POV: Sarah

The man who ruled the werewolf underworld with an iron claw was currently losing a fight to a toddler's bowtie.

I watched my husband sigh as our five-year-old giggled.

He didn't know today was the day the human world would try to break our son.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our master bedroom, catching the dust motes dancing in the warm air. Ethan, the most feared Alpha in North America, was on his knees on the plush Persian rug. His broad shoulders, usually tense with the heavy weight of leading the Night Pack, were currently hunched over in pure, baffled frustration. He was dressed in his custom charcoal suit, ready for a day of ruthless boardroom negotiations and pack politics, but his massive hands—hands that could snap a rogue wolf’s neck without a second thought—were fumbling uselessly with a tiny strip of navy blue silk.

"I still don't understand why the Alpha heir has to wear a leash," Ethan grumbled, his deep voice vibrating in his chest. He tugged at the fabric, earning a bright, bubbly laugh from our son.

"It's not a leash, Daddy!" Milo chirped, wiggling his hips. "It's a bowtie. Mommy says it makes me look like a distinguished gentleman."

"You're a wolf," Ethan countered gently, finally managing to tie a somewhat crooked knot. "Wolves don't need to be distinguished. We just need to be strong."

There was a hesitant knock at the heavy mahogany door. I turned to see our pack's lead enforcer—a towering, heavily scarred man who usually handled our most violent territorial disputes—standing awkwardly in the doorway. He dropped to one knee, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered, and extended his massive hands outward.

Resting in his palms, trembling ever so slightly, was a bright yellow SpongeBob SquarePants bento box.

"The Little Alpha's lunch, Luna," he rumbled.

I couldn't help but smile, walking over to take the plastic box from him. "Thank you. You can rise."

I carried the lunchbox over to my men. Ethan stood up, towering over me, his glowing golden eyes softening the moment he looked at my face. I handed him the bento box and knelt in front of Milo. My beautiful, sweet boy. He had Ethan's dark, unruly hair but my bright hazel eyes. He was the absolute center of our universe, spoiled and fiercely loved by every single member of our pack. To the werewolves, he was undeniable royalty. To us, he was just our baby.

I pulled a thin, intricately engraved silver bracelet from my pocket. It didn't look like much—just a cheap, dull piece of jewelry to the untrained eye—but it was imbued with ancient pack magic.

"Give me your wrist, sweetie," I murmured.

Milo eagerly extended his chubby little arm. I snapped the bracelet into place. Instantly, the sweet, earthy scent of milk, rain, and wild pine that followed him everywhere vanished into thin air. The silver suppressed his wolf aura, locking away his supernatural strength and heavily dampening his animal instincts. It made him smell and feel completely, hopelessly human.

We had to do this. There were dangerous whispers of rival factions trying to locate the Night Pack's heir to use him as leverage. Until the threat was entirely neutralized, the safest place for Milo was hidden in plain sight, blending in with the elite, oblivious human children at the city's most prestigious private preschool.

"Remember the rules, Milo," I said softly, kissing his warm forehead. "You have to be a normal human boy today. No growling when you play, no running too fast, and definitely no shifting your eyes."

"I promise, Mommy!" Milo beamed, completely oblivious to the cruelty of the outside world. "Am I going to be a good human today?"

"The best," Ethan said, scooping him up for one last fierce, bone-crushing hug. "But remember, if anyone gives you trouble, you tell them exactly who your father is."

"Ethan," I chided, swatting his solid arm. "The whole point of this is that they don't know who you are."

The afternoon could not come fast enough. I stood on the sprawling front porch of our secluded estate, staring down the long driveway, waiting for the black SUV to bring my son home. I had spent the entire day imagining him painting with watercolors, sharing his snacks, and making his very first human friends. I wanted him to experience a normal, carefree childhood, far away from the blood, dominance, and politics of the pack.

The heavy car doors opened.

Milo ran up the driveway.

