Chapter 8

COURTROOM PARTY

Nyx's POV

The ceremony began to drift to a close, voices overlapping into meaningless noise as applause faded into clinking glasses and forced laughter. The air had grown thick with the mingled scents of expensive perfume, aged wine, and the underlying musk of dozens of wolves pretending to enjoy each other's company.

I spotted Bradley leaving through the far doors, and my pulse spiked instantly, adrenaline flooding my system. My muscles tightened as instinct took over, that predatory focus that came from years of hunting what I wanted. He moved with that fluid grace that marked him as royalty, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd like a ship through water.

This was my chance. After Hubert's humiliation, after Father's barely concealed fury, I needed to salvage something from this disaster. Bradley was the prize, the key to everything I'd worked for, and I couldn't let him slip away.

I excused myself from a gaggle of simpering she-wolves, their jealous stares burning into my back as I moved. My skirts brushed the polished marble floor with soft whispers, the silk catching the light as I wove between clusters of lingering guests. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a countdown.

*Move faster. Don't lose him.*

But before I could reach the grand staircase, a hand clamped around my wrist with bruising force.

The grip was crushing and unyielding, fingers digging into my skin hard enough to feel my bones grinding together. My arm was twisted sharply behind me, the angle all wrong, sending white-hot pain shooting up my shoulder and into my neck. The sudden violence of it stole my breath.

A gasp escaped me before I could swallow it down, before I could lock my jaw and pretend it didn't hurt. Weakness. I'd shown weakness, and that was unforgivable.

I turned fiercely, rage and fear warring in my chest, and met golden-green eyes staring back at mine with predatory satisfaction.

Klan.

Alpha of the Shadowmoon Pack, and the bane of my existence.

He stood a head taller than most wolves in the room, his frame lean but corded with muscle that rippled beneath his perfectly tailored black jacket. The fabric stretched across his shoulders, expensive and fitted, the kind that cost more than most pack members earned in a month. Everything about him screamed calculated wealth wrapped around barely leashed violence.

The scent of cedarwood and something darker—smoke and secrets and things left to rot in shadows—clung to him like a second skin, invading my space before he'd even spoken. It crawled into my nostrils, making my wolf snarl and pace beneath my skin, hackles raised.

His golden-green eyes gleamed with predatory intelligence, tracking my every micro-expression like a hunter reading tracks in fresh snow. They missed nothing—not the flutter of my pulse at my throat, not the way my pupils dilated with fear I couldn't quite suppress, not the minute trembling in my fingers.

Sharp cheekbones cut across his face like blades, and a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips—the kind that said he knew exactly where all your bones were buried and was deciding which one to dig up first. His jaw was strong, dusted with dark stubble that only made him look more dangerous, more untamed.

His thumb pressed against the pulse point in my wrist, feeling my heartbeat betray every lie I was about to tell. The touch was intimate and violating, a reminder that he knew my body better than I wanted to acknowledge.

Dark hair fell just past his collar in deliberately tousled waves, as if he'd run his fingers through it moments before cornering me. It caught the chandelier light, gleaming like polished obsidian.

Everything about him screamed calculated charm wrapped around a manipulative core—the way he invaded personal space without apology, the slight tilt of his head that mimicked concern while his eyes cataloged every weakness, the honeyed tone that would deliver threats like promises.

He was the type who'd whisper poison in your ear while his fingers traced patterns on your skin, making you question whether you were being seduced or destroyed. And I knew that better than anyone, because I'd fallen for it once before.

Never again.

"Klan?" I called out, forcing strength into my voice even as pain radiated up my arm. "What are you doing here?"

His grip tightened deliberately, thumb pressing into a sensitive spot on my wrist until tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. "I saw you leaving," he said, his voice smooth as silk and just as suffocating. His eyes locked on mine, refusing to let me look away. "Where are you going, Nyx? The party isn't over yet."

I wrenched my arm free with more force than necessary, stumbling back a step. My wrist throbbed, already darkening with bruises in the shape of his fingers. "That's none of your business."

"Oh, but it is my business, Nyx." He stepped closer, closing the distance I'd tried to create, his presence overwhelming. "Or have you forgotten?"

Ice flooded my veins. My stomach dropped, a sick, twisting sensation that made bile rise in my throat. He wouldn't dare. Not here. Not in front of everyone—the Alphas still lingering near the refreshment tables, the council members clustered in hushed conversation, the servants weaving through the crowd with trays of champagne.

