"And YOU!"

"Scent-stealing wretch—prancing around like you've actually claimed something worth having!"

Aria Nightclaw thrust a claw-tipped finger toward the moonstone pendant glittering against the Omega's throat.

"Unless my senses have failed me entirely, that little treasure was purchased with MY packmate's tribute funds!"

Her hackles rose, a low growl building in her chest.

"Remove it and return it to her. Now."

She lunged forward. The Omega shrieked in terror, but Rogan seized Aria's wrist and flung her aside. She crashed into a carved wooden table, sending bone platters and drinking horns scattering across the stone floor. Then his roar echoed through the den:

"Selene!"

"Is THIS the conduct befitting your bloodline?!"

The Omega cowered against Rogan's broad chest, tears streaming down her delicate features like morning dew on pale petals—the very image of wounded innocence.

"Rogan and I share a true bond!" she whimpered.

"He ceased feeling anything for you long ago!"

"Selene! He doesn't want you!"

Aria was still sprawled on the ground, but that didn't silence her snarls: "I'll tear you both apart—you oath-breaking traitor and your pathetic heat-bait!"

She scrambled to her paws, ready to launch herself at them again. But suddenly... I felt nothing. No fury. No desperation. Just a hollow calm settling over me like fresh snowfall.

I crossed the distance and drew her behind me, positioning myself between her and Rogan. His expression shifted to wariness, his wolf-gold eyes narrowing.

"Apologize to my packmate."

Rogan stared at me as though I'd gone feral.

"Rogan." I'd expected this moment to shatter me—to feel my heart being crushed until I couldn't draw breath. But watching someone else burn with protective rage on my behalf, watching someone fight for me... it cleared my head instead. "Apologize to my packmate."

"You've lost your mind!"

The words barely escaped his throat.

I swung my leather satchel and cracked it across his skull. Then I seized the Omega by her hair and slammed her face into the corner of the table.

"Rogan Ashfen."

My voice was winter ice.

"I will not let this go."

Then I turned, took Aria's arm, and walked out of the waystation den.

She'd only been part of the administrative den for six moon-cycles. I'd trained her myself, guided her from her first day among us.

Now she sat beside me in my traveling carriage, her face creased with worry. But I simply stared at the scent-tagged missives arriving on my communication stone, perfectly calm, as Rogan's messages flooded in:

[Selene! You went far beyond acceptable bounds today!]

[Do you have any idea—someone captured your little display at the waystation and spread it through the pack networks! If this reaches the Council, how is Lyra supposed to show her face?!]

[Send word immediately to clarify this situation. Do that, and I'll pretend nothing happened.]

[Selene, don't forget—your parents have retired from pack leadership. Your entire bloodline depends on MY position now. I'm not the Alpha I used to be!]

Then a bond-request flickered across the stone's surface.

From the Omega Rogan had been so desperate to shield.

Lyra Vulpayne.

She sent mirror-orb recordings. Scent-memory captures. And a message:

[Selene, Rogan stopped feeling anything for you long ago. Staying bonded to you was merely obligation.]

[Since we're all done with pretenses now...]

[Why bother hiding anymore? So what if pack opinion turns against me? The bold ones claim their pleasures first!]

[The more wolves attack me, the more your mate protects me. The better my standing becomes. Believe it or not!]

I watched the mirror-orb recording she'd sent.

Rogan, already making arrangements to transfer territory rights and den resources. His voice carrying through a speaking-stone, giving instructions:

"Separate everything tied to my mating bond with Selene—including my holdings in the outer territories. Transfer all of it into Lyra's name. Make the ward-stone bindings seamless. Selene has zero tolerance for deception, so I need to prepare for the worst."

"Understood, Alpha."

"If Selene can accept this situation, admit she was wrong, and make room for Lyra within our den... then fine. She remains my bonded Luna."

"But if she refuses to know her place?"

"Then I'll make certain Selene ends up with nothing—no territory, no tribute, no pack standing."

I stared at that familiar face in the orb's glow.

A chill seeped through me, settling deep in my bones like silver poison.