My breath caught painfully in my throat.

His expensive white dress shirt was completely ruined. It was smeared with thick, dark mud from the collar down to the hem. But what made my heart stutter and my blood run cold were the distinct, muddy shoeprints stamped directly across his chest and stomach. Someone had stepped on him. Someone had deliberately pushed my five-year-old down into the dirt and walked over him.

"Milo!" I gasped, rushing forward and falling to my knees on the pavement to check him for injuries. "Sweetheart, what happened? Who did this to you?"

I expected him to cry. I expected him to be terrified and begging to stay home. Instead, Milo threw his arms around my neck, smelling terribly like swamp water and damp earth, and giggled.

"Mommy, they liked me!" he announced proudly, doing a little excited wiggle that I instantly recognized as his way of pretending he was wagging a tail.

"They... liked you?" I repeated, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I brushed the drying dirt from his soft cheeks.

"Yeah!" His hazel eyes sparkled with genuine, unadulterated excitement. "They said I was the best dog today! I got to play on the ground, and they gave me all these cool friendship stamps!" He pointed down at the black, muddy footprints on his ruined shirt with a proud, gummy smile.

A cold, nauseating chill washed over me. Friendship stamps. In the pack, wolf pups played rough. They tackled, they pinned each other down, they playfully bit, and they wrestled in the mud for hours. Milo, in his beautifully innocent mind, thought the human children were just playing like wolves. He didn't understand the concept of malice. He didn't know that humans didn't step on each other out of affection.

"And look!" Milo shoved his chubby hand deep into his pocket and pulled something out. He held it up to the afternoon sunlight, his face glowing with pure joy.

It was a piece of broken glass. A jagged shard from a shattered beer bottle, carefully and meticulously washed clean.

"What is that, baby?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, choking on the lump in my throat.

"It's a present," Milo said seriously, his brow furrowing with absolute sincerity. "There is a boy in my class named Leo. He told me he likes shiny things. I found this in the mud near the big fence, and I washed it in the sink in the bathroom. I'm going to give it to him tomorrow so we can be packmates!"

I stared at the sharp, dangerous piece of glass sitting innocently in his little palm. He had spent his recess digging through the mud to find a gift for the boy who had stepped on his chest. My chest tightened with an agonizing, physical ache. He wasn't silently enduring the abuse. He simply didn't know he was being abused at all. Ethan and I had raised him with so much love, so much absolute adoration from the entire pack, that the concept of bullying was completely foreign to him.

"Okay, sweetie," I forced a trembling smile, leaning in to kiss his dirty cheek. "Let's get you inside for a warm bath."

That night, long after Ethan had fallen into a deep sleep beside me, I lay awake staring at the dark ceiling. I couldn't shake the heavy feeling of dread sitting in my stomach. I needed to see it for myself. I needed to know exactly what was happening behind the tall iron gates of that school.

The next morning, I dropped Milo off as usual, but I didn't drive back to the estate. I parked a few blocks away and walked back on foot, slipping silently through the dense woods that bordered the edge of the elite academy's playground. I masked my scent completely, suppressing my aura until I was nothing more than a ghost against the tall oak trees.

Recess began. The heavy double doors opened, and a loud flood of children in crisp, expensive uniforms poured out onto the manicured lawns. I scanned the chaotic crowd, my enhanced werewolf vision quickly locking onto my son.

Without his wolf traits, Milo looked so incredibly small. He was sitting entirely alone near a patch of dirt by the sandbox, carefully holding the yellow SpongeBob bento box I had packed for him that morning. He looked content, swinging his short legs, patiently waiting.

A few moments later, a group of older boys approached him. Leading them was a chubby, spoiled-looking boy with slicked-back hair and designer sneakers. Leo.

I gripped the rough bark of the tree, my knuckles turning stark white.