He wouldn't expose us. Would he?

But the gleam in his eyes said he absolutely would if I pushed him.

"What do you want from me?" The words came out sharper than I intended, edged with the panic clawing at my chest.

"We need to talk." It wasn't a request. It was a command, delivered with all the authority of an Alpha who expected immediate obedience.

"We have nothing to talk about, Klan." I turned to leave, desperate to escape before this conversation went somewhere I couldn't control.

"I can see you've got eyes on the King," he burst out, loud enough that a few nearby wolves turned their heads, curiosity bright in their expressions.

I stopped cold, my entire body locking up. The world narrowed to just his voice, those damning words hanging in the air between us.

"When you already have a mate."

I turned slowly, fury simmering beneath my skin, burning away the fear and replacing it with something far more dangerous. My wolf snarled, teeth bared, ready to tear into him regardless of the consequences. "I rejected you."

"And I refused to accept your rejection," he said, stepping closer again, always closer, invading my space with deliberate intent. His fingers lifted, brushing the side of my face with mocking intimacy, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear like a lover would. The touch made my skin crawl. "Why don't you be my Luna, Nyx? You won't have to worry about anything. Or about the King."

His breath ghosted across my cheek, warm and wrong.

"Don't you get it, Klan?" I shoved his hand away violently, putting as much force behind it as I dared without causing a scene. "I'll never honor the mate bond. Not with you. Not ever."

He chuckled, the sound dark and amused, vibrating through his chest. "Oh? Because you want Bradley?" His eyes gleamed with malicious delight, and I knew—I knew before he even said it—that this was the real reason he'd cornered me. "I know about you and your father's little game."

My blood turned to ice. My heart stuttered, missing several beats before kicking back into overdrive. "You have no right to pry into our affairs."

"The King won't mate you if he finds out you already have a mate," he said calmly, casually, as if discussing the weather instead of threatening to destroy everything I'd built. His voice dropped lower, intimate and cruel. "Let alone what you did to your sister. Don't you think?"

The floor dropped out from beneath me.

My breath caught, trapped in my lungs, refusing to move. My eyes widened before I could stop them, before I could school my features into indifference. The reaction was instant and damning, and I saw the exact moment he registered it—victory flashing across his face like lightning.

His lips curved into a slow, sinister smile that made my knees tremble. Weakness crawled through me like ice water in my veins, freezing me from the inside out.

*How does he know?*

The question screamed through my mind, drowning out everything else. That night had been perfect. I'd been so careful, so meticulous. Every detail planned, every witness managed, every loose end tied off.

*Who else knows what happened that night?*

"What are you talking about?" I forced the words through numb lips, fighting to keep my voice steady, to project confusion instead of the terror clawing at my throat.

"Don't play dumb, Nyx." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, intimate and threatening. "You and I both know exactly what you did."

"Who told you?" Fear seeped into my chest like poison, spreading through my lungs, making each breath harder than the last. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood.

"Let's just say your little friend did," he replied, watching my reaction with the focus of a scientist studying a particularly interesting specimen. "But relax—your secret is safe with me."

Jacinta.

The name detonated in my mind like a bomb, and suddenly everything made horrible, perfect sense. The realization hit hard, a physical blow that knocked the air from my lungs. That traitorous bitch. I'd trusted her, brought her into my confidence, given her power over me.

And she'd sold me out.

My world began to fracture, hairline cracks spreading across everything I thought I knew, everything I thought I'd controlled. The careful house of cards I'd built was collapsing, and I was powerless to stop it.

"Your father is a greedy and promiscuous man," Klan continued, circling his words like blades, each one cutting deeper.

"What do you think he'll do when he finds out you robbed him of an alliance with the Lycans because of your petty hatred for Hazel?"

My heart dropped violently, plummeting into my stomach. Dread settled deep in my bones, heavy and cold as a corpse. The blood drained from my face so fast I felt dizzy, the room tilting dangerously around me.

Father would never forgive me. Never. Banishment would be mercy compared to what he'd do if he discovered I'd cost him the Lycan alliance. I'd seen what he did to wolves who failed him, who cost him power or influence. The memories flashed through my mind—screams, blood, bodies that were never quite whole when they were found.

