ANMELDENJasmina and Theo are now in the rotten smelling tunnel.
Theo's torch threw shadows on the walls. Jasmina followed him, stumbling every few steps. The silver cuffs on her wrists burned straight through to bone. He'd tried to pick the locks but couldn't manage it. The baby hadn't moved in over an hour. "We're close," Theo said. "Another ten minutes and we'll be…" Then a growling sound cut him off. As they looked closer, they saw yellow eyes in the edges. Dozens of them, surrounding them from all sides. Theo drew his knife and yelled... "Run!" A gray wolf the size of a horse slammed into him before he could finish. He went down hard, his head cracking against the tunnel wall. The torch fell and rolled away. And on the other hand, another wolf’s claws caught Jasmina's shoulder and threw her sideways. She landed on her bad arm and screamed. The fall made aaathe silver cuffs dug deeper. "Stop." A voice commanded and all the wolves froze. A woman walked into the torchlight. Scars covered half her face, with grey streaked through her hair. She wore old leather armor with claw marks gouged into the chest plate. "Leave them," she said. And immediately the wolves backed away. Theo pushed himself up, blood pouring from his forehead. "Who the hell…" "Lyanna Herstrong." The woman looked at Jasmina. "I was happy about you giving me a grandchild, till I heard the bad new about you no longer being a Luna and you killing your mate." Jasmina stared in huge shock after seeing the woman clearly, and her name also confirmed all her growing doubts. "You.. are… dead." "Clearly not." Lyanna crouched beside her. "You're Jasmina Lesvendstrong. Accused of murdering my son." "I didn't…." "I know. Arlene killed him." Lyanna stood and walked to where Theo was still trying to stand. "How's your head?" "Split open. All thanks to….." "You'll live." She turned back to Jasmina. "We've been tracking Arlene for three years. We have lost her trail twice, but we finally figured out where she was hiding." "The packhouse," Theo muttered. "She wasn't hiding at all." "Best place to hide is in plain sight." Lyanna pulled something from her belt. A portrait, but the edges were burned. She held it toward the light. The woman in the painting looked exactly like Arlene. Same face, and same eyes. But the clothes were looking so ancient and formal. At the bottom, someone had written a name in careful script: Morgana Blackthorne, 1611. "That's not possible," Jasmina said. "Arlene's twenty-four. That painting is…." "Hundreds of years ago." Lyanna tucked it away. "Morgana Blackthorne was the Witch Queen's daughter. Everyone assumed she died during the purge with her mother. But she didn't." Theo wiped blood from his eyes. "She changed her name." "She changed everything. Name, scent, history… like every single thing. She used magic to make herself look different." Lyanna started pacing. "She was eight when her mother died. She spent the next sixteen years planning revenge." "Revenge for what?" Jasmina asked. "Her mother tried to overthrow the werewolf packs. She took control using blood magic and old spells. The packs united and killed her." Lyanna stopped pacing. "Arlene wants to finish what her mother started. But she's smarter. She's not starting a war. She's opening the Lycan Vault." "To control the packs," Theo said. "To eradicate them." Lyanna's voice went flat. "That vault doesn't just control bloodlines. It destroys them. One command and every wolf with Lycan King blood dies. That's seventy percent of all werewolves." Jasmina couldn't breathe. "She's going to kill everyone." "Everyone who matters. Then she rebuilds with witches in charge." Lyanna looked at her. "And she needs your baby to do it." "Theo told me that already." "There's more." Lyanna crouched again, her eyes level with Jasmina's. "Damoew isn't dead." "Theo also told me that.” Jasmina said but Lyanna continued anyway. "Well he’s in stasis. It’s a death spell, or let me say like dead, smells dead, but he's alive." Lyanna stood up again. "The spell lasts fourteen days. After that, it either breaks on its own or becomes permanent, depending on what the caster wants." "What if I die to stop all of…" "Arlene becomes Luna permanently, because the spell will lock and Damoew stays trapped forever." Lyanna cuts her off, then pulled out a knife from her boot. "But that's not the worst part. There's a parasitic spell on him. It's draining your baby's life to keep him in stasis." Jasmina's hand went to her stomach. The baby still wasn't moving. "Was that why my baby stopped moving? Does it mean she hasn’t transfer the baby to her womb? How long do I have?" she asked all at ones. "Calm down… Take a deep breath.” Jasmina took a deep breath as Lyanna stroke down her hair then continued talking. “Yes, that was the reason your baby stopped