Leo marched right up to my son. He didn't say a word of greeting. He just pulled back his foot and kicked the yellow bento box as hard as he could. The plastic lid popped off on impact, and Milo's carefully cut sandwiches, fresh fruit, and snacks flew through the air, landing with a sickening splat into a deep, dirty puddle of mud.

"Eat it, dog," Leo sneered, crossing his arms over his chest while the boys behind him erupted into a chorus of cruel, mocking laughter.

The sound of their laughter grated against my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. Every maternal instinct in my body screamed at me to jump the fence, to shift into my wolf form, and to tear those children apart until nothing remained. But I forced myself to freeze. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I had to see how Milo would react. I had to know if he finally understood.

Milo looked at the ruined food floating in the muddy puddle. Then, he looked up at Leo.

There was no anger in my son's eyes. There were no tears of frustration. He simply blinked, assuming Leo must have slipped or made a clumsy mistake while trying to play.

Milo clumsily squatted down in the mud. He didn't try to salvage the food. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of broken, washed glass. He held it up with both hands, offering it to the boy like a priceless treasure.

"Don't cry, Leo," my sweet, perfect boy said, his little voice carrying softly over the wind. "I know you didn't mean to drop my lunch. I brought you a shiny treasure. We can be packmates now."

Leo stared at the glass, his face twisting in absolute disgust.

"I don't want your garbage, you freak!"

Leo swung his hand down and slapped Milo's outstretched palm as hard as he could.

The sound of the slap echoed sharply in my ears. The piece of glass flew out of Milo's hand, but not before the sharp, jagged edge sliced right across his soft palm.

A bright line of crimson blood welled up on Milo's skin.

My son froze, staring down at his bleeding hand in pure confusion. He didn't cry out. He just looked completely and utterly lost, staring at his palm as if trying to figure out what rule of human friendship he had gotten wrong.

I felt my eyes flash a dangerous, glowing gold. The bark of the tree splintered and cracked under my crushing grip. They hadn't just bullied a poor boy. They had drawn the blood of the Alpha's heir, and I was going to make sure this entire school burned to the ground for it.

POV: Sarah

They wiped the bully’s hands with sanitized wipes.

But they let my son stand in the corner with a bleeding palm.

That was the moment I realized the adults were the real monsters.

The sharp, metallic scent of my son’s blood hit the back of my throat before my brain fully registered what had happened. For a werewolf, the smell of their pup’s blood is the ultimate trigger. It bypasses logic. It silences reason. It only leaves the primal, consuming urge to kill whatever caused it.

I didn't open the heavy iron gate. I vaulted over it.

My boots hit the manicured grass of the playground without a sound, and I crossed the distance in a blur of motion. I shoved past a group of startled children, dropping to my knees right beside Milo in the mud.

"Milo," I gasped, carefully taking his tiny wrist in my hand.

A bright crimson line stretched across his soft palm. It wasn't a deep cut, but it was enough to make my inner wolf thrash violently against her mental cage, howling for the blood of the boy who had done this. Milo wasn't crying, but his lower lip was trembling. He was staring at the muddy puddle where his carefully washed piece of glass now lay, completely ignoring his own bleeding hand.

Before I could even pull a tissue from my pocket, a shrill, breathless voice pierced the air.

"Excuse me! You can't just barge onto the school premises!"

I looked up. A woman in a pressed beige cardigan—Miss Gable, the head teacher—was marching toward us, her face flushed with indignation. She didn't look at my bleeding child. She didn't ask what happened. Instead, she rushed straight to Leo, who was standing a few feet away, entirely unharmed and looking incredibly smug.

"Oh, Leo, sweetheart, are you okay?" Miss Gable cooed, kneeling beside the bully. She pulled a pack of antibacterial wet wipes from her apron. "Did the dirty boy touch you? Let me wipe your hands, honey. We don't want you catching any nasty germs."

I froze. Time seemed to stop. I watched, completely paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of the situation, as the teacher carefully and meticulously sanitized the hands of the boy who had just struck my child, while my son stood in the mud, bleeding.

