Chapter 3
I sat in the dimly lit safe room of the Enforcer's estate, a thick wool blanket wrapped tightly around my shivering shoulders. Across from me, Forest Hoffman stared at his multi-monitor setup. The blue glow of the screens illuminated the sharp, unforgiving lines of his jaw. He was a man made of stone and law, and right now, he was my only shield.
"You were right," his deep voice broke the silence. He didn't look up from the scrolling data. "Account 8492-B. Five million dollars funneled out of the Shadow Creek tax reserves over three years. All of it traced to black-market dealers for rare wolfsbane variants and dark-magic suppressants. For Chloe."
I pulled the blanket tighter, my nails digging into my own arms. "Freeze it. All of it."
Forest's fingers flew across the keyboard. "Already done. By Lycan law, Alpha Meyer's assets are now under Council embargo pending a full investigation."
He tapped a key, bringing up a live security feed from a high-end supernatural clinic in the city. Paxton stood at the reception desk. Chloe leaned heavily against him, looking perfectly frail and tragic. Paxton slapped a sleek black credit card onto the counter. The receptionist swiped it.
The machine flashed red. *Declined.*
I watched, a cold, dark satisfaction blooming in my chest. Paxton's face turned purple. He shouted, slamming his heavy fist on the counter. Other patients in the waiting room—wolves from neighboring packs—stared at him in shock. The great Alpha of Shadow Creek, publicly humiliated, unable to pay for his mistress's stolen life.
"He's panicking," Forest murmured, his eyes narrowing at the screen. "A cornered wolf is dangerous."
"Let him panic," I whispered. "It's exactly what he deserves."
But my victory was agonizingly short-lived. Barely an hour later, the regional pack network lit up. Forest walked into the room, his expression grim, and handed me a secure tablet. "They're fighting back. You need to see this."
I pressed play. Paxton and Chloe sat on the plush velvet sofa of our—*his*—packhouse. But it wasn't them that made my breath catch in my throat. It was Arlo.
My son sat between them. He looked directly into the camera, his eyes wide and artificially glassy.
"My mother... she's not who you think she is," Arlo's voice trembled. It was a perfect performance, meticulously rehearsed. "She's a Rogue Witch. She escaped the dungeons using dark magic, and now she's seduced the High Enforcer to destroy our pack."
Chloe dabbed at her dry eyes with a tissue. Paxton looked stoic, the picture of a burdened, protective leader.
"Please," Arlo begged, a single, manufactured tear slipping down his cheek. "She's dangerous. She tried to kill my new mother. Someone has to capture her before she hurts anyone else."
The video ended. The screen went black, reflecting my hollow, exhausted face.
My own flesh and blood. Brainwashed. Weaponized against me. The mate bond had broken me, but this? This shredded what little was left of my human heart.
Forest gently took the tablet from my shaking hands. "It's a desperate lie, Elena. The Council won't buy it."
"The Council won't," I said, my voice dead. "But the local packs will. He's using my son as a shield." I closed my eyes, forcing the tears back. I couldn't afford to cry anymore. "I need to get stronger. I can't fight them like this."
Forest nodded slowly. "Then we start with the silver in your veins. The healers are ready."
He escorted me to the medical wing. The Lycan doctors were entirely different from the butchers at the pack clinic. They used ancient, deep-tissue healing spells to draw the toxic metal from my system. I lay on the pristine white bed as the lead healer, an older woman with kind eyes, began chanting softly. She placed her glowing hands over my chest.
Pain lanced through my ribs, sharp and biting, as the silver began to purge. I gasped, gripping the edge of the mattress. My skin broke out in a cold sweat.
Then, something impossible happened.
Where the healer's magic touched my skin, my veins didn't just bulge. They glowed. A brilliant, blinding, liquid gold pulsed beneath my flesh, illuminating the dim room.
The healer gasped, stumbling back. The chanting stopped abruptly.
Forest stepped forward, his eyes wide with shock. "What is that?"
"That's... that's not normal wolf blood," the healer stammered. She quickly drew a small vial of my blood. Even in the glass tube, it shimmered with a faint, undeniable golden luminescence. "My Lord, this is a Royal trait. Only the direct bloodline of the Lycan King possesses this aura."
I stared at my glowing hands, my heart hammering against my ribs. "That's impossible. I'm an orphan. I was found on the edge of the Shadow Creek border."
Forest didn't say a word. He took the vial, his expression hardening into pure, intense focus. He walked over to the medical bay's terminal, a direct link to the Royal Lycan archives. He inserted the sample into the DNA sequencer.
The machine hummed. The seconds stretched into eternity. The steady beep of my heart monitor seemed deafening in the silent room.
The screen flashed green.
Forest read the text. He slowly turned to look at me, his authoritative, intimidating posture shifting into something entirely new. Reverence.
"Elena," his voice was barely a whisper, thick with disbelief. "It's a 99.9 percent match."
"A match to who?" I breathed.
Forest dropped gracefully to one knee, bowing his head. "To Reign Hamilton. The Lycan King."
The sterile room spun around me. I wasn't just a rejected Luna. I wasn't just a discarded orphan. I was a Lycan Princess. And Alpha Paxton Meyer had just declared war on the Royal Family.
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