Chapter 9 She Would Not Kneel

The ancient black stone lay at the center of the hall. The runes carved across its surface had shifted from a dull crimson to a searing orange, radiating the heavy, oppressive pressure of a high-tier bloodline.

The timing rune lit up.

Darcy’s knees were less than half an inch from the stone. Under the rigid stares of everyone in the room, she forced herself upright again, inch by agonizing inch.

Asher stood beyond the Wolfstone. He had forced his top-tier Alpha presence back under tight control, but the scent of fir around him had sharpened into a razor's edge. His gaze remained locked on Darcy, his fingers curling tightly at his sides until his knuckles turned white. The lower-ranked wolves nearby instinctively held their breath. No one dared step within five feet of him.

On the elevated dais, Elder Vance tightened his grip on his black ironwood staff. His expression finally cracked.

“Increase the pressure.”

The old Ritual Master’s face shifted. “Elder, the test output is already at peak—”

Vance cut him off with a frigid look. “She wants to prove she deserves to stand here? Then let the Wolfstone judge her.”

Darcy couldn’t hear the exchange above her. Every one of her senses was swallowed by the pressure radiating from the stone. The invisible weight crushed down on her spine like a falling mountain. With no wolf form to absorb the impact, it struck straight at her nerves and bones. Her breathing tightened, and the old scar on her left shoulder burned as though a branding iron had been pressed against it.

She counted silently. Thirteen seconds. Every time the runes completed a cycle, the pressure dropped for one brief moment. She forced her breathing to follow that rhythm.

Thirteen... twenty-six... thirty-nine...

As long as the pattern held, she could stay standing.

At the side control station, a black-robed attendant wearing the adjudication insignia quietly slid a black calibrator into the base of the Wolfstone while pretending to check the output.

Darcy’s face drained of color. The pressure that should have dropped suddenly doubled.

Her body buckled violently. One hand shot out and braced against the edge of the stone as her knees dropped again. A sharp intake of breath swept through the banquet hall.

Asher surged forward—just one step—before forcing himself to a halt. His fingers clamped over the edge of the adjudication platform.

Crack.

A thin fracture split through the hard wood beneath his palm.

Darcy braced her hands against her knees, sweat dripping from her chin. She lifted her head with difficulty and met Asher's eyes through the crowd. He had already stepped forward.

Darcy gave the smallest shake of her head.

Asher’s jaw tightened sharply, but he stopped.

Darcy bit the inside of her lip until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, dragging her scattered awareness back into focus.

That last pressure drop had vanished. Someone had tampered with the pattern.

Her eyes snapped up. Her gaze swept past the Wolfstone toward the side control station. The black-robed attendant was just pulling his hand back, a strip of black metal visible beneath his sleeve.

Darcy said nothing. She pressed against the stone and slowly forced herself upright again.

The Wolfstone gave another low pulse beneath her palm. The vibration traveled straight into her bones, making the old scar on her shoulder flare again. For one dizzy second, the orange runes blurred at the edges. Darcy locked her knees and fixed her eyes on a single point beyond the crowd. She refused to give them the satisfaction of watching her fold.

One minute. Two minutes.

A murmur moved through the affiliated Pack representatives. Some had leaned forward expecting her to collapse. Now, as the final seconds burned away, those same faces had gone still. Even the wolves who had laughed at the entrance no longer looked amused.

The pressure of the Wolfstone grew heavier. Her legs shook violently beyond her control. Then, deep beneath the scar on her left shoulder, another heavy pulse sounded.

Thump.

A faint flash of silver-white passed through her amber eyes, gone in a heartbeat.

Standing closest to her, Asher’s breathing stopped for a fraction of a second.

Three minutes.

The timing rune above the Wolfstone went dark. The hall fell dead silent.

Darcy was still standing. Her legs trembled, her lips were pale, and her palms were bloody where her nails had bitten into the skin.

The old Ritual Master’s face had gone ashen. He struck the bronze chime.

“Her standing is recognized—”

“Wait.”

