CHAPTER 4: Blythe Everard POV

"A few handsome Alpha warriors from the outer territories arrived at the Crimson Moon Den today," Alwyn Rooke murmured, spinning the vehicle into a private cobblestone drive as they reached the heart of the Alpha Commerce Quarter. "Would you like to head inside and see if any of them catch your eye, Sovereign?"

The Crimson Moon Den was the premier sanctuary in the territory, a place where high-ranking pack members gathered for wine, entertainment, and respite from pack politics.

Blythe Everard shot him an unimpressed look, adjusting her leather jacket. "Have you lost your mind, Alwyn? I just broke my Moon-Bond less than an hour ago."

Alwyn smirked, his silver eyes flashing with amusement. "Nonsense. Truth is, someone inside has been waiting six years for an audience with you."

"Who?"

"You will know the moment you step through the threshold."

Blythe paused for a heartbeat, then gave a firm nod. "Lead the way."

Alwyn’s private suite on the upper level of the Den was guarded by high-level defensive runes. As the double oak doors swung open, a tall, broad-shouldered male wolf stood up from the velvet bench near the hearth.

He was in his early twenties, possessing sharp, regal facial angles, fierce dark eyes, and a broad chest that radiated raw physical power. The second his eyes landed on Blythe, a brilliant light ignited in his dark gaze.

"Luna Sovereign... we finally meet again," the young wolf said, his voice deep and smooth.

Blythe stared at his striking face, finding his scent—fresh pine and ozone—faintly familiar, yet she couldn't place his name.

Alwyn stepped forward, folding his arms. "Have you forgotten? Six years ago, when you and your late father traveled through the Frostmere Border Territory, you sponsored a young, orphaned Omega wolf who was being hunted by rogue packs."

The memory clicked instantly. Blythe’s eyes softened. "Are you... Cedric Bellrose?"

Cedric’s razor-sharp jaw relaxed, a warm, breathtaking smile breaking across his features. "I am, Sovereign."

Cedric was a relentless talker once given permission. Through Alwyn, Blythe learned that Cedric had risen through the ranks of the Pack Guardians, escaping his low-blood status to become a celebrated warrior hero and chief protector whose face adorned every high-ranking military bulletin in the territory.

For six years, Blythe’s world had been narrowed to the cold walls of Caspian Northcott’s estate and the demands of his ungrateful family. Seeing Cedric thrive filled her with a sudden, overwhelming sense of pride.

After an hour of quiet conversation, the three prepared to descend the winding stone staircase toward the courtyard.

As they passed the open tavern floor, a heavy glass goblet infused with dark blood-wine came flying through the air, aimed straight at Blythe’s head.

Before Blythe could raise her arm, Cedric moved with blinding wolf-speed. He stepped in front of her, pulling her against his chest as the heavy glass shattered violently against his iron-clad shoulder, dark wine splashing across the stone floor.

"Are you unharmed, Sovereign?" Cedric asked urgently, his hands instantly checking her shoulders for injury.

"I am fine," Blythe said, her heart hammering against her ribs. Finding no blood on him, her golden eyes flashed with absolute frost as she turned toward the direction of the thrown glass.

Standing by the bar, surrounded by a group of rowdy young Beta wolves, was Benedict Northcott.

"You shameless b*tch!" Benedict snarled, his face flushed red from heavy liquor as he pointed a trembling finger at her. "You broke your bond with my brother an hour ago, and you’re already whoring yourself out to two males in a private chamber! Who knows what filth you were doing behind those doors!"

Alwyn’s eyes flared golden as he rolled up his sleeves, his wolf clawing at the surface. "You little bastard! You need your jaw broken!"

"Hold," Blythe commanded softly, extending her palm to stop Alwyn in his tracks. "This pup belongs to me."

She walked toward Benedict step by step, her boots clicking with deliberate, lethal rhythm against the stone floor.

Benedict sneered, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "What? The glass didn't hit your pretty face anyway, you worthless Omega!"

Blythe stopped directly in front of him. Her face was an unreadable mask of stone, her golden eyes so piercing that several of Benedict’s drinking companions took an uneasy step backward.

"I have been waiting six long years to say this to your face, Benedict," Blythe said, her voice dropping into a razor-cold register that cut through the noise of the tavern.

Benedict frowned, his pride bristling. "What did you say?"

"Do you have any idea how utterly repulsive you are?" Blythe stepped closer, towering over him with authority. "For six years, I cooked your meals, packed your gear, and tended to your wounds after training. Not once did you address me with a shred of respect. You called me names, threw demands at my head, and treated me like a slave. You have trained in the Northcott Alpha Dominion for seventeen years—have you learned nothing about basic pack honor?"

Benedict’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed purple, his throat tightening as his friends watched the dressing-down. "You—"

"Silence," Blythe snapped, her Alpha aura flaring just enough to make Benedict’s knees tremble. "I have dissolved my bond with Caspian. I am no longer tied to your pathetic household. Whomever I stand beside, whomever I take into my bed, is my sovereign choice, and a low-ranking pup like you has no right to speak my name. If you throw another bottle in my presence, I will have the Pack Council throw you into the iron dungeons for assaulting an Alpha leader."

Benedict stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish, completely cowed by her absolute dominance.

Blythe turned on her heel, her dark hair sweeping over her shoulder as she walked away without looking back.

Alwyn and Cedric followed close behind, stepping out into the crisp, cold air of the Alpha Commerce Quarter.

Before they reached the vehicle, a sleek black messenger raven bearing the silver crest of the Everard Alpha Tower swooped down from the frost-covered trees, landing directly on Blythe’s arm.

The raven dropped a heavy, iron-bound cylinder into her hand before flying back into the sky.

Blythe twisted the iron cap, pulling out a sealed parchment written in fresh crimson ink. Her eyes scanned the frantic lines written by her Pack Scribe, Agnes Whitby:

"Luna Sovereign! High Alpha Caspian Northcott has just ordered an immediate lockdown on all pack border vaults. He claims the dissolution scroll you signed contains a secret clause transferring the ownership of the Ironfang Pack Forge directly to Calista Veyne—and the execution order takes effect at midnight!"