stumbled back, clutching her chest, completely stunned by the sheer dominance radiating from the female she had bullied for six years.

When the Matriarch recovered her breath, her face turned purple with fury. "Blythe Everard! You have lost your mind! I will mind-link Caspian right now and have him strip your flesh from your bones! He will execute this divorce before the entire Pack Council!"

In the past, the mere threat of losing Caspian would have brought Blythe to her knees, begging for forgiveness just to keep her place by his side.

Now, she looked at the frantic old female with absolute indifference.

"Tell him to hurry," Blythe said softly. "I'll be waiting with the signing quill."

Ignoring the furious shrieks echoing behind her, Blythe pushed open the massive iron doors of the Silvermere Moon Estate and stepped out into the crisp morning air.

Before she reached the outer gates, the loud roar of a twin-turbo engine echoed through the valley. A crimson, custom-built high-performance sports vehicle skidded to a halt on the gravel driveway, throwing dust into the air.

The dark tinted window rolled down, revealing a striking, broad-shouldered male wolf with piercing silver eyes and a lethal, confident grin.

"Hey, beautiful," Sterling Hawthorne called out, his deep voice smooth as velvet as he leaned against the leather door. "Ready to reclaim your kingdom? Hop in."

Blythe tossed her iron chest into the back seat, stepped into the passenger side, and slammed the door shut. The red machine roared to life, tearing away from the Northcott territory at breakneck speed.

As the estate vanished from her rearview mirror, the personal encrypted comms device inside Blythe's suit chimed loudly. She tapped the screen, opening an urgent priority file sent directly from the Pack Council's executive network.

The document on the screen bore the official gold crest of her forgotten bloodline, highlighted in glowing crimson text:

CONFIDENTIAL MEDICAL ANALYSIS: High Alpha Caspian Northcott's Bloodline Compatibility — MATCH CONFIRMED (100%). UNBORN MOON-HEIR VITAL SIGNS DETECTED.