The Dagger and the Demand

​[Anya’s POV]

​The cold, unforgiving steel of the dagger rested heavy in my hand. It wasn't a fancy blade; it was simple, dark, and designed for one thing: a clean kill. Ronan, the Alpha who wasn't crippled, stood before me, his face bare and flawless. He had just handed me a weapon and commanded me to choose between murder and alliance.

​My fingers tightened around the hilt, the tension making my knuckles white. If I drove this into his chest now, the King’s money for Devon would disappear instantly, and my brother would die. If I didn't, I was agreeing to fight a war I didn't ask for, allied with a man who had lied to me from the start.

​But the biggest truth, the one that cut deeper than the steel was my father's final betrayal. A Trojan horse. He didn't sell me for money; he sold me for a dirty land deal with Alpha Vorlag, willing to sacrifice his own children for a strip of turf. My hatred for him was a cold, pure stone in my gut.

​I looked at Ronan. He was waiting, still, letting me choose my destiny. He was a tyrant, yes, but he was a tyrant who had just revealed that he was the one paying for Devon's care all along. My true enemy wasn't the man in front of me; it was the man who raised me.

​I made my choice.

​With a deep, shaky breath, I turned the dagger around. I held the blade out, offering the handle back to him.

​"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I won't use this on you. I won’t be a murderer."

​Ronan didn't move to take it. His black eyes studied me, searching for any sign of weakness or trickery.

​"A pity," he murmured. "I thought you had the spine for true power, Luna. Murder is sometimes necessary for survival."

​"Survival, yes. Treason, no," I countered, the words sharp. "You said my father used me to start a war. If I kill you now, I will finish my father's job. I bring down the Crescent Pack, and Vorlag wins."

​I placed the dagger down on the edge of his desk, pushing it toward the center. It sat between us like a dangerous, unspoken contract.

​"I will not be your killer," I stated, drawing on the cold reserve that had kept me safe through years of Elara's cruelty. "But I will be your shield. And I will be my brother's vengeance."

​Ronan’s visible face cracked slightly, a subtle shift in the muscles around his jaw that showed his surprise. He was used to fear, not defiance.

​"A shield needs boundaries, Luna," he said. "You know my rules. Silence, obedience, and the public farce of my crippling illness. What are your terms for this alliance?"

​This was my chance. I straightened my spine. "If I am to fight Vorlag, I must know what I'm fighting. I won't move blind."

​I met his gaze, showing him the resolve that Caleb called 'wildness.' "My demand is simple: access to your private library and the pack's trade records. I need to understand your enemy, and I need to find the specific political favor my father was promised."

​Ronan stared at me for a long moment. Giving me access to his most secret information was a huge risk. If I was still loyal to my father, I could expose everything. He was weighing my life against his pack’s secrets.

​Finally, a cold, thin smile touched his lips. "You bargain well, Luna. A true partner knows the value of information."

​He reached out, not touching me, but tapping the dagger. "The library and the records are yours. But understand this: if you use those documents for Vesper or Vorlag, I won't just stop Devon's care. I will find every person you have ever cared for, and I will show them what happens to traitors."

​The threat was terrifying, but I had what I needed. "Deal," I said simply. "Now, where do I sleep?"

​Ronan ignored the question. "Your first task is not rest. It is security."

​He walked over to a heavy oak cabinet and pulled out a key, which he handed to Alaric, who had just entered the room silently.

​"Alaric will escort you to your new rooms, the Luna suite. You will find the luggage your father sent with you," Ronan instructed. His voice held a chilling calm. "Your father would not send you off to the 'crippled Alpha' without a parting gift. You will find it and neutralize it."

​My heart hammered. He wasn't talking about a diamond necklace. He meant a spy tool.

​"Go, Luna," Ronan commanded. "And if you find anything, you will bring it to me immediately. Your loyalty is still being tested."

​The Luna suite was exactly what I expected: massive, beautiful, and utterly cold. The walls were panelled in dark wood, and the furnishings were elegant but stiff, designed more for show than comfort. It felt like a gilded cage.

​Alaric set my small, battered trunk and a garment bag down with a thud. He didn't speak a word, merely nodded, and left, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. I was alone in my prison.

​My first act was not to admire the expensive furniture, but to secure the room. I checked the vents, under the bed, and inside the wardrobes. Nothing obvious. Ronan had his own spies, and I had to assume everything he owned was secure. The threat, then, had to be in my belongings.

​I opened my old canvas trunk. It held a few things I cared about: my everyday clothes, a worn copy of Devon's favorite mythology book, and the keepsakes from my mother, a simple, sea-blue aquamarine necklace and a collection of smooth river stones.

​I stopped. The trunk felt wrong. It had a faint, strange smell, like burnt plastic.

​I plunged my hands into the clothes. My items were mostly untouched, but they felt strangely shifted. I pulled out a simple cotton shirt and saw a faint smudge of dirt on the collar. My trunk had been expertly searched, and not by my father's clumsy maids. These were the work of professionals.

​My fear solidified into ice. My father wasn't just planning for the future; he was spying on the present.

​I turned to the garment bag. Inside was the gown I had worn for the ceremony, the ridiculous dress that was far too costly for my life. I pulled it out, running my hands along the expensive satin and lace.

​The lining. Ronan’s words came back: "Your father would not send you without a parting gift."

​I felt along the hem of the thick train. My fingers brushed against a faint, uneven seam that hadn't been there before. The original stitches, fine and precise, had been cut and then re-sewn quickly.

​I grabbed the tiny, rough seam and ripped it gently, pulling the fabric apart. Inside the lining, tucked deep into the cotton batting, was a small, perfectly square recess. The fabric around it was slightly melted, the source of the burnt plastic smell.

​With trembling hands, I reached in. My fingers closed around a piece of metal, sharp at the edges and no bigger than my smallest fingernail. I pulled it out.

​It was a tiny, black metallic disc. It was too delicate to be a tracking chip. The only logical explanation made my blood run cold.

​This was no ordinary gift. This was Vesper’s ultimate insurance policy.

​A bug. A listening device. My father and Vorlag weren't just watching me; they wanted to hear everything that happened in the Night God's inner sanctum.