I looked at Klan again, really looked at him. He wore a sly, unreadable smile—calculating, satisfied, like a cat that had cornered a particularly entertaining mouse. He was enjoying this. Every second of my fear, every tremor in my hands, every desperate calculation racing through my mind. He fed on it like a parasite.

"What do you want from me, Klan?" My voice came out smaller than I intended, stripped of the bravado I usually wore like armor.

"You know what I want," he said, and now his voice carried the weight of inevitability, of a trap that had already snapped shut. "Meet me at the borders tomorrow night."

The command hung between us, heavy with implications I didn't want to examine too closely. As I stared into his eyes—those golden-green depths that held nothing but hunger and calculation—my gaze drifted involuntarily across the room.

Father stood near the council table, anticipating and watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His eyes burned into me, demanding answers I couldn't give, expecting perfection I couldn't deliver. Even from this distance, I could see the muscle ticking in his jaw, the barely restrained fury in every line of his body.

I returned my gaze to Klan, hating him, hating myself, hating the impossible situation he'd trapped me in. Without another word, I strode past him toward the parking lot, my heels clicking sharply against the marble, each step taking me further from the disaster this night had become.

Bradley was gone.

The realization settled over me like a funeral shroud. I searched every packed car in the circular drive, every shadowed corner where he might have lingered. The night air was cool against my flushed skin, carrying the scent of jasmine and exhaust fumes.

Nothing. He'd left without a word, without a glance back, probably assuming I wasn't interested when I'd failed to catch up with him.

Klan had ruined everything. Again.

White-hot rage burned through the fear, momentarily driving it back. I need to get rid of him. The thought crystallized in my mind with perfect clarity, sharp and clean as a blade. Klan was a problem, and I'd dealt with problems before. Permanently.

***

The ride back to the pack was suffocating, the air in the car thick enough to choke on.

Father's jaw worked silently, the muscle beneath his skin ticking like a bomb counting down to detonation. Each breath through his nose came sharp and measured, his nostrils flaring as if he were physically swallowing his rage, forcing it down where it could fester and grow.

The scent of his anger filled the car—acrid and metallic, like blood and gunpowder mixed together—making the small space feel impossibly tight. My wolf whined and pressed herself small, instinctively trying to avoid drawing his attention.

His eyes stared straight ahead through the window, but his pupils had dilated, rimmed with the faintest amber glow that warned his wolf was far too close to the surface. One wrong word, one careless movement, and he'd snap.

His lips pressed into a bloodless line, so thin they'd nearly disappeared, and the corners of his mouth twitched downward with each passing second. Deep lines carved trenches across his forehead, aging him a decade in the span of hours.

His fingers flexed against his thighs in a slow, rhythmic pattern—press, release, press, release—as if imagining crushing bone beneath them. I knew that gesture. I'd seen it before, right before he'd ordered executions.

The leather seat creaked under the tension radiating from his body, protesting the violence it could feel building. He looked like a man choking on words too dangerous to speak, each one burning a hole through his throat on the way down.

"You should stay away from the Alpha of the Shadowmoon Pack," he finally said, his voice carefully controlled, each word measured and deliberate. "He brings nothing but trouble."

"Yes, Dad." The agreement came automatically, the response of a dutiful daughter who knew better than to argue when Father was this close to breaking.

But how could I avoid Klan when he already knew what I'd done? When he held that knowledge like a knife to my throat, ready to cut whenever I defied him? I needed to find a way to get rid of both him and Jacinta. Permanently. No loose ends, no witnesses, no one left to whisper my secrets.

Father's silence grew heavier, pressing down on me like a physical weight. I could feel his humiliation radiating off him in waves—the shame of how Alpha Hubert had stripped him down in front of the council, exposing his past, making him look weak and desperate.

"We need to find another way to get him to you," he said suddenly, his voice low and dangerous, carrying the kind of threat that made weaker wolves submit without question. "We must get Bradley to mate you."

The obsession in his voice sent chills down my spine. This wasn't about alliances anymore, or even about power. This was personal now. Father had been humiliated, and he needed a victory to restore his pride. I was that victory, whether I wanted to be or not.

He didn't say anything else until we reached the pack house, but the quiet between us felt alive, pressing against my skin like a physical weight. Each breath he took rattled in his chest, heavy and deliberate, as if he were physically restraining his wolf from tearing free and painting the car interior red.

