C2

"Light it," Lucas commands from the raised marble platform, his voice echoing across the wide courtyard like a heavy blade falling.

The smoke from the oil-soaked wood fills my nose, thick and choking. Dawn light cuts through the high morning fog, making the execution square gleam like polished bone. I am bound tightly to the wooden stake in the center, silver ropes cutting so deep into my wrists that skin splits and hot blood drips down my hands.

"Any last words, traitor?" Thomas sneers, stepping back with the burning torch in his fist.

"I have nothing to say to murderers," I choke out.

My voice is weak, but I do not plead. I do not drop my head. My legs shake violently under my weight, and my inner wolf whimpers in the dark corners of my mind, too wounded to heal me. Deep in my stomach, that tiny, fragile pulse flutters again, a quiet spark of life trying to survive in a dying body.

Above me, Lucas stands tall in his heavy Alpha cloak. His face looks carved from solid ice. Beside him, Amanda wears a robe of pure white, leaning her body into his side. She presses a white cloth to her eyes, pretending to cry, but her lips curl into a triumphant smirk right over the edge of the fabric.

"She deserves this, Alpha," Amanda whispers loud enough for the guards to hear. "She brought shame to our borders."

Lucas does not answer her. He only stares down at me. His blue eyes are completely void of life, the same eyes that once softened when he held me in his small bed, the same eyes that looked at me with raw hunger before Amanda returned with her forged letters.

"Burn her," Lucas orders again, waving his hand toward the pyre.

Thomas hurls the burning torch into the dry timber at my feet.

The flames roar to life instantly. Hot orange fire leaps up the base of the stake, licking at the hems of my ragged clothes. The heat hits my face like a physical slap, scorching my skin and drying the blood on my cheeks. The crowd of pack members breaks into loud, roaring cheers, chanting for my death as the smoke spirals toward the sky.

I do not scream. I refuse to give Amanda the satisfaction of hearing me break. I lock my eyes onto Lucas one last time, searching his face for a single crack, a single sign of regret or hesitation.

There is nothing. He looks at me like I am garbage being cleared away from his pack house lawn.

A sudden, terrifying horn blast cuts through the air, drowning out the cheers of the crowd.

The heavy wooden gates of the courtyard shatter inward with a deafening crash. Splintered wood and iron hinges fly through the air, crushing two guards where they stand.

A black wave of rogue wolves crashes through the breach, their massive bodies slamming into the Silver Moon warriors. Screams of terror replace the cheers. Arrows rain down from the outer walls, piercing chest after chest. Chaos erupts in every direction as pack members scramble toward the hall doors, trampling each other in pure panic.

"Protect the Alpha!" Thomas yells, drawing his long iron sword, but a massive black wolf leaps onto his back, crushing his throat in a single snap.

Through the rising wall of fire and thick black smoke, a tall figure moves with slow, terrifying precision. He wears a heavy leather coat, walking straight through the flying arrows and screaming warriors like none of them exist.

The flames around my feet roar higher, but he steps right into the pyre. The fire bends away from his boots as if it is afraid to touch his skin.

He steps out of the smoke, his long dark hair whipping in the fierce wind. Brilliant golden eyes lock directly onto mine, glowing with an ancient, terrifying power that makes my wolf shiver in awe.

He ignores Lucas, who is drawing his broadsword on the raised platform. He ignores Amanda’s high-pitched shrieks as she hides behind Lucas’s cloak. He ignores the entire battle raging across the courtyard.

He steps directly up to my stake. His presence is suffocating, thick with pure dominance that crushes the air out of my lungs.

"Who are you?" I gasp, my vision blurring from the overwhelming heat and smoke.

He does not answer with words. He draws a long, silver dagger from his belt. With one quick, violent strike, he slashes through the thick silver ropes binding me to the wood.

My weak legs give out immediately. I collapse forward, expecting to hit the burning timber below, but his arm catches me mid-air. He pulls my broken, bloody body against his solid chest, holding me effortlessly with one hand.

He pauses for a fraction of a second. His golden eyes drop from my face down to my lower belly, lingering right over the spot where my secret child pulses beneath my skin. His jaw tightens, a sudden spark of intense recognition flashing in his gaze.

"Lancelot!" Lucas shouts from the steps, his voice shaking with sudden rage as he points his dripping blade at the intruder. "Drop her! She belongs to the Silver Moon!"

The tall man turns his head slightly, glaring sideways at Lucas with sheer contempt.

He scoops his other arm under my knees, lifting me fully into his chest. His grip is ironclad, possessive, and warm against my freezing skin.

"This one is mine," Lancelot says, his low, lethal voice carrying across the blood-soaked yard, and he drops a heavy iron signet ring stamped with a crest of a crowned skull right at Lucas's feet.