INTERRUPTED RITUAL

Scarlett pov

The silence that followed Reed’s words was thunderous.

Darius stood frozen, fists clenched, his chest heaving with restrained rage. Across the room, my stepfather said nothing, but his narrowed eyes screamed fury.

The council shifted uncomfortably. Some looked at each other, others down at their hands, like they didn’t know whose side they were supposed to be on now that the royal seal was involved.

I didn’t wait for anyone to speak.

“This wasn’t just an attempted power grab,” I said calmly. “This was a coordinated betrayal. You planned to crown someone outside the Monroe line without rite, without council vote, and without even the basic respect to notify the royal house.”

Reyes scoffed. “Don’t pretend you care about rites or law.”

I turned to him. “You married into this pack, Reyes. You don’t speak for its legacy. You don’t understand it—and you never could.”

Lucian stood to my right, silent but watchful. Kael was somewhere near the dais, his body still and unreadable.

Reed remained behind me, quiet. Watching.

Always watching.

“You act like this is your birthright,” Darius snarled.

“It is,” I replied. “It’s not just blood. It’s bond. This pack was given to the Monroe line by the Moon Goddess herself. And that tradition doesn’t die just because you wanted a throne built faster.”

One of the council elders stepped forward, her silver-streaked hair pulled back, hands folded. “It’s true the rites were never completed. Darius has not taken the mark.”

“Because he knows he wouldn’t receive it,” Lucian muttered.

Darius turned to him. “You’d side with her? After everything?”

“I always did,” Lucian said. “The rest of you were just too busy plotting to notice.”

Kael stepped forward at last. “Scarlett.” My name in his voice felt heavier than it should have. “This isn’t the time—”

“No,” I said sharply. “You don’t get to tell me when it’s time. You had five years to say something. Five years to fight for the truth. Instead, you watched them erase me. Don’t speak now and pretend you care.”

His mouth opened, then shut. That told me enough.

Reed moved then—slow, deliberate steps to the center of the room. His presence alone quieted the council.

“If we’re to proceed lawfully, there is only one option,” he said. “Darius may attempt the rite of succession.”

Reyes spun toward him. “You’re going to allow this?”

“I’m going to witness it,” Reed replied coolly. “If he is chosen, the bond will mark him. If not, this farce ends tonight.”

Kael turned slightly toward me. “You can’t be serious.”

I met his eyes—finally. “What’s wrong? Afraid she won’t answer him?”

“I’ll do it,” Darius said, jaw clenched. “Let the Goddess see me.”

He was bluffing. But he’d backed himself into a corner, and pride wouldn’t let him crawl out.

Reed gave the smallest nod. “Let the rite commence.”

One of the elders stepped forward—a man named Councilor Bastian, white-robed and narrow-eyed, with the calm expression of someone who had seen centuries of blood spilled for power.

“This will be done properly,” he said, retrieving an obsidian bowl from the ceremonial chest. “No shortcuts. No tricks.”

Darius flinched slightly but stripped off his outer jacket.

Bastian drew a curved ritual blade from his belt and motioned for Darius to offer his hand.

“Palm up,” he said.

Darius hesitated, his jaw clenched so tightly I heard the faint grind of teeth.

“Is there a problem?” Reed asked mildly.

“No,” Darius muttered. “Just cold.”

The blade slid across his palm with a hiss of breath. Blood welled quickly. Bastian caught the thick, red drops in the obsidian bowl, then handed Darius a cloth and gestured for him to step into the center of the platform.

The elder moved with precision, dipping two fingers into the blood and drawing a perfect circle on the stone floor around Darius. Then he poured the rest of the blood into the center of the ring.

Bastian began the chant.

Low at first. Then deeper. The ancient tongue rolled from his mouth like smoke.

The air grew heavier with each syllable.

Darius stood stiffly inside the circle. Sweat beaded at his temple despite the cold hall. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. His fingers twitched at his sides.

I could see the fight in him—the kind that came from knowing you were already losing. His fingers twitched. His throat bobbed in a hard swallow.

The council watched. Lucian stood beside me, arms crossed, unreadable.

And Reed… Reed watched everything like a man playing chess, calculating each breath.

Bastian lifted both hands, voice rising in rhythm, calling for the Moon Goddess’s blessing. His words echoed against the stone as the blood began to glow faintly in the circle.

Darius swallowed hard.

I saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the panic just beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure. He was afraid.

Good.

If the Moon Goddess truly watched, she would see everything.

Bastian’s voice lifted once more.

A hush fell over the crowd.

This was the moment.

If Darius had the Moon Goddess’s favor, the mark would appear.

And then—

BANG.

The great doors of the hall burst open.

Gasps echoed.

A wolf staggered in—half-shifted, blood gushing from a wound in his side. He collapsed to his knees in the center of the aisle, eyes wide with terror.

His mouth opened. He looked straight at Reyes.

And with his last breath, he rasped—

“Rogues.”

Then his body went still.