My own heartbeat pounded in my ears, too loud, too fast, a frantic rhythm that matched the panic building in my chest. The air grew thick and hard to breathe, charged with the kind of electricity that precedes lightning strikes.

Every tiny shift of his body made my muscles tense instinctively—the rustle of his coat, the crack of his knuckles as he flexed his fingers, the way his boot scraped against the car floor. Each sound was a potential warning, a signal that his control was finally slipping.

It was the silence of a predator deciding whether to strike, where every second stretched into an eternity and the not-knowing became its own form of torture. Sweat prickled at the back of my neck despite the cool evening air seeping through the window gaps, cold and clammy against my skin.

***

Mother approached us as we walked into the house, emerging from the sitting room with worry etched into every line of her face. She stared at Father first, reading his body language with the ease of decades spent together, before drifting her gaze to me.

She must have expected us to be beaming with joy, full of excitement about our victory, Bradley's promise to mate me, new alliances sealed and celebrated. But it wasn't the case. The defeat was written across both our faces in bold letters.

She knew we'd lost. She'd predicted it, warned Father it would happen, and now she was watching her prophecy come true with the resigned sorrow of someone who'd seen this play out a hundred times before.

Mother's hands twisted together at her waist, fingers knotting and unknotting in a nervous rhythm that made her knuckles go white. The corners of her mouth trembled, not quite a frown but something deeper—resignation mixed with bone-deep weariness.

She looked like someone standing at a grave, mourning not what was buried but what would never bloom. Her skin had gone pale, making the shadows under her eyes stand out like bruises, and when she swallowed, her throat worked visibly, as if forcing down words that would only make things worse.

"What happened, Galen?" she asked softly, though I knew she already understood. This was a courtesy, giving him the chance to explain before she said what needed to be said.

"Guess who decided to taunt me about my past?" Father exploded, the words erupting from him like lava. He began pacing immediately, hands slicing through the air in violent gestures, unable to contain the fury burning through him.

"Alpha Hubert, of all the enemies I have! That sanctimonious bastard dragged up every mistake, every misstep, every—" He choked on the words, rage stealing his ability to speak coherently.

"If not for that stupid Hazel—"

The name came out like a curse, dripping with venom. Anger rolled off him in violent waves, filling the room with the scent of his hatred. His face flushed deep red, veins bulging at his temples. His nostrils flared with each harsh breath, and his eyes burned with a hatred so intense it bordered on madness, something feral and unhinged.

Hazel's name alone seemed to fuel him, pouring gasoline on an already raging fire.

"And what does Hazel have to do with this?" Mother asked, but there was steel beneath her gentle tone now, a warning that she wouldn't tolerate misdirected blame.

"He's right," I said smoothly, seizing the opportunity before Father could say too much. My voice came out calm, reasonable, the voice of someone who was merely stating facts.

"Hazel is the reason Hubert humiliated us. If she hadn't been born wolfless, if she hadn't brought shame to the Shadowfell name, he would never have had ammunition to use against Father."

The lie slipped off my tongue like honey, sweet and poisonous. Father needed to hate Hazel. He needed that rage focused on her, not on me, not on the truth of what I'd done. As long as she was the target, I was safe.

Mother shook her head slowly, disappointment and disbelief warring on her face. "You can't seriously believe—"

"Don't defend her," I cut in, letting frustration bleed into my voice.

"You weren't there, Mother. You didn't see how Hubert used her as an example of our family's weakness."

Father snarled, the sound more animal than human. His fists clenched at his sides, shoulders hunched and tense, his wolf snarling just beneath the surface of his skin.

I could see it in his eyes—the beast looking out, hungry for blood, for violence, for something to tear apart.

His hatred for Hazel was deep and poisonous, something he'd nurtured and fed for years. It lived in his chest like a tumor, growing larger with each passing day, consuming everything good until only rage remained.

"You know Hazel was never the cause of this, Galen," Mother said firmly, planting herself between Father and his spiraling fury.

"This is about your choices, your past coming back to—"

"Oh, so it's my fault then?" Father snapped, whirling on her with his wolf rising to the surface. Gold bled into his eyes, bleeding out the human brown.

"Everything is always my fault according to you, isn't it, Vespera? My ambition, my drive to make this pack strong, my refusal to be weak like—"

"I never said that," Mother interrupted, but her voice had grown cold, distant. "I'm saying don't blame a child for problems she didn't create."