"My son is bleeding," I said, my voice dropping an octave, echoing with a dangerous, unnatural resonance that made Miss Gable flinch. "That boy slapped a piece of broken glass out of his hand."

Miss Gable stood up, puffing out her chest defensively. She looked down her nose at me, taking in my simple, unbranded clothing. She didn't know that the fabric was custom-tailored in Milan specifically for the Night Pack's Luna. To her, a lack of logos meant a lack of wealth.

"Well, perhaps if your son didn't have a bizarre habit of digging through the trash and picking up dangerous debris, this wouldn't have happened," Miss Gable snapped, crossing her arms. "I've told you before, Ms. Vance. Milo doesn't fit in here. He has this... this weird, medicinal smell all the time, and he acts like a feral animal in the dirt. Leo was simply defending his personal space."

The scent suppressant. The silver bracelet dampening Milo's aura smelled faintly of bitter herbs to human noses. They were calling him dirty because we were trying to protect him.

"Defending his space?" I stood up, letting go of Milo’s hand for a second to step between him and the teacher. The air around me began to drop in temperature. "He kicked my son's lunch into the mud and hit him."

"Is there a problem here?"

The clicking of sharp stiletto heels on the pavement announced her arrival before the suffocating cloud of Chanel No. 5 did. Chloe. Leo’s mother.

She walked onto the playground like she owned the very earth we stood on. She was dripping in wealth—a limited-edition Hermès Birkin hanging off her forearm, red-bottomed heels, and diamonds that caught the afternoon sun. She walked past me without making eye contact, immediately pulling Leo into her side.

"Leo, darling, did that boy bother you again?" Chloe asked loudly, ensuring every other parent and teacher in the vicinity could hear her.

"He tried to give me garbage, Mommy," Leo whined, burying his face in his mother's designer coat. "He's gross."

"I know, baby, I know," Chloe sighed dramatically. Finally, she turned her heavily contoured face toward me. Her eyes dragged up and down my outfit, her lips curling into a sneer of pure disgust.

"I truly don't understand how the admissions office let your kind slip through the cracks," Chloe said, her voice dripping with venom. "This is a private academy for the elite. Not a daycare for government-subsidized welfare cases. We pay fifty thousand dollars a semester so our children don't have to associate with... strays."

Strays.

My inner wolf slammed against the bars of her cage. My fangs ached behind my lips, begging to extend. It would be so easy. It would take me less than two seconds to close the distance, wrap my hand around her heavily perfumed throat, and show her exactly what kind of "stray" she was talking to. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears. I could feel the Luna aura leaking out, making the birds in the nearby trees suddenly take flight in a panic.

But then, a tiny, warm hand tugged on the hem of my sweater.

"Mommy," Milo whispered. "It hurts."

I looked down at his bleeding hand, and then at his confused, innocent hazel eyes. If I killed this woman right now, if I shifted and let the monster out, the human authorities would swarm the pack. The rival Alphas tracking us would know exactly where my son was. I would be putting Milo's life in unimaginable danger just to satisfy my own pride.

Ethan and I were the most powerful predators in the city, but right now, I had to swallow glass. I had to let a sheep insult a wolf.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling my aura back in and locking it down so tightly it physically burned my chest.

"We are leaving," I said quietly.

I didn't yell. I didn't argue. I just bent down, scooped my beautiful, bleeding boy into my arms, and walked away. Behind me, I could hear Chloe scoffing, telling the teacher that she expected the "feral child" to be suspended for bringing glass onto the playground.

I didn't look back. I just promised myself, with absolute, terrifying certainty, that Chloe and her husband would eventually burn for this.

The car ride back to the estate was suffocatingly quiet. Usually, Milo would be bouncing in his car seat, telling me about the clouds or the cars passing by. Today, he was completely silent, staring down at the colorful cartoon band-aid I had wrapped around his palm.