Darcy’s hoarse voice cut him off. She took two ragged breaths, then raised a hand and pointed directly at the control station.

“At one minute seven, the output pattern was altered.”

Elder Vance’s face darkened. “You don’t even have a wolf form. What gives you the right to judge the Wolfstone—”

“The normal cycle dips every thirteen seconds,” Darcy cut him off. Her voice was hoarse, but every word fell clearly. “After one minute seven, the dip vanished. Someone tampered with the base.”

Vance’s expression froze.

Darcy didn’t spare him another glance. Her cold gaze shifted directly to the adjudication platform.

The black-robed attendant turned to run.

Asher gave only a single look.

Two guards moved like shadows, slamming the attendant to the ground. A black calibrator rolled from his sleeve and hit the granite floor with a sharp metallic clink.

“Take him,” Asher said.

The old Ritual Master picked up the device, his hands trembling. “An over-limit calibrator... The output was increased in the second half.”

Darcy stepped down from the stone platform, her steps unsteady. She looked at the attendant pinned to the floor.

“Keep him alive. He wouldn’t dare do this on his own. Find out who gave the order.”

Asher glanced at the guards. “Take him to the holding cells. No one sees him without my permission.”

The guards bowed and dragged the man away.

Asher released his grip on the platform. Thin red marks had been cut across his palm by wood splinters. He looked at Darcy, then reached out to steady her trembling arm, bending his elbow slightly toward her.

“Can you walk, Miss Clark?”

Darcy looked up, her gaze pausing briefly on the red marks across his palm before she took his arm.

“The platform get on your nerves?”

“Poor quality.” Asher looked away with a faint scoff. “Remind procurement tomorrow. Get a sturdier one.”

Darcy steadied herself against his arm. As she released it, her fingers brushed against the warm cut on his palm. Both of them paused for a fraction of a second.

Darcy looked away first and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress.

“Thank you. For back there.”

Asher’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “For what?”

“For not stepping in for me.”

Asher straightened his cuff with a cold, deliberate motion. His voice was utterly flat. “Your competence isn’t in question. You took on the task. You could handle it.”

Ten minutes later, the proceedings at the main table began.

The affiliated Pack representatives had noticeably adjusted their posture. The provocative looks from earlier were gone. No one mentioned Darcy’s lack of Pack status again.

The expedited merger agreement was placed in front of her.

At the main table, Darcy could still feel the aftershock of the Wolfstone in her legs. Every muscle below her waist protested as she turned the pages, but she kept her expression unreadable. If the Elders expected pain to make her careless, they had chosen the wrong woman.

Darcy wiped the cold sweat from her palm with a handkerchief and opened the document.

First page. Second page.

When she reached the third page, her fingers stopped. The settlement formula had been quietly swapped.

She calculated it twice. Her gaze grew colder.

Under this formula, Kingston would be forced to assume nearly one billion dollars in hidden debt over the next five years.

Darcy uncapped her pen and drew a sharp, single line through Article 17, Section 3.

“This clause is out.”

Elder Vance tightened his grip on his staff. “Miss Clark, that clause was approved by the Elders’ Council. It is not yours to change.”

“I’m not discussing it with you.” Darcy set the agreement down with a sharp tap. “I’m telling you it doesn’t pass.”

Vance’s eyelid twitched. “This has been standard practice for years.”

“In my field, there is no such thing as ‘standard practice’ when the numbers don’t work.”

Darcy set the pen back on the table and folded her hands over her lap, hiding the slight tremor still running through her fingers.

“If you want my signature, recalculate it.”

“You think one person can force the entire Elders’ Council to rewrite this?”

Darcy met his eyes without blinking.

“This document needs my signature. If I don’t sign, not one dollar moves tonight.”

The main table went silent. The affiliated Pack representatives barely seemed to breathe.

Asher leaned back in his high-backed chair. His long fingers slid the crossed-out agreement across the table and dropped it directly in front of Vance.

“You heard her. She’s not signing.”

Asher crossed one leg over the other and let his cold gaze sweep across the table.

“Fix the numbers. Then we talk.”