Chapter 3
The morning sun filtered through the trees as I stood on the ridge overlooking Silvercreek territory. Three weeks had passed since my rejection, and though the pain still lingered like a phantom limb, my wolf was growing stronger each day under Lucian's protection.
"Gamma Evans," Marcus Vale approached with a respectful nod. "Alpha Mendez asked me to inform you that the border meeting has been moved to noon."
I nodded, grateful for the delay. It gave me time to observe what I'd come to see.
In the distance, Silvercreek wolves gathered for their morning run—a tradition I'd maintained for twenty years. The sight of them now sent a pang through my chest that had nothing to do with the broken mate bond.
"Is that...?" I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the figure at the front.
"Yes," Marcus confirmed with a grim smile. "Beatrice is attempting to lead the Luna's run."
Even from this distance, I could see her struggling. Her form was wrong—too rigid, too forced. The wolves behind her were already pulling ahead, their natural rhythm disrupted by her lack of leadership.
"She's falling behind," I murmured, watching as several younger wolves overtook her position.
"The pack senses her weakness," Marcus replied. "A Luna without the Luna's aura cannot command respect."
I turned away as Beatrice stumbled, her face contorted with frustration. The sight should have brought me satisfaction, but instead it only deepened my concern for the pack I'd left behind.
"They don't know how to handle the Eastern Ridge dispute without you," Marcus added, following me back toward Obsidian territory. "Alpha Kevin nearly started a war yesterday."
I froze mid-step. "What?"
"Your expertise with territorial treaties is... irreplaceable." His tone held a new respect I hadn't heard before. "Kevin threatened the Stone River Pack over a boundary that was clearly marked in the last treaty renewal."
"How bad?"
"Three injured on their side. None on ours—they retreated rather than engage." Marcus's expression darkened. "But word has spread. The elders are questioning Kevin's judgment."
I closed my eyes briefly, imagining the chaos unfolding in what had once been my home. Twenty years of careful alliance-building crumbling in weeks.
---
The encrypted message arrived that evening—a small data packet delivered by a neutral courier who vanished before I could question them.
"From Diana," I murmured, decoding the simple cipher.
Lucian watched from across the room as I read, his presence steady and undemanding.
"What does it say?" he asked when I finally looked up.
"Beatrice has ordered the removal of 'traitorous artifacts' from the Pack House." My voice trembled slightly. "Diana thinks she means to destroy anything connected to my lineage."
Lucian's eyes narrowed. "Including?"
"The Evans ancestral collection." I stood abruptly, pacing to control the surge of rage. "But more importantly—my parents' ashes in the Alpha Crypt."
The Alpha Crypt was sacred ground—reserved for high-ranking wolves who had served the pack with distinction. As Luna, I'd been granted the right to inter my parents there after discovering their remains years ago.
"Kevin wouldn't allow that," Lucian said, though uncertainty colored his tone.
"Kevin allowed her to wear my mother's cloak," I replied bitterly. "There's no telling what he'll permit now."
I grabbed my jacket, already moving toward the door.
"Adaline." Lucian's voice stopped me. "Where are you going?"
"To stop them." The determination in my voice surprised even me. "Those ashes are all I have left of my parents."
---
The border between territories was marked by ancient oaks—silent witnesses to generations of pack history. I approached alone, having slipped away from Obsidian guards who would have tried to accompany me.
The scent hit me before I saw them—vanilla and musk, Kevin and Beatrice together.
I crouched in the underbrush, watching as they stood near the edge of the Alpha Crypt grounds. Beatrice held two urns—simple clay vessels etched with the Evans family crest.
"These are the last of her precious artifacts," Beatrice announced, her voice carrying on the evening breeze. "The bad omens must be cleansed."
Kevin laughed—actually laughed—as she unscrewed the first lid.
"Adaline always made such a fuss about these," he said casually. "As if preserving rogue remains brought honor to our pack."
Rogue remains. My parents—brave wolves who had died protecting their territory—reduced to "rogues" in his revisionist history.
I watched in horror as Beatrice upended the first urn over a muddy ditch. Gray ash scattered across dirt and stones, dissolving into the mud.
"There," she said with satisfaction. "One less Evans relic polluting our sacred ground."
Kevin applauded as she reached for the second urn—the one containing my father's remains.
Something inside me snapped.
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