Chapter 3

After submitting my Withdrawal Declaration, the ritual required only three days to complete.

On the final day, I was in the war room, handing over my scrolls and territory maps.

The comms stone against my ribs flared with a direct summons—a claw-scratch command, impossible to ignore.

“Bring the tonic to my chambers.”

I hadn’t officially severed ties yet. Final duties were still duties.

I brewed the infusion—meant to ease the cramping pain of a she-wolf’s cycle. I carried it to the Alpha’s private den and pushed through the heavy leather curtains.

Ilana was there, reclined on the low fur dais, her head pillowed in Silas’s lap. He was leaning over her, one broad hand spread across her lower belly, rubbing slow circles.

That softness had once been mine alone. Now, he gave it to another she-wolf.

I kept my eyes fixed on the stone floor. I crossed the room and set the clay cup on the war table.

“Alpha, the tonic is here.”

I turned to leave.

Ilana sat up. Her voice cut like a blade across hide.

“Wait.”

She stood, circling. Her nostrils flared, scenting my submission, my weakness.

“You’re… Amara Thane’s sister? The Alpha’s kin from the Southern Range?”

She didn’t wait for my lowering of the head—my acknowledgment.

Her hand struck my face. Hard. The crack echoed against the stone walls.

My ears rang. My cheekbone flared with white heat, swelling instantly, the taste of copper blooming where my teeth had cut the inside of my mouth.

Silas was on his feet in a fluid surge of muscle, his voice carrying a note of shock that sounded almost genuine. “Ilana—what are you doing?”

Tears, bright and theatrical, sprang to her eyes. She pointed a trembling claw at me, pressing herself against his side.

“She’s kin to a Pack Alpha! She could have had her own territory, her own guard, yet she came here to be your scribe, your… creature.” Her lip curled. “I can’t stand the sight of such a she-wolf with ulterior motives toward you at your side!”

The air froze. Solidified.

Silas’s gaze flickered to me—complex, unreadable, a flash of something dark moving behind the gold.

His voice dropped to that velvet rumble.

“Even if she wanted me,” he said, not looking at me, eyes only for her, “it was one-sided. Nothing but a lone wolf’s delusion.”

Ilana’s mouth curved in a small, triumphant smile. She nuzzled into his neck, her voice dripping honey and venom.

“Then cast her out, Silas. I don’t want to see her face again. Make her leave the territory.”

Silas’s brow twitched—a micro-movement, a hesitation so faint I might have imagined it.

Ilana saw it too. Her eyes narrowed.

She reached for the cup on the table. In one fluid motion, she upended the scalding liquid over my arm.

“Ahh—Silas, it burns!” she shrieked, cradling her own unmarked hand, her eyes filling with manufactured pain.

Silas’s face transformed. The lazy affection vanished, replaced by a snarling, territorial rage. He stepped forward, shielding Ilana with his body, his golden eyes turning arctic as they raked over me.

“Amara!” he roared. The Alpha command in his voice hit my spine like a physical blow, forcing my head down, my ears flat. “Four years you’ve served under me, and you can’t manage one simple task? Did you do this to hurt her intentionally?”

I opened my mouth, the burn on my forearm blistering, my cheek throbbing.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He snapped at the door. “Elder Thorn!”

The old beta scurried in, eyes wide.

“Amara has failed in her duties,” Silas commanded, his voice iron. “Dock her final moon’s share of game. At the next Pack gathering, publicly name her for incompetence. Let the entire territory know she is dishonored.”

Elder Thorn flicked a glance at my ruined arm, at the clear evidence of abuse. He swallowed hard, opening his mouth—"But... Alpha... she has already..."—

She has already submitted her Withdrawal Declaration. She is no longer of your service…