"Damn that Hubert," Father growled, ignoring her completely.

"He'll pay with his life." He clutched his fist so hard I heard bones crack, the sound sharp in the tense silence.

Father's entire body trembled like a fault line about to rupture, vibrating with barely contained violence. Heat radiated off him in waves, and the scent of his rage flooded the room—burning, acrid, making my eyes water.

Veins bulged at his temples, pulsing visibly with each furious heartbeat. His hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles cracked audibly, and his nails—already elongating into claws—dug crescents into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

Dark drops fell to the hardwood floor, staining it.

His upper lip curled back into a full snarl, revealing canines that had extended well past human length, sharp and deadly. A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through the floorboards beneath my feet, making the chandelier crystals chime softly above us.

In his eyes, Hazel wasn't his daughter anymore—if she ever had been. She was the living embodiment of every failure, every wound to his pride, every obstacle between him and the power he'd kill for. The muscles in his neck corded and strained, and for one terrifying moment, I thought his wolf would tear through entirely, shredding his human skin and leaving only the monster beneath.

I understood him in that moment, understood the hunger that drove him. I saw it reflected in myself, that same desperate need for power, for control, for dominance over those who dared to question us.

If Father wanted to get rid of anything or anyone that stood in his way, then so would I. We were the same, he and I. Cut from the same cloth, driven by the same relentless ambition.

"What happened to Bradley?" Mother asked, pulling the conversation back to safer ground, away from Father's murderous thoughts about Hubert.

Just then, I remembered Klan, and the memory crashed over me like ice water. He'd threatened me—said he'd reveal the truth if I proceeded with mating Bradley. The mate bond was a chain I couldn't break, not without his acceptance of my rejection.

If Klan exposed what I'd done, I wouldn't just lose Bradley. I'd lose everything. Father's trust, my position in the pack, possibly my life. I might become a rogue, forced to wander without protection, without family, hunted by those who'd once called me sister.

"He left," I said slowly, carefully, trying to gauge how much to reveal.

"There were... complications."

"That's because you let that Klan get too close to you!" Father roared, rounding on me with the full force of his rage. His eyes blazed, and spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted.

"Those Shadowmoons have always been a pestilence, a plague on decent wolves! Right from the time of—"

"Father, I can handle it," I interrupted, lifting my chin defiantly even as fear twisted in my gut.

"That's what you said last time, Nyx!" His voice bounced off the walls, echoing through the house. "And yet nothing happened! You let Bradley slip through your fingers again! Do you have any idea what that alliance would have meant? The power? The legitimacy?"

"Galen, that's enough." Mother's voice cracked like a whip, sharp and commanding.

"You don't get it, do you, Vespera?" Father turned on her now, his greed naked and exposed in his expression. His eyes gleamed with a hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with dominance.

"Nyx is my only hope to defeat Hubert, to rise above these petty Alphas who think they can look down on me. With Bradley as her mate, with the Lycan King's power backing us, we'd be untouchable."

His ambition was a living thing, pulsing and writhing in the air between us. This was about power, pure and simple. Power hungry eyes, restless movements, a man obsessed with dominance and legacy at any cost.

He'd always been like this, chasing women, alliances, influence—anything that fed his ego, anything that made him feel larger than life.

The pack whispered about his affairs, about the she-wolves he'd bedded and discarded, about the deals he'd made in shadowed corners.

"Nyx is not a tool," Mother snapped, her voice rising to match his. Color flooded her cheeks, and her eyes blazed with protective fury.

"I'm not complaining," I said flatly, surprising them both. I met Father's eyes without flinching. "I'm not your pathetic Omega, some weak thing to be manipulated without her knowledge. I know exactly what I am, what I'm worth. And I want this just as much as you do."

The admission hung in the air, raw and honest. I wasn't a victim in Father's schemes. I was a willing participant, a co-conspirator in this pursuit of power. Mother needed to understand that.

Father paced again, running a hand through his hair, eyes wild and unfocused. His jaw ground so hard I heard teeth clicking together. He couldn't sit still, couldn't stand still—restless, furious, cornered like a wolf with nowhere left to run.

"You already sold Hazel to Sylus," Mother said, and now her voice carried the weight of accusation, of old wounds being reopened.

