Lysander had prepared for this pack gathering like it was a war council.He’d summoned elders from allied packs, opened a live mind-link broadcast to the entire territory, and even had warriors lining the perimeter to ensure a ‘respectful’ atmosphere. He was betting everything on this one performance to salvage his ruined reputation.I arrived not as the cowed, penitent she-wolf he expected, but as Aria of the Silverfang line. I wore the ceremonial silver-gray leathers of an Alpha female, my hair braided with obsidian beads that caught the firelight. The murmurs hit me like a physical wave through the pack link.‘By the Moon, she’s dressed for a victory run, not a confession!’‘Look at her. No remorse. Elara’s spirit hasn’t even completed its first mourning moon cycle.’‘She’s lost her mind. Or she’s declaring war.’Lysander’s eyes narrowed when he saw me. The mask of grief and leadership he’d been wearing slipped for a second, revealing pure, icy calculation. Then it was back.“Aria,”
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