When we pulled up to the heavily guarded gates of our home, our Lead Enforcer opened my door. He immediately caught the scent of Milo’s blood. The massive man stiffened, his eyes flashing gold, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he looked around for the threat. I gave him a sharp, silent shake of my head. He backed down immediately, bowing his head, but his fists were clenched white.

Milo didn't run to the kitchen for his afternoon snack. He didn't ask to go see the other pups. He walked straight up the grand staircase and went into his bedroom, gently closing the door behind him.

I gave him ten minutes of space before I couldn't take it anymore. I walked down the carpeted hallway and quietly pushed his bedroom door open.

"Milo?" I called out softly.

He wasn't playing with his toys. He wasn't drawing. The room was perfectly still. I walked over to his massive, custom-built bed and saw a tiny lump hiding completely under the heavy duvet.

My heart shattered into a million pieces. I sat on the edge of the mattress and gently pulled the blanket back.

Milo was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. In his lap was a bright yellow box of superhero band-aids. But that wasn't what made the breath leave my lungs.

Milo had peeled off half a dozen band-aids and stuck them awkwardly all over his own face. They were on his cheeks, across his little nose, and on his forehead.

"Baby..." I choked out, tears instantly blurring my vision. I reached out, my hands trembling as I hovered over his face. "What are you doing? Are you hurt anywhere else? Did they hit your face?"

Milo looked up at me, his large hazel eyes swimming in unshed tears. He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his uninjured hand.

"Mommy," his voice was small, shaking with a kind of heartbreak no five-year-old should ever have to feel. "My fangs didn't come out. I didn't use my claws. I tried to be a good human boy."

"I know, sweetie. You were so good. You were perfect," I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek.

"Then why do they still think I'm a scary monster?" he asked, his little voice cracking on the last word.

He pointed a chubby finger to the band-aid crookedly stuck across his nose.

"Is my human face broken, Mommy?" he sobbed, the tears finally spilling over his cheeks, soaking into the adhesive of the bandages. "If I put the magic band-aids on my face... will it fix me? If I fix my face, will Leo let me be his packmate?"

He thought he was the problem.

They had abused him, insulted him, and drawn his blood, and my perfect, innocent little Alpha was sitting in the dark, trying to bandage his own face because he thought he was too ugly for them to love.

I pulled him into my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around his small body as he finally broke down, crying into my shoulder. I buried my face in his dark hair, inhaling his sweet, suppressed scent, and let my own tears fall into his curls.

"You are not broken, Milo," I whispered fiercely against his hair, rocking him back and forth. "You are perfect. You are the most beautiful, perfect boy in the entire world, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with you."

As I held my crying son, a cold, dark calmness washed over me. The maternal instinct to protect had shifted into something much more dangerous. It had shifted into the Luna's instinct to destroy.

Tomorrow was the school's disciplinary hearing. They wanted an apology. They wanted to humiliate us and kick us out.

I rubbed Milo's back as his cries softened into exhausted hiccups. I stared at the wall, my eyes flashing a brilliant, lethal gold in the dim light of the bedroom.

You want to see a stray? I thought to myself, the voice of my inner wolf echoing in my mind with a bloodthirsty snarl. Tomorrow, I will show you exactly what kind of monsters you’ve been playing with.

POV: Sarah

She grabbed his wrist and snapped the cheap silver bracelet.

She thought she was exposing a fraud, stripping away the last dignity of a poor, desperate mother and her feral child. She didn't know she had just unlocked a predator.

The disciplinary hearing was held in the academy’s lavish, oak-paneled boardroom. It looked less like a school office and more like a corporate tribunal designed to intimidate. The long mahogany table gleamed under a crystal chandelier, and sitting at the head of it was Principal Harrison, a balding, spineless man whose salary was essentially paid by the billionaire sitting to his right—Marcus, Chloe’s husband.

