Chapter 5
The market bustled with activity as I made my way through the crowded stalls. Pack members averted their eyes as I passed—some from shame, others from fear of being seen associating with the rejected mate. I didn't care. My focus was on gathering supplies for the final phase of my plan.
"Emma Hamilton."
The voice sliced through the market noise like a blade. I turned to find Mazie standing there, her designer dress a stark contrast to the simple clothes of the shoppers around us. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her makeup hastily applied to cover the signs of a sleepless night.
"Shopping for your new life as a packless rogue?" she sneered, stepping closer. "Or perhaps you're stealing—like you've been stealing from Harrison for years."
I kept my expression neutral. "I'm not stealing anything, Mazie. Unlike some people."
Her face twisted with rage. "You think you're so clever with your little auction trick. Do you know what Harrison had to promise to raise that money? Do you have any idea what you've cost us?"
"Us?" I raised an eyebrow. "You mean the pack? Or your shopping fund?"
The barb hit its mark. Mazie lunged forward, her manicured nails aimed at my face. "You ruined everything!"
I sidestepped effortlessly, catching her wrist in one hand. My father had insisted I learn hand-to-hand combat—"An Alpha's mind is their greatest weapon," he'd say, "but sometimes you need to remind people of their place."
"Your trophy lifestyle is crumbling," I whispered, twisting her arm until she gasped. "And you're breaking under the pressure."
With a swift move, I pinned her against a market stall, my forearm across her throat. The silver in my veins hummed with power—not the borrowed strength of a Luna-to-be, but something older, more primal.
"A trophy breaks easily," I murmured, my lips close to her ear. "Remember that."
I released her and stepped back, straightening my jacket. Mazie collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath as the market crowd stared in shocked silence.
From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Beta James Crawford watching from across the square. His face remained impassive, but I saw the doubt in his eyes—not about me, but about the woman Harrison had chosen to replace me.
---
"The pension fund for wounded warriors?" James repeated, his voice barely audible in the abandoned warehouse where we'd agreed to meet. "That's... that's sacred money."
I slid the ledger across the table toward him. "Page forty-seven. The transfers started small—just a thousand here, five thousand there. By last month, he was taking twenty thousand at a time."
James's hands trembled as he flipped to the indicated page. His eyes widened as he traced the numbers with his fingertip.
"My father," he said hoarsely. "He lost his leg defending the northern border. He survives on that pension."
"I know," I replied softly. "Harrison knows too. He just doesn't care."
James's face transformed as he read further—shock giving way to disgust, then to a cold anger I recognized all too well. It was the same rage that had been burning in my chest since the night of the rejection.
"I won't stop you," he said finally, closing the ledger. "At the final meeting. I won't stand in your way."
I nodded once. "That's all I needed to know."
---
The formal request took three hours to complete—each word carefully chosen, each signature perfectly placed. I sat at my father's old desk in the hunting cabin, the seal of the Silver Moon Pack gleaming in red wax at the bottom of the page.
"Request for Transfer of Territory Sovereignty Ceremony," I read aloud, testing how it would sound to the Lycan Council. "To be presided over by Lycan Enforcer Captain Victoria Cross."
Captain Cross—known throughout werewolf society for her impartiality and iron will. The one person who could ensure Harrison couldn't manipulate the proceedings.
I sealed the document in an envelope bearing my father's crest and handed it to the messenger. "For immediate delivery to the Lycan Council headquarters."
As the messenger departed, I turned to my closet, pushing aside the simple black clothes I'd worn since the rejection. Instead, I pulled out a tailored suit in deep blue and silver—the colors of the Silver Moon Pack.
My father's colors.
I held the jacket against my chest, feeling the weight of his legacy. Tomorrow, at the ceremony, Harrison would expect to see a broken woman signing away her birthright.
Instead, he would face an Alpha.
I slipped on the jacket, adjusting the silver buttons with steady hands. The woman in the mirror was not the same one who had been rejected in that grand hall. Her eyes held power now—cold and calculating.
"Time to finish this," I whispered to my reflection.
Tomorrow, Harrison Perry would learn what happens when you betray an Alpha's daughter.
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