moving, the baby is already too weak. And I don’t think she has done the pregnancy transfer yet.” Lyanna helped Theo up. “ I think you have two days left, or maybe less." Lyanna tested the edge of her knife with her thumb. "After that, your baby dies and Damoew wakes up, and she will be caring the heir which is your child. And Damoew won't be himself. He'll be Arlene's puppet. Completely under her control." "Can we break the spell?" "Yes. But we need his body, a witch who knows death magic, and something to sacrifice." Lyanna turn. "I can get you into the tomb where they're keeping him. I can fake your death so Arlene will focus on finding other means to break the fault. But you need to decide right now if you trust me." Theo finally regained a little strength, he was leaning against the wall where Lyanna helped him stay. "You disappeared twenty years ago. Let your son think you were dead. Why should we believe anything you say?" "Because I didn't disappear. The elders exiled me." Lyanna's voice turned bitter. "Someone put a compulsion spell on Damoew when he was twelve. I tried to break it. Hardy Armstrong and Jetstar Clonstrong said I was teaching him dark magic. They gave me a choice: leave and stay quiet, or face execution." "So you ran," Jasmina said. "I survived." Lyanna sheathed her knife. "And I've been hunting the witch who cursed my son ever since. It took me fifteen years to figure out it was Arlene. By then, she'd already wormed her way into the pack." "The compulsion spell," Theo said slowly. "How long has she been controlling him?" "Since he was nineteen. She reinforced her mother's old magic, made it stronger." Lyanna looked at Jasmina. "Everything he's done for the past six years? That wasn't him. That was Arlene pulling strings." Jasmina thought about Damoew's face on the coronation platform. The coldness in his eyes when he ordered their baby killed. The way he'd looked at her like she was nothing. "I want to save him," she said quietly. "Then take my hand." Jasmina looked at the scarred woman standing over her. Damoew's mother, supposedly dead for two decades. Leading a pack of rogues in the tunnels beneath the packhouse. She took Lyanna's hand. Lyanna pulled her up. The silver cuffs burned but Jasmina gritted her teeth and stayed standing. "First thing," Lyanna said. "We steal Damoew's body from the tomb. Second, we find a witch. Third, we break the spell before your baby dies." She looked between them. "And fourth, we make Arlene pay for every life she's destroyed." "How?" Theo asked. Lyanna smiled. "We let her open the vault. Then we collapse it on her head.”The message from Erik of Northern Frost came on a Tuesday, four months after the battle.It wasn't a radio call. It was a written letter, which Erik only used when he wanted to be certain that the precise wording was recorded, and when she saw the Northern Frost seal on the envelope she set down what she was doing and read it immediately.Erik wrote the way he talked—direct and without softening. The substance of the letter was this: three packs in the northeastern corridor, two of them Northern Frost affiliates and one independent, had in the last six weeks received visits from representatives of a coalition Jasmina had not heard of. The representatives identified themselves as speaking for something they called the Eastern Collective, a loose alliance of seven packs operating in the deep eastern territories beyond Erik's usual sphere of contact. The Eastern Collective's representatives had brought a specific message: that the Grand Council's recognition of Jasmina as Alpha Supreme r
Lyanna told Damoew what she thought in the kitchen at six in the morning while Jasmina was still asleep.Jasmina heard about it secondhand, from Damoew, who told her while they were doing the dishes after dinner, three days later, because that was how Damoew worked—he held things and turned them over and brought them out when he'd decided what he thought about them. He said Lyanna had sat across from him with her tea and told him that what Kira was doing was consistent with what Sable had always described as the foundational trajectory, which was that this child was going to move fast and the job of everyone around her was not to manage the speed but to make sure she had ballast. He said Lyanna had used the word ballast, which he found slightly funny. He said Lyanna told him that his own instinct toward steadiness was the most useful thing he brought to this situation and that he should trust it and stop standing in the nursery doorway with the look he got.Damoew said he didn't know