"Now you want to use Nyx the same way?"

Her face hardened, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes blazing with resolve. She stood taller, squaring her shoulders, unyielding—protective in a way I hadn't seen before.

"Hazel doesn't need protection," Father scoffed, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. "That arrangement with Sylus was practical. Strategic. It got rid of a liability and secured a minor alliance."

Mother stared at him, pain and determination warring in her eyes. Her hands trembled at her sides, but her spine remained straight. She wasn't backing down, despite the danger of defying an Alpha in the grip of rage.

"You don't have to drag our pups into this, Galen," she said softly, but every word carried weight. "There are other ways to—"

"There are no other ways!" Father roared, his control finally snapping. "This is the way forward! This is how we survive!"

Mother's entire demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. The soft, worried woman from moments before burned away like morning fog, leaving something steel-hard and unbreakable beneath.

This was a mother wolf defending her den, and I felt a chill run through me at the transformation. Her eyes blazed with fierce, unshakable love—the kind that would burn down kingdoms and walk through fire without flinching, the kind that made her dangerous in ways Father constantly underestimated.

She looked like a woman who'd drawn a line in blood and bone, and I felt the absolute certainty radiating from her: she would defy her mate, defy an Alpha, defy fate itself if it meant protecting her children.

The air around her seemed to hum with quiet, terrible power—the dormant strength of an Alpha who'd chosen to step aside but had never truly surrendered her throne.

"Today was a long day," Father said finally, his voice dropping to something almost normal, though tension still vibrated through every syllable.

"Let's not talk about this now."

He stormed out of the room without another word, his footsteps heavy and angry as they echoed through the halls. Just as I was about to say something, to break the terrible silence he'd left behind, Mother followed him without a glance in my direction.

I was left alone in the sitting room, the emptiness pressing in on all sides. The chandelier tinkled softly above me, disturbed by the violent emotions that had just passed through.

When I turned toward the doorway, I saw Elena standing there, watching me with deadly intent.

She stood in the shadowed doorway, so perfectly still she could have been carved from stone, a statue of judgment and condemnation.

She didn't blink. Not once. Just stood there with that terrible, empty gaze boring into me, seeing everything, cataloging every weakness, every vulnerability, filing them away for future use.

Her face was blank, expressionless, but somehow that made it worse. I couldn't read her intentions, couldn't predict what she might do with whatever she'd overheard. The uncertainty made my wolf pace anxiously, claws scraping against the inside of my skin.

The scent coming off her was wrong—cold and metallic, like blood left to freeze overnight. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, primal instincts screaming that something about her was fundamentally broken, fundamentally other.

My wolf whimpered and pressed back inside me, every instinct screaming danger. This wasn't the reaction of a dominant wolf recognizing a threat. This was the reaction of prey recognizing a predator that operated by different rules, something that couldn't be fought or reasoned with.

"What are you looking at?" I snapped, injecting as much venom into the words as I could manage, trying to reclaim some semblance of control.

Elena said nothing. Didn't move. Just kept staring with those dead, knowing eyes that seemed to see straight through my skin to the rotting secrets beneath.

A chill crawled down my spine, ice-cold fingers of dread trailing along each vertebra. Something was deeply wrong with Elena, had been for a while now. Ever since that night in the woods, since Hazel's accident, since everything had started to unravel.

She knew something. I could feel it in the weight of her stare, in the way she watched me like a scientist observing a particularly interesting specimen about to be dissected.

I walked away quickly, refusing to let her see how badly she'd rattled me, but my hands shook and my pulse thundered in my ears.

The walls of the pack house seemed to close in as I climbed the stairs to my room, each step taking me higher but somehow making me feel more trapped.

Klan wanted to meet tomorrow night. Jacinta had betrayed me. Father was spiraling into dangerous territory. Mother was preparing for war. And Elena...

Elena was watching, waiting, knowing.

The carefully constructed life I'd built was crumbling, cracks spreading faster than I could repair them. And somewhere in the darkness, I could feel it all converging toward a point of no return.

Tomorrow night at the borders, I'd face Klan.

But tonight, as I locked my bedroom door and pressed my back against it, listening to the pack house breathe around me, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was running out of time.

The game was accelerating, pieces moving into position, and I was no longer certain I was the one playing.

I might just be another piece on someone else's board.

And pieces, I knew all too well, were expendable.