Though Marcus wasn't present today, his shadow loomed large. Chloe sat beside the principal, flanked by three other wealthy, diamond-clad mothers who had formed her personal firing squad.

I sat on the opposite side of the massive table. I was dressed in a simple, perfectly tailored charcoal dress—no logos, no flashy jewelry. Just me, and my five-year-old son sitting in the oversized leather chair beside me.

Milo looked so incredibly small. He was wearing his crisp white uniform shirt, but his little hands were clasped tightly in his lap. Beneath the cuff of his sleeve, I could see the edge of the cartoon band-aid covering the cut Leo had given him yesterday. His beautiful hazel eyes were wide and anxious, darting between the angry faces of the adults across the table.

"Let us be absolutely clear, Ms. Vance," Principal Harrison began, steepling his fingers. He didn't even have the courtesy to look me in the eye. "Bringing a dangerous weapon—a shard of glass—onto school grounds is a severe violation of our zero-tolerance policy. Furthermore, your son's unprovoked aggression and... disturbing lack of hygiene have become a massive liability."

"A weapon?" I repeated, my voice deadly calm. I kept my hands folded neatly on the table to hide the fact that my knuckles were turning white. "It was a piece of sea glass he found in the dirt. He washed it and tried to give it to Leo as a gift. Leo responded by slapping it out of his hand and making him bleed."

"That is an absolute lie!" Chloe slammed her manicured hand on the table, her heavy gold bracelets clinking sharply. "My Leo was terrified! Your feral child tried to attack him with a broken beer bottle! My son hasn't slept a wink, he's so traumatized by this... this little monster."

Milo flinched at the word monster. He shrank back into the leather chair, his lower lip trembling as he looked down at his shoes. My chest tightened painfully.

"Leo pushed my son into the mud," I said, my voice dropping lower, a faint, dangerous rumble vibrating in the back of my throat that humans couldn't quite register, but instinctively feared. "Leo destroyed his lunch. The school cameras cover the playground, Principal Harrison. Pull the footage."

Principal Harrison cleared his throat nervously, loosening his silk tie. "Unfortunately, there was a... a glitch in the server yesterday. The playground cameras were down for maintenance."

Of course they were.

"This isn't a negotiation, Ms. Vance," Chloe sneered, leaning across the table. Her suffocating Chanel perfume rolled over me, masking the faint, sour smell of her own arrogance. "You don't get to demand evidence when you're sitting here on our charity. We know your type. You thought you could scheme your way into high society, pretending to be a single mother with some mysterious, absent husband. You probably thought you could snag a rich man here."

She laughed, a cruel, grating sound, and the other mothers joined in.

"Look at you," Chloe continued, her eyes raking over my outfit. "No wedding ring. No job on file. Living out in the woods on God knows what government subsidies. You and your feral stray don't belong in a civilized world. We are demanding immediate expulsion. And if you have a shred of dignity left, you will get on your knees right now and apologize for the trauma your freak of a child caused my family."

I didn't speak. The silence in the room stretched, growing thick and heavy.

I was doing the math in my head. I was calculating exactly how many seconds it would take me to leap across the mahogany table, shift my jaw, and tear her throat out. Two seconds? Three? I could feel the Luna rising, the ancient, bloodthirsty beast beneath my skin demanding retribution.

But before I could move, I felt a tiny weight press against my side.

Milo had climbed out of his chair. He walked over to me on his wobbly little legs. He didn't cry, though his eyes were swimming with tears. He saw the angry adults screaming at his mother, and his beautiful, pure heart broke not for himself, but for me.

He reached up, standing on his tiptoes, and placed his small, chubby hands gently over my ears.

"Mommy," he whispered, his sweet, milky breath brushing against my cheek. "Don't listen to them."

I froze, looking down into his face.

"It's okay, Mommy," Milo choked out, a single tear spilling over his eyelashes. "We don't have to be humans anymore. I don't want to learn human games. I can just stay in the woods and play with you every day. Please don't be sad because of me."

