CH.4

By sunrise, Rory Moonridge felt like someone had shoved her under a truck, reversed over her, then left a polite note asking her to attend a formal execution disguised as politics.

The note, unfortunately, was real.

It sat on her kitchen counter where she’d thrown it earlier and tried to ignore through sheer force of personality.

Rory stood in front of it drinking coffee strong enough to qualify as a medical event.

Her ribs had healed badly overnight.

The fractures had started knitting, but the suppressants slowed everything, leaving her side tender and tight beneath the black silk blouse she’d chosen because it hid bruises and made her look expensive enough to ruin someone’s morning.

The mirror in the hallway had been less generous.

Split lip. Swollen cheekbone. Faint bruising at the throat where the idiot from the cage had squeezed too hard. Her left eye had calmed from catastrophic to merely suspicious, which was fine.

The Council liked fragile women. Rory enjoyed disappointing them.

She picked up the summons.

AURORA MOONRIDGE, ALPHA OF SHADOW MOON, IS HEREBY COMMANDED TO APPEAR BEFORE THE ELDER COUNCIL REGARDING TERRITORIAL INSTABILITY, UNVERIFIED MATE STATUS, AND POTENTIAL VIOLATIONS OF PACK SUCCESSION LAW.

Rory read the last line with mockery.

“Unverified mate status,” she murmured. “How romantic. They could’ve sent flowers.”

Her phone buzzed and her Beta’s name flashed across the screen.

Zane: I’m downstairs.

Rory: That’s unfortunate.

Zane: Open the elevator or I’ll charm the concierge.

Rory: He has standards.

Zane: He also has eyes and excellent taste.

Despite herself, Rory snorted, then pressed the access button.

By the time Zane stepped into her penthouse, she’d already taken two painkillers, hidden the suppressant case very well, and decided that murder before noon was only socially unacceptable if there were witnesses.

Zane Black walked in wearing a charcoal suit, black shirt, and the expression of a man who’d come prepared to physically drag his Alpha away from bad decisions if necessary.

He was tall, lean, and too handsome for his own emotional safety, with dark blond hair swept back and blue eyes that immediately moved over her face, throat, ribs, and hands.

Rory hated being assessed.

“Before you start,” she warned, grabbing her blazer from the back of a chair, “I look fantastic.”

“You look like you fought a refrigerator and insulted its mother,” Zane didn’t look happy.

“The refrigerator started it.”

His jaw tightened when he saw her throat. “Who did that?”

“A man currently eating through a straw, if there’s justice.”

“Rory.” Zane said gently.

Rory turned on him. “Don’t use that tone. I’m not one of your rookies, and I’m not in the mood to be emotionally x-rayed before breakfast!”

Zane held up both hands, but his eyes stayed sharp. “Fine. No lecture.”

That was why she kept him.

Not because he obeyed. Zane had never been especially gifted at that. But because he knew when worry would make her cruel, and he loved her enough not to force her into it unless he had no other choice.

Zane crossed to the counter and picked up the summons.

“They listed mate status.” His expression darkened as he read.

“They did. Very rude. I was hoping they’d lead with my sparkling personality.”

“This isn’t routine.”

“No. Routine is when they send auditors to pretend my territory offends them because I don’t let weak men sniff through my accounts,” Rory sneered.

“Blood Ridge and Iron Fang will be there.”

Rory went still for half a second then she reached for her sunglasses.

Zane noticed.

“Blood Ridge wants our northern border,” he said. “Iron Fang wants your connections. If the Council cracks open the widow claim, they’ll argue Shadow Moon has been operating under false succession protection.”

“And I’ll argue they can all choke.”

“That won’t be enough,” Zane argued.

“It has range.”

His stare flattened.

Rory sighed and slid the summons out of his hand. “The documents are clean.”

“Documents bleed if the right person cuts them.”

“Then we cut back.”

Three years of lies sat between them.

The fake mate. The staged death. The forged mourning period. The sealed records Zane had helped her build because he had understood what the pack would lose if the world saw her as mateless, damaged, and alone.

He had never asked for gratitude, which made it worse.

His gaze lowered to her purse. “Did you take suppressants this morning?”

“What a hideous question.” Rory slipped on her sunglasses.

“Kira said your levels are dangerous.”

“Kira also owns three cardigans with ducks on them, so her judgment is already questionable!”

Zane’s expression changed. The protective commander vanished, and the man who had dragged her bleeding out of too many nightmares stood in his place.

“If you collapse in that chamber,” he said quietly, “they’ll use it.”

“I won’t collapse.”

Zane pretended not to notice the way her hands shook.

Right then, Rory’s security screen lit up near the door, showing Kira in the private foyer with a medical bag over one shoulder and murder in her eyes.

Rory stared at the screen. “Absolutely not!”

Zane crossed over and opened the elevator access.

“Traitor!” Rory snapped.

“Alive Alpha outranks offended Alpha.”

Soon, Kira swept in before Rory could threaten either of them properly.

She wore a green wrap dress under a beige coat, her red hair pinned back, and the expression of a healer who had already imagined twelve ways to sedate her patient and rejected eleven for legal reasons.

“I’m coming,” Kira announced.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’ll throw you into traffic.”

“I packed anti-nausea injections, clotting foam, emergency stabilizers, and a folding scalpel.”

Rory paused. “Why a folding scalpel?”

Kira smiled sweetly. “For traffic.”

Zane coughed into his fist.

“Don’t encourage her.” Rory pointed at him.

Kira moved closer, studying Rory’s bruises. “You took more—”

Rory grabbed her purse and headed for the elevator. “We’re leaving before this becomes an intervention!”

“It became an intervention when you swallowed lab-grade poison and called it a coping strategy,” Kira shot back, following her.

“Car’s waiting.” Zane fell into step on Rory’s other side.

Rory slid her sunglasses back on. “Wonderful. Nothing says dignity like arriving at my public execution with two babysitters.”