Chapter 3
In the days following the essence transfer, the Ironcrest pack house felt like a graveyard. Patrick was a ghost of his former self. His footsteps, once heavy and commanding, now shuffled softly against the hardwood floors. But his obsession with my twin sister hadn't faded. If anything, his weakened state made him cling to her more.
I played my part flawlessly. I was the dutiful, grieving Luna, keeping my head down and my voice soft. But behind closed doors, I was building my next strike. I kept a quiet mental journal of their every interaction. A lingering touch in the hallway. A whispered conversation in the library when they thought I was asleep. And every night, the soft, deliberate click of Savanna’s bedroom door closing behind him.
I didn't confront them. Instead, I weaponized the pack mind-link. Late at night, while I lay in my empty bed, I let my mental barriers slip just a fraction. I pushed a subtle, aching wave of loneliness and neglect into the link. It wasn't a loud cry, just a quiet, accidental bleed of sorrow. I calibrated it perfectly to reach Beta Cole.
One evening, I stood in the dark at the top of the stairs. I watched Patrick slip into Savanna's room, a tray of hot tea in his hands. Down the hall, Cole stepped out of his office. He saw Patrick's retreating back. Then, Cole looked up and saw me standing alone in the shadows. I gave him a sad, broken smile, wrapped my arms around myself, and turned away.
Through the mind-link, I felt Cole’s jaw clench. The unwavering respect he once held for his Alpha was cracking. He was watching Patrick with new, much harder eyes.
The next afternoon, I left the pack house for a solo 'recovery walk'. The autumn air was crisp, smelling of pine and damp earth. I slipped past our patrol lines and stepped into the neutral zone near the eastern border.
A massive black wolf stepped out from the shadows of the trees. He shifted smoothly into a tall, rugged man with piercing gray eyes. Marcus Blackwood. He was the displaced heir of the Thornveil Pack, a territory that had collapsed two years ago after his Alpha father died. Now, he and his people were wandering as rogues.
"You took a risk coming out here alone, Luna," Marcus said. His voice was a low, protective rumble. He didn't carry himself like a broken rogue. He stood like a king without a crown.
"I’m not here as Ironcrest's Luna," I replied smoothly, meeting his intense gaze. "I'm here to make a deal. I know your people are struggling, Marcus. I can offer you protection. I can restore Thornveil territory."
He crossed his thick arms, his eyes narrowing with deep suspicion. "And what do you want in return?"
"Your loyalty," I said softly. "When the time comes."
Marcus stared at me. My inner wolf pushed forward, letting a wave of my pure, unbound Luna aura wash over him. He gasped softly, his eyes widening. He recognized the sheer strength in me—a strength Patrick no longer possessed.
Marcus bowed his head, showing his neck in a deep sign of respect. "We wait for your signal, Claire."
In the dark woods behind him, several pairs of glowing eyes blinked in the shadows. The silent promise of an army.
Three days later, the seasonal Ironcrest Pack Banquet arrived. The grand dining hall was filled with allied Alphas, elite warriors, and the fearsome Hamilton Lycan representatives.
The tension in the room was suffocating. Patrick sat at the head table, sweating slightly in his formal suit. He tried to project authority, but his diminished aura was impossible to hide. Rival Alphas exchanged knowing, mocking looks over their wine glasses. The great Hamilton heir looked like a weak, tired boy.
I, on the other hand, felt electric. My silver wolf purred in my chest. My unbound aura pulsed outward, pulling every eye in the room toward me. Even the ancient Lycan elders watched me with deep, silent respect.
When the time came for the formal toasts, I stood up and tapped my crystal glass. The room instantly fell silent.
"Welcome, friends," I began, my voice ringing clear and sweet across the hall. "We have much to be thankful for tonight. Especially the extraordinary sacrifice of my mate, Alpha Patrick."
I looked down at Patrick. He offered a strained, nervous smile.
"He gave his own wolf essence to save my sister, Savanna," I continued, letting my voice drop into a tone of absolute, innocent awe. "His devotion is truly unmatched. In fact, I sleep alone every night just so Patrick can fulfill his noble nightly duties to her."
The hall went dead silent. A few Alphas lowered their forks. Beta Cole stared at his plate, his face tight with disgust.
I tilted my head, smiling warmly at the Lycan elders. "The deep connection between them is beautiful. It truly transcends ordinary concern for a mate's sibling. He spends hours in her private chamber, long into the night, making sure she is perfectly... satisfied with her care."
Clink.
The lead Hamilton Lycan elder set his heavy silver goblet down on the wooden table. The sound cracked through the quiet room like a gunshot.
Patrick's face turned ash white. He shot out of his chair, knocking it backward. "Claire, enough!" he snarled.
He tried to push his Alpha tone into the words. He tried to force that heavy, commanding pressure that makes weaker wolves drop to their knees. But nothing happened. His voice just cracked, thin and powerless, echoing pitifully in the massive hall.
I didn't flinch. I just stood there and smiled, watching his authority bleed out on the floor. The match was lit, and the whole house was about to burn.
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