A physical crack echoed in my chest.

That was it. The absolute breaking point. They hadn't just bullied him; they had made a five-year-old boy feel like his very existence was a burden to the mother who loved him more than life itself.

I gently took Milo's hands away from my ears, kissing his knuckles. I didn't care about the rival factions anymore. I didn't care about hiding. Let the entire werewolf underworld know exactly where the Alpha's heir was. Anyone who dared to come for him would have to step over a mountain of corpses.

I stood up.

My chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. Chloe rolled her eyes, scoffing loudly.

"Oh, look, she's trying to act brave," Chloe mocked, standing up as well, walking around the table to get right in my face. "Save the cheap theatrics. Your tears aren't going to work here. Pack up your trash and get out of my school."

As she spoke, she gestured wildly, her hand dropping down to point aggressively at Milo. As she did, her manicured nail caught on the dull, silver band resting around Milo's wrist.

Chloe sneered in disgust. "And he shouldn't even be wearing this cheap, ugly junk with our uniform!"

Without a second thought, she grabbed the silver bracelet and gave it a vicious yank.

Snap.

The ancient silver clasp broke. The bracelet fell to the hardwood floor with a sharp, hollow clatter.

For one single, suspended second, there was absolute silence.

And then, the dam broke.

Without the enchanted silver to suppress it, the pure, unadulterated scent and aura of the Night Pack's Alpha heir exploded into the confined space of the boardroom. It wasn't just a smell; it was a physical force. The heavy, intoxicating scent of wild pine, thunderstorms, and raw, dominating power slammed into the walls like a shockwave.

To the humans—Chloe, the mothers, the Principal—it registered as a sudden, terrifying drop in air pressure. The temperature in the room plummeted. The hairs on the back of Chloe's neck stood up, and she stumbled backward, suddenly gasping for air as a primal, inexplicable terror gripped her heart. She didn't know why, but every survival instinct in her human DNA was suddenly screaming at her that she was locked in a cage with an apex predator.

But to the werewolves in the building, it was an absolute command.

Outside the boardroom’s glass doors, a burly security guard—a beta werewolf I knew had been planted in the school to monitor threats—had been casually sipping a coffee.

The moment the aura hit him, the coffee cup shattered in his grip.

He didn't hesitate. He didn't think. The sheer bloodline suppression of a royal Alpha pup brought him straight to his knees. He crashed to the floor in the hallway, bowing his head so low his forehead touched the linoleum, his body trembling violently in absolute submission to the heir. Down the hall, a janitor dropped his mop, falling to his hands and knees, exposing his neck in a desperate display of loyalty.

Chloe looked through the glass, her face draining of all color as she saw the security guard kneeling on the ground, shaking.

"W-what is going on?" Principal Harrison stammered, gripping the edge of the table as his knees suddenly felt weak. "Is there an earthquake?"

I didn't answer them. I didn't even look at Chloe. The human facade was gone.

I straightened my posture, letting my own aura—the suffocating, regal pressure of the Night Pack's Luna—spill out and merge with my son's. My eyes, usually a soft, warm hazel, flashed into a brilliant, luminescent gold.

I turned my glowing eyes toward the glass door, looking directly at the security guard who was still trembling on the floor.

My voice was no longer a quiet, polite human whisper. It carried the ancient, commanding resonance of a queen calling her army to war.

"Call the Pack," I ordered.

Through the glass, the massive guard didn't even lift his head. He pressed his face closer to the floor and roared back, a sound that rattled the expensive windows of the boardroom.

"Yes, Luna!"

I slowly turned my golden eyes back to Chloe. She was backed up against the wall, her expensive handbag dropped on the floor, staring at me as if she had just seen a ghost.

I smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was a promise of absolute destruction.

"You wanted to see a monster, Chloe," I whispered, the sound vibrating in the air like a death knell. "You're about to meet the King of them all."