🪝 CHAPTER FOUR

The memories hit me like a freight train, one after another, each one more devastating than the last.

Richard's voice echoing in my head: *"You were always too trusting, Mica. Did you really think I loved a weak little girl like you?"*

Kira's cruel laughter as she watched the massacre unfold, her eyes bright with malicious joy.

The cries of the council members as they were slaughtered one by one, their screams cutting through the air like knives.

And worst of all—the disappointed look in my father's eyes just before they slit his throat. Not anger, not fear. Disappointment. In me. In what I'd allowed to happen.

I can still feel the guard's grip on my arms as I struggled to reach my father, still taste the blood from Richard's punch when I tried to fight back.

Watching the light leave his eyes. My screams echoing through the hall until my voice gave out.

"Take her to the dungeons," Richard had ordered. "Make sure she can't cause any trouble."

Then came the dark magic—tendrils of power wrapping around my mind like chains, stealing my memories, my identity, everything that made me who I was. The last thing I remember before the darkness took me was Richard's voice: "Goodbye, Mica. Thank you for everything."

I come back to myself gasping, my face wet with tears. The silk sheets of Damon's guest bed are twisted around my legs, and my chest heaves like I've been running for miles.

Three years. For three years, I lived as a shadow of myself while that bastard ruled my pack with my stolen power.

Rage burns through me, hot and pure. I want to scream, to break something, to make them all pay for what they took from me.

"Sasha?"

I spin toward the door, and the breath catches in my throat.

Damon stands in the doorway, his dark hair damp from a shower. Water droplets trace paths down his sculpted chest, disappearing into the white towel wrapped low around his hips. Even through my emotional turmoil, I can't help but notice the way his muscles shift as he moves, the power that radiates from every line of his body.

"You remember." It's not a question.

"Everything." The word comes out broken, bitter. "I remember everything."

He moves toward me slowly, like I'm a wild animal that might bolt. "Tell me."

And God help me, I do. The words pour out of me like poison from a wound—how I fell for Richard's lies, how I willingly gave him my Alpha powers because I thought we were going to rule together. How I watched him murder my father in cold blood. How they locked me away and stole my memories, leaving me to rot while he destroyed everything my family had built.

"I was so stupid," I whisper, my voice raw from crying. "I handed him everything on a silver platter because I thought he loved me."

"You were young." Damon's voice is gentle, but there's steel beneath it. "And you trusted someone who didn't deserve it."

"I got everyone killed."

"No." He reaches out and cups my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "He killed them. Not you."

The kindness in his voice breaks something inside me, and I collapse against his chest, sobbing like a child. His arms come around me immediately, strong and warm and safe in ways I'd forgotten existed.

"They'll pay for what they did to you," he murmurs into my hair, his hands stroking my back. "I swear it on my life."

"How?" I pull back to look at him, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "Richard has my power now. The entire pack follows him. What can we possibly do against that?"

A slow smile spreads across Damon's face, and for the first time since I've known him, it's not gentle. It's predatory.

"Funny you should ask." He reaches for something on the nightstand—an elegant envelope with a silver seal. "This arrived yesterday."

I take it with trembling hands and read the formal script: The Silver Crest Pack cordially invites Alpha Damon Blackwood to attend our annual banquet...

My blood turns to ice. "Silver Crest. That's my pack. Richard's pack now."

"It seems fate is giving us the perfect opportunity for you to reclaim what's yours."

I stare at him, my mind reeling. "You're an Alpha?"

"Among other things." His smile turns darker. "Damon Blackwood, Alpha of the Shadowmoon Pack. Perhaps you've heard of us?"

Everyone in the supernatural world has heard of the Shadowmoon Pack. They're the most powerful pack in North America, maybe the world. And their Alpha is sitting on my bed wearing nothing but a towel.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You had enough to process." He takes the invitation back, his fingers brushing mine. "Besides, I wanted you to trust me for who I am, not what I represent."

"And what do you represent?"

His eyes meet mine, and I see something there that makes my pulse quicken. "A lot of things, but I could also represent Your weapon, little mate. Your path to revenge."