MasukSeraphina followed Ethan into his chambers, her cane clicking rhythmically and sharply against the marble, footsteps uneven but determined.“Ethan!”He didn’t answer.The doors closed behind them with a heavy finality. "Ethan! Talk to me!" she shrilled, her voice cracking with indignation. "You were supposed to punish those men. You are the King! If they don't fear the consequences of their failure, they will never truly protect this pack. You’re letting that girl, that outsider, dictate your law!"Ethan didn't turn. He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a finger of whiskey, the liquid glowing like a dragon’s eye in the dim light. He stepped to the window, backing her, his silhouette tall and unyielding as he stared down at the dark garden where the arrow had flown."Ethan, why are you not talking?" Sephy’s voice softened, turning from demanding to pleading. She moved closer, leaning on her cane. "Is it because of what happened earlier? In my room? I... I didn't know what cam
Drusilla walked hurriedly through the cold stone corridors, her breath hitching with every step. The image of the jagged arrow in Arielle’s hand and the blood-stained cloth wouldn't leave her mind. She stopped before the heavy, iron-reinforced doors of the Alpha King’s chambers, her hands clenched tight around the hem of her apron. Two guards blocked her path, their spears crossing with a metallic clack before her chest."The Alpha King is resting," the guard on the left grunted. "No disturbances."“Please,” Drusilla insisted, her voice tight, rising in urgency. "It is important! I must speak with him," Drusilla pleaded."It can wait until dawn, girl. Move along," the second guard growled, stepping forward to intimidate her.But Drusilla didn't budge. "It cannot wait! Please!"She tried again. And again.Her voice rose, desperation bleeding through her composure. “Please let me in.”Inside the chamber, Ethan sat in a high-backed leather chair, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. Th
Inside Arielle’s chambers, a soft, tentative knock broke the stillness."Lady Arielle?"It was Drusilla. No answer. She knocked again, firmer this time. “Lady Arielle…?”Still nothing.A crease formed between Drusilla’s brows. That was unusual.She eased the door open and stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room. She held a small wooden treatment kit, the scent of antiseptic and clean linen trailing after her.“Lady Arielle?” she called again, her voice was thin, carrying a note of habitual worry. When no answer came, she walked towards the washroom door."Lady Arielle? I noticed the bruising earlier... I brought the salves," Drusilla murmured to the empty air and no reply came.She checked the washroom, and the adjoining sitting area. Nothing.“Where could she possibly be?” Drusilla wondered.Drusilla’s fingers tightened around the leather handle of the treatment kit.Then, her gaze drifted to the window, instinct guiding her. She approached it, peering down into the dark garde
Arielle sat before the heavy dresser, the flickering candlelight casting long, jagged shadows against the stone walls. Every muscle in her body ached from her last training. Her knuckles were bruised, and her skin felt tight with exhaustion. But she reached up to unbind her hair. She didn’t wince. She leaned into the pain and told herself it was a sign of progress, a reminder etched into flesh that she was rebuilding herself from the ground up.She wasn't just patching up a broken soul or surviving another day in the Alpha King’s shadow.She was reforging.I will be more than the wreckage they left behind, she thought, her fingers curling into a tight fist. I will become a Luna the likes of which the wolf realm has never seen. Not a consort. Not a broken Luna. A force.In the mirror’s reflection, her eyes burned with a cold, flickering light. Her mind drifted to Arnold, the man who held her hands while plotting to slit her throat. The one who usurped what was rightfully hers.She pic
The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind Maelor, the echo of his footsteps dissolving into the long stone corridor beyond.Silence claimed the study.Leo remained by the door, a quiet presence meant to guard more than just the room. He watched his Alpha carefully, thoughts churning beneath his controlled exterior. Ethan's gaze returned to the black-waxed scroll resting on his table. Featureless. Defiant. As though daring him to try.After a moment, Ethan reached for the scroll.“If it holds anything at all,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Leo, “then it was written to be unseen.”He rose at once and carried the parchment to the nearest candle, angling it carefully over the flame. Heat licked the edges, the orange glow illuminating the texture of the paper, but the surface remained a stubborn, void-like black. Not a single letter bled through. No hidden messages appeared.Nothing.No ink. Not even a whisper of concealed truth emerged from the void of the Stormclaw’s record.E
The man arrived at dusk. He was not announced. He was not escorted. Leo, whose instincts usually demanded a blade at the throat of any uninvited guest, simply opened the gates of the mansion.Leo's expression remained unreadable as he led the man through the lower hall of the Shadow Fang mansion.They arrived at Ethan’s study, Leo opened the door.The man was old, not frail, not bent but aged in the way of things that had survived too much history. His robes were plain, dark wool edged with symbols that had not been carved in stone for centuries. A worn-out leather satchel hung at his side.Leo stepped aside, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.“Alpha,” he said quietly.Ethan sat at his obsidian table, positioned at the center of the study. The table's surface was polished to a deep black, reflecting the candlelight like still water. His hands were clasped, and his posture as always, was a monument to unyielding restraint.“Close the doors,” Ethan said. His voice didn't t







