Chapter 2 (II)

Vance stood up, pulling a heavy, leather-bound ledger from the center of the table. “According to the Blood Laws of the Silver Moon, an Alpha who willfully endangers the pack by refusing a necessary union during a state of siege is deemed unfit. You are acting out of grief, not leadership. You are volatile. You are broken. You are a liability we can no longer afford.”

“I am your Alpha,” Lachlan growled, his voice dropping into a register that was more wolf than man. He felt the shift in his chest, the heavy, golden power of the Alpha line surging, begging to be let loose.

“You are an Alpha in name only,” Silas added, his thin lips curling into a predatory smile. “As of this moment, the council invokes the Right of Regency. We are stripping you of your authority to lead, to command the warriors, and to manage the pack’s assets. You will be confined to the west wing. You will be fed. You will be housed. But you will not speak for this pack again.”

Harlan stepped between Lachlan and the elders, his hands raised in a desperate plea for peace. “Vance, Silas, this is madness! His mate was buried two hours ago! You cannot expect a man to be rational when his bond has just been ripped out of his chest. Give him a week. Give him three days to breathe!”

“We do not have three minutes, Harlan,” Vance countered, slamming the ledger shut. “The decision is final. Until such a time as Lachlan proves he can put the pack above his own pathetic mourning, the council will rule. We will find a leader who isn't blinded by tears.”

Lachlan felt the power in the room shift. It was a physical sensation, like the air being sucked out of his lungs. The pack bond, the invisible threads that connected him to every member of the Silver Moon, did not vanish, but they grew cold. They grew distant. He could see the triumph in Vance’s eyes and the slithering deceit in Silas’s. He looked at Kaia, expecting to see a smirk, but her face was a mask of stone.

Without another word, Lachlan turned and walked out. He walked straight out of the pack house and back into the rain, his heart a hollowed-out ruin. He had lost his mate to the fire, and now he had lost his crown to the vultures.

The heavy oak doors flew open again, but the man who emerged was not the same one who had entered.

Lachlan walked out with a gait that was stiff and hollow. The golden light that usually shimmered in the depths of an Alpha’s eyes had gone dim, replaced by a flat, dead gray. He looked straight ahead, seeing nothing.

Dan Reyes surged forward, pushing past a startled Cillian.

"Lachlan? What happened? What did they do?"

Lachlan did not answer. He kept walking, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

From inside the room, Elder Vance’s voice echoed out, loud and clear for all the guards in the hallway to hear. "The council has spoken! Lachlan Livingston is no longer the acting Alpha of the Silver Moon. He is to be escorted to the West Wing immediately. Any warrior who follows his command is in violation of the Blood Law!"

Dan froze. The air seemed to turn to lead. He looked at the guards, then at Cillian, who was now laughing openly.

"You heard the man, Reyes," Cillian said, stepping toward Dan.

"You’re out of a job. Why don't you be a good little dog and help your friend find his cage?"

Dan’s wolf roared. He moved so fast the guards didn't have time to draw their weapons. He had Cillian slammed against the stone wall, his forearm pressed hard against the younger man’s throat.

"Say one more word," Dan hissed, his claws digging into Cillian’s expensive leather jacket. "One more word, and I will show you exactly what a Beta does to a traitor."

"Dan! Drop him!"

The command didn't come with the power of the Alpha’s voice. It was just a man’s voice, raw and broken. Lachlan had stopped at the end of the hall, looking back over his shoulder.

"It’s over," Lachlan said. "They won. Don't throw your life away for a title I no longer hold."

Dan looked at the terrified Cillian, then at the defeated man at the end of the hall. Slowly, he released his grip. Cillian slumped to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

Dan ignored the guards who were now aiming rifles at him. He turned and walked to Lachlan’s side. He didn't offer words of comfort. He simply fell into step, his shoulder brushing against Lachlan’s as they walked toward the West Wing, the "prison" the Elders had designed for their fallen king.

As they descended the stairs, Dan leaned in close. "We aren't staying in that wing, are we?"

Lachlan didn't look at him. He looked at the rain lashing against the windows of the grand staircase. "They think they have locked me in a room, Dan. They don't realize they’ve just locked themselves in a house with a man who has nothing left to lose."