Kira broke a window at three and a half months old.Not dramatically. Not in anger. She was lying on the floor mat in the nursery during free time—Sable had introduced free time, twenty minutes where no exercise was happening and no one was directing her attention anywhere, just Kira on the mat with whatever she chose to do with it—and Damoew was sitting against the wall watching her the way he'd started watching her in the mornings, that low steady attention he gave her that didn't demand anything back.She was looking at the window.The glass didn't shatter. It cracked—a single line from the lower left corner up to about the midpoint, the kind of crack that suggested pressure had been applied from inside out. Slow. Deliberate. Like a test.Damoew said: "Kira."She looked at him.The crack stopped where it was.He sat with it for about ten seconds—Jasmina knew this because he told her exactly afterward, and she believed him because Damoew didn't embellish—and then he said, very calml
The morning after Gareth signed the submission document, Jasmina slept until eight.Not because she'd decided to. Her body just didn't wake her. Kira slept too, which almost never happened past six, and Damoew was already up and gone when she opened her eyes. The compound outside the window sounded normal. Not quiet-normal, not after-battle-normal. Just normal, the everyday hum of people going about things, which was its own kind of strange after the weeks they'd had.She lay there for a moment and looked at the ceiling.Gareth was being transported back to Ironwood territory this morning. Stefan had organized it with two warriors and a vehicle and the minimum of ceremony. She hadn't gone to see him off. She'd thought about it and decided it would have been theater—the Alpha Supreme watching the defeated Alpha leave—and she had no interest in theater. She'd already said what needed saying in that secured room. The rest was logistics.She got up, fed Kira, dressed, and went to the offi
Gareth gave his answer at two in the afternoon. She went back to the secured room with Elara and a council-format document that Elara had drafted that morning. She'd drafted it before Jasmina offered the terms, because Elara was Elara. Gareth was on his feet when she came in. Still wounded, still stiff, but on his feet. She noted that—not as threat, as information. He needed to be upright for this conversation. "Option three," he said. She looked at him. "The monitored status," he said. "The boundary review. I keep Ironwood." He said it flatly, not with relief—like a man accepting terms he understood were the best available. "Two years of council monitoring." "Two years minimum," she said. "The monitoring period extends if the review finds outstanding issues." "And my challenges. The appeals." "Formally withdrawn. All of them. That goes in the document." She held h
Stefan's casualty report came at 0510.She read it in the command room with her hands on the desk and took it in slowly.Four wounded seriously. Fourteen with minor injuries. No deaths.She read the last line twice.No deaths.Three battles. She'd lost three people in the first. Zero in the second. Zero now.She put the report down and pressed her palms flat on the desk for a moment. Just that. Feeling the surface of the desk.Then she stood up and went to work.---Gareth was being held in the secured room in the main building's east wing.Stefan had put two warriors on the door—not as a formality, as a practicality. A wounded Alpha in a room was still an Alpha.She went at 0630, after the medical team had assessed him.He was sitting on the floor against the far wall with a bandage on his right shoulder and a split above his eye that had been stitched. He'd shifted back from wolf form during the fight and taken a significant hit to the shoulder before Damoew had brought him down.He
Damoew's days had a shape now that they hadn't had before.In Ironwood's exile he'd had structure imposed by necessity—survive, keep moving, don't stay long enough in one place to become a liability to anyone who'd sheltered him. After returning he'd had urgency—the war, the alliance building, the
The Grand Council convened at Greywood Hall.Greywood was neutral territory—a compound in the middle territories that had been council ground for sixty years. No pack owned it. No Alpha governed it. It was maintained by the council itself and staffed by people with no pack affiliation, which was th
Stefan found the informant in nine days.He came to Jasmina's office at seven in the morning, closed the door behind him, and stood across the desk with the expression he wore when something had to be said that he didn't like saying."Tell me," she said."Brennan Cole."She went still.Brennan Cole
Three weeks before the council session, Gareth filed a formal challenge.It came through official channels—council registry, documented, timestamped. Jetstar put it on Jasmina's desk at eight in the morning without commentary, which meant he'd already read it and had thoughts he was holding until s







