MasukBRAHAM’S POVThe digital files projected in the center of the sacred grove were an absolute, undeniable obituary for Roy’s ambitions. The technical data Will had laid bare didn't just suggest his guilt; it mapped out the systematic orchestration of the leaks, the bot farms, and the psychological warfare aimed directly at my mate and my son.Yet, even with his back pressed flat against the wall, Roy tried to deny it."This is a fabrication!" Roy roared, his chest heaving as he violently wrestled against the iron grip of the two elite sentinels anchoring him to the spot. His face was flushed a dangerous, desperate crimson, sweat beading along his hairline. "This man has been looking for a reason to dismantle my family's influence for months! This data can be forged! Anyone with basic network access could have hijacked my terminal codes while I was away from my desk! You cannot condemn a high-ranking pack executive on circumstantial digital scraps!"His voice echoed sharply across the
VICENTE’S POVThe silence in the sacred grove was no longer peaceful; it was the suffocating, heavy quiet that precedes an execution. The crisp morning air carried the sharp, bitter stench of exposed treason, bleeding out from the center of the stone circle where Vivian and her six disgraced minions lay pinned against the damp grass.Braham stood beside my granddaughter, his chest expanded, his alpha pressure radiating outward in massive, suffocating waves that forced the weaker wolves in the perimeter to drop their eyes. Millie stood tall at his side, the raw, fresh mating marks on her neck serving as a stark, undeniable declaration of her ascension. The throne was sealed, and the fools on the ground were staring into the jaws of the empire they had tried to steal.Roy stood a few paces back from his sister, his arms held firmly by two of Braham’s largest elite sentinels. Even cornered, with his sister weeping in the dirt and the confiscated silver weapons piled like trash at the Hig
VICENTE’S POVThe North American wolves truly believed that age was a mathematical weakness. They looked at my silvered hair, my tailored human suits, and the quiet, deliberate weariness I chose to wear like a cloak, and they assumed I was merely a relic to be pitied—a grieving grandfather brought across the Atlantic to hold his granddaughter's hand. They had no idea that at ninety-seven years old, just three years shy of a full century on this earth, I possessed more tactical experience in my left hand than their entire rogue faction had combined in their short, reckless lives.I had noticed Roy, Vivian, and their father, Pius, from the very first second Braham introduced me to the pack executive.It was a subtle thing, hidden beneath layers of pack protocol, but it was there. It was in their scent—the sharp, bitter undertone of overcompensation, the way their eyes lingered a fraction of a second too long on my granddaughter’s throat, and the forced, artificial warmth in their postu
ROY’S POVThe cheering from the sacred grove was deafening, a sickening roar of validation that made the blood boil beneath my skin. I stood near the edge of the tree line, my hands shoved deep into my pockets, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. Every single wolf in this territory was falling over themselves to celebrate the 'sacred union,' completely blind to the fact that Braham was handing our entire heritage over to a woman whose family name was dragged through the mud on a global scale.They thought the fight was over just because her Spanish grandfather had pulled a legal stunt in the press. They thought the throne was sealed.They had no idea that Vivian and I were about to flip the board entirely.The plan was ironclad. Vivian had spent weeks mapping out the old tunnels, securing duplicate keys to the subterranean vaults beneath the packhouse, and bribing two low-level sentries to turn a blind eye to our equipment. We weren't going to fight Braham out in the open—that w
BRAHAM’S POVThe white-hot sting of my venom was still vibrating through our connected senses, a beautiful, agonizing current that bound her soul completely to mine. I lay spent beneath her on the heavy furs, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath, my arms wrapped loosely around Millie's waist. Her face was buried in the curve of my neck, her breathing shallow and rapid. The mark I had just carved into her shoulder was fresh and swollen, sealing her place as my Queen under the eyes of the old laws.But her wolf wasn't satisfied.Before I could even adjust to the sudden, overwhelming rush of her presence in my mind, I felt a shift in our link. The ancient, fierce blood of the Iberian packs running through her veins began to simmer. A true Luna of Silverpine Ridge heritage wasn't just a passive recipient of an Alpha's claim. She was an equal predator.Millie suddenly gripped my shoulders, her fingers digging deep into my skin with a strength that caught me entirely off guard. S
MILLIE’S POVThe dawn didn't break with a burst of gold; it crept into the sky in shades of deep, bruised violet and charcoal grey. The air in the sacred grove at the edge of the pack’s territory was biting, carrying the thick, damp scent of pine needle earth and ancient stone.I stood at the perimeter of the ritual circle, my skin tingling under the weight of the traditional ceremonial attire. This time, there was no white silk or lace. I wore a heavy, midnight-black velvet tunic embroidered with thick silver threading along the collarbone, paired with a matching deep crimson cloak that pooled around my shoes. The fabric felt anchoring, a stark contrast to the vulnerability pulsing through my veins.The ceremony itself was quiet, stripped of the human pageantry of our first wedding. There were no cameras, no societal guests, and no superficial applause. Instead, the high elders of the North American Wolf Council stood in a semicircle, their ancient, heavy alphas' auras pressing agai
I was a coward.That's what it came down to, really. I'd spent so much time blaming everyone else… Martha, Millie, circumstances, bad luck… but the truth was simpler and more pathetic than that.I was just a coward.I took another drink from the bottle of whiskey on the table in front of me. It was
MARTHA'S POVThe bruises had faded to ugly yellow-green splotches across my ribs and arms. The split lip had healed, though I could still feel the phantom ache when I touched it. But the rage? The rage had only grown stronger, festering like an infected wound. The photos were everywhere… paparazzi
MILLIE-ROSE’S POVI couldn't breathe.Leo stood in front of us, his question hanging in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. Braham, are you my real dad?My hand was still gripping Braham's, so tight I could feel his pulse pounding against my palm. Or maybe that was my own pulse. I couldn't tell
BRAHAM’S POVMillie was different.I'd noticed it the moment she walked out of that prison, past the swarm of reporters, and into the car. There was something in her eyes…something hard and determined that hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had always been there, buried under years of hurt and f