Inside the chamber, the heavy doors clicked shut with an ominous finality. The tension did not leave the room; it simply changed shape, becoming something darker and more calculated.

Harlan looked at his fellow elders with pure disgust. “You just broke that boy. You took the only thing he had left to hold onto. This isn't about the pack, and we all know it. I know you, Vance. I know what you are doing. You have been waiting for a moment of weakness since the day Lachlan’s father died.”

Vance did not even look at him. He was busy straightening the ledger, his fingers tracing the gold leaf on the cover. “I am doing what is necessary for our survival, Harlan. Go home. You are dismissed from this session.”

Harlan lingered for a moment, his eyes darting to Kaia Thorne, who still stood like a statue in the corner. Then, with a curse under his breath, he left the room, his footsteps heavy with the weight of a failing legacy.

As soon as the sound of Harlan’s footsteps faded, Vance slumped back into his chair. A smug look of satisfaction crossed his face. He pulled a silver flask from his pocket and took a long, slow pull of the burning liquid inside.

“That went better than expected,” Vance muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “He is even more unstable than I hoped. He did half the work for us just by opening his mouth. The pack will see a man who chose a dead woman over his living subjects.”

Silas leaned in, his voice a low hiss that filled the empty spaces of the room. “How long until we can make the transition permanent? My contacts in the Thorne pack are getting impatient. They want the southern valley opened up for their patrols by the end of the week.”

“Soon,” Vance said. “Lachlan is the last of the Livingston line. Once the pack sees him rotting away in that west wing, they will lose faith. My son, Cillian, has already been training the younger warriors. They like him. He is charismatic. He is everything Lachlan isn't right now. By next month, the pack will be begging for a new Alpha. We will hold a vote, and the Livingston name will be a footnote in history.”

Silas nodded, but his eyes drifted toward Kaia. She hadn't said a word since Lachlan left. “And what about her? Her father isn't going to be happy that the mating didn't happen tonight. He expected a foothold in this pack immediately. He won't be patient while we play politics with your son.”

Kaia finally moved. She walked toward the table, her boots clicking sharply on the stone. She looked at Silas with a disdain that made the man flinch. “My father knew exactly what would happen tonight. He knew Lachlan would reject me. He wanted him to. A rejected Alpha is a weakened Alpha. A man who refuses his mate is a man the Moon Goddess has abandoned.”

Silas blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “You mean... this was the plan all along? You and your father are working with us to get Cillian on the throne?”

Kaia Thorne gave him a smile that did not reach her eyes. It was a cold, predatory expression that looked exactly like the man who had sent her. “I do not care about your son, Silas. And I certainly do not care about your petty council. My father wants the Silver Moon pack absorbed. He wants the Livingston bloodline extinguished so the Thorne pack can reign supreme over the entire northern territory. You and Vance are just the keys we are using to unlock the front door.”

Vance’s hand froze with the flask halfway to his lips. He looked at Silas, then back at the girl. He had thought he was the one playing the game. He had thought he was using the Thorne girl to get his son into power.

“We have a deal, Kaia,” Vance said, his voice regaining some of its steel. “Cillian takes the mantle. We open the borders for trade. That was the agreement.”

Kaia Thorne leaned over the table, her blue eyes turning dark as the stormy sky outside. “The agreement is whatever my father says it is. For now, keep Lachlan locked away. Keep him angry. Keep him grieving. An Alpha who hates himself is much easier to kill than one who hates his enemies. When the time is right, we will finish what the fire started.”

She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, her silhouette disappearing into the dark hallway. She left the two elders in a silence that was suddenly very heavy with the scent of a trap closing.

Silas looked at Vance, his voice trembling slightly. “Vance... what have we done? We just handed her the keys to the armory.”

Vance took a jagged breath, his eyes fixed on the empty Alpha’s chair at the head of the table. The seat he had coveted for years now looked like a tomb. “We have taken the pack, Silas. That is what we have done. And there is no turning back now. We just have to prepare Cillian to fight a war on two fronts.”

Outside, the rain continued to fall, burying the secrets of the Silver Moon pack under a shroud of gray. In the west wing, a light flickered in a window, the only sign that the fallen Alpha was still breathing.