The Alpha I'd shared a den with for years—the moment I caught him in his scent-betrayal, his first instinct wasn't fear. Wasn't remorse.

It was demanding that I clear his Omega consort's reputation.

So he wanted me to accept his Omega consort into our bond—and then tolerate her presence within our territory.

I laughed. Actually laughed.

But Rogan wasn't wrong about one thing.

I really couldn't stand a single grain of sand in my eye.

So when Raven sent over Lyra's scent-trail dossier—and received the mirror-orb recordings and captured images I'd forwarded—she called me through the pack link, already laughing.

"I have to say, Rogan found himself a real idiot!"

"We didn't even need to go digging for evidence. She gift-wrapped it and handed it right to us!"

Raven's laughter rang through the connection.

"Those recordings alone are enough to bury Rogan before the Pack Council. And then there's your bonded territory rights."

"Also," she asked, "when your parents pledged their territory collateral for his pack's founding, didn't he sign a blood-oath debt?"

He had.

Rogan had insisted on making that oath. He'd made me witness the entire ritual—said it was to give my bloodline peace of mind.

Even when my parents refused, even when I said it really wasn't necessary.

Rogan wouldn't budge.

"Selene."

"I don't want anyone thinking I'm taking advantage of your bloodline."

"Keep this safe. It's your protection for the future."

Now.

I stared at that blood-oath scroll in my hands, at the crystal containing the recorded ritual, listening to Raven say—

"With all this—"

"There's more."

I cut her off. I pulled out the pack registration documents from when Rogan founded his territory. He'd consulted some moon-seer back then, who said my birth stars were more auspicious, better for drawing prosperity and strong alliances. So he'd registered the pack holdings under my name.

Including every piece of territory we claimed together.

I spread everything across the stone table.

"This is enough to make Rogan come crawling."

I told Raven.

"I don't just want Rogan left with nothing. I want his reputation shredded before every Pack Council in the region."

I returned to the waystation den Rogan and I had shared for three years. At the threshold, there it was—moonflowers Rogan had prepared for me. Withered now, their silver petals blackened and unrecognizable, with a carved token resting on top:

Hope my mate finds joy forever.

A small wolf sigil etched in the corner.

Rogan used to bring me fresh moonflowers every single day. Five years straight, without fail.

Now.

I watched him stride in carrying a fresh bundle, his expression perfectly calm as his amber eyes met mine.

"Selene."

As if nothing had happened, he set the flowers on the threshold altar and tossed the dead blooms into the refuse pit.

"We're bonded mates—one pack, one soul. Those females out there? They're just entertainment."

"You should understand that." He stepped closer. "Can we stop this nonsense?"

The scent clinging to his fur wasn't mine.

That cloying sweetness of another Omega's heat-musk turned my stomach. I stepped back instinctively, and my clawed hand connected with his face before I could think. I threw the bond severance agreement at him.

"Rogan."

"Scent-betrayal during our mating bond. Fraudulent transfer of pack resources. Every tribute you spent on Lyra." My voice was ice. "You have two choices."

I watched his expression freeze.

"Option one: sign, and we sever our bond with dignity."

Rogan picked up the agreement, staring at me in disbelief.

"Option two: fight me before the Pack Council." I held his stunned gaze. "Less dignified, but you'll still walk away with nothing."

Rogan ripped the parchment in half with a violent jerk. A cold laugh escaped him.

"Selene!"

"You're dreaming!"

"Walk away with nothing?"

"Who the hell do you think you are!"

He flung the shredded agreement into the air. Fragments drifted down like ash, scattering across the den floor.

I watched his face darken to thunder as he closed in on me, every word bitten off through elongating fangs.

"You want me to leave with nothing?"

"Not. A. Chance."

He opened his mouth to say more, but his communication stone exploded with urgent pulses. Irritated, he glanced at the sender's mark, jabbed the activation rune, and bellowed into the glowing surface—

"What is it!"

Then—

I watched the color drain from Rogan's face inch by inch until he was deathly pale, staring at me in disbelief.