Chapter 20 The silk hugged my skin as though it remembered every drop of blood ever spilled by my line. Black, slick, a second pelt stitched by shadows, sliding down my legs as I crossed the threshold of Val Serano. My father was turning eighty-one. Eighty-fucking-one. And still he stood, broad, iron-backed, unbroken, the last mountain in a world that had tried for decades to grind him to dust. The Vale Pack house blazed like a coronation pyre, gold light spilling over crystal decanters of blood-dark wine. Every wolf and vulture worth naming sat beneath that roof, their laughter brittle, their toasts a fragile truce. I came dressed not in mourning but in death's skin-black, sharp, unapologetic. A storm with teeth. Silence rippled when I entered, eyes cutting toward me before false smiles returned. "Stella." Ram stepped forward, kissing both my cheeks, his voice a hushed growl. "You look like war." "Good," I murmured, flashing gold only for him. "I came armed." "Stella," my father's voice thundered across the room as I approached, and every wolf in that space stilled. His presence was still a crown. His eyes, sharp, molten silver, were older, but not dimmed. 'Happy birthday, father," I said, leaning in, kissing each weathered cheek. He smelled of cigars, leather, and silver, the scent of command. "Still haven't died. I admire the stubbornness." He laughed, rough as gravel, deep as an alpha's snarl, and with a wave dismissed his guards as though his flesh weren't made of decades. Beloved fool. Beloved god. gave him my gift with my own hands, a pistol, custom-forged, the grip inlaid with runes that glowed faintly when touched. Across the steel: "For the blood of the pack that endures." His gaze caught mine, wolf to wolf, and in the weight of that weapon passed something unspoken, legacy, oath, burden. 'A reminder," I said, my voice low, sharp as the fang I wore at my throat. "That those who matter still bleed together." His grip closed on mine, harder than it had in years. "And the ones who don't?" "They drown," I answered. We toasted with champagne. Crystal clinked like teeth. The air is thick with deceit. A hundred predators sitting at one table pretending they weren't waiting for someone else to bleed first. Then it came. Crack. The first shot split the air. Glass shattered above my father's head. A warning. A call. The second shot struck true. It hit his chest, hard, wet, ripping sound, and the smell of blood hit me like fire. His blood. Vale Happy Rejection My Alpha 1/3 36.5% 6:51 pm blood. My father's breath rattled, a cough drowning in crimson, and in that instant, everything inside me ripped apart. I moved before I thought. My wolf tore through my veins, my heels twisting against the marble, my body covering his. The gun was already in my hand, muzzle flashing, bullets barking. "Get him down! Lock the fucking doors!" I roared, voice breaking through the chaos with the command of an alpha in full fury. Chandeliers exploded, raining fire and glass. Screams echoed. The pack dissolved into panic. Damien was suddenly at my side, his hand dragging me aside just as another shot grazed my arm, burning, tearing flesh. My teeth clenched against the pain. The wolf inside me howled for blood. "Stay down!" he snarled, his eyes blazing, scanning windows, shadows, ghosts. "I don't stay down," I spat, shoving him toward my father. "Get him to the panic room. Now." My father was bleeding, trembling, half-conscious, still, he clutched the pistol I had given him like it was the tether between this world and the next. "Ram! Edrick!" I roared. My brothers materialized like wolves born from smoke, their scents sharp, their eyes glowing. "Find the bastard. Alive if you can. Dead if it's faster." One nod, and they were gone, shadows with teeth. Damien and I dragged my father down the corridor. His weight is heavy, breath faltering. My sill dress was shredded with blood, my own and his. The silk was nothing. A mask. This was who truly was, bloodied, snarling, unbowed. We slammed the panic room doors behind us, steel sealing the outside world away. Silence pressed down, suffocating. I pressed my hands to his wound, heat and blood soaking through my fingers. Damien examined quickly, whispered, "He's lucky. It didn't pierce the heart." "He's not lucky," I growled. "He's just too damn stubborn to die on his birthday." The guards stood like statues, waiting. Watching. Fear in their eyes. Not of the attack, of me. "They think we're weak," I said, my voice steady though my hands shook. "They think we're broken. That we ran." Blood dripped from my wrist. My pulse thundered in my ears. I stood tall, straightened my hair smeared the blood on my lips like warpaint. "They think we're shadows of what we were." I let the growl curl under my words, let them see the beast in me as my eyes glowed gold. "Let's show them what ghosts become." Damien met my gaze, voice low, grim. "This was Alpha Shawn." I did not hesitate. "No doubt." We turned to the monitors-glass, roses, bodies littering the marble, wolves and humans both broken in the crossfire. Chapter 20 212 6:51 pm "They think this is over," I whispered, every syllable dripping like venom. Damien leaned closer. "What do you want to do?" I smiled-slow, dangerous, like a blade sliding free of its sheath. "We remind them what I am." "What's that?" I bared my teeth, and for a moment, my canines lengthened, flashing under the sterile light. "I'm the daughter of Alpha King Magnus Vale. I'm the wolf they couldn't cage. The woman they couldn't kill. And now, "I tilted my head, the smile feral. "Now I am the storm that eats dynasties." And I meant it. Hospitals reek of bleach and endings. Not death itself-that smells of copper and earth-but the silence before it, sterile and empty. I sat in it, blood stiff on my silk dress, my ribs smeared with my father's. No one came close. Not nurses. Not guards. Even the pack hushed as I passed. Heiress. Wolf. Ghost. Whatever name they gave me, I had earned it. The lights burned too white. Too clean. My father lay inside, chest torn open, surgeons playing gods with steel hands, while the world dared to keep spinning. Then I smelled it, oil, leather, sweat. A shadow's calling card. A phone slid across the floor. Black. Scarred. Anonymous. I picked it up without pause. One swipe, and the video began. Alpha Shawn. Laughing. In a high-rise above Milan. A glass was raised. Mark beside him, smirking like the cub of a traitor. "Let her bury her father," Alpha Shawn said, swirling wine, his teeth catching the light. "We'll burr the rest after." The phone cracked under my grip as easily as bone. Pieces fell to the floor, jagged, useless. A nurse stepped in just then, voice trembling. "Ma'am... you're bleeding. You need stitches." I turned to her, letting her see my eyes, gold burning under the cheap fluorescent light. She froze, pale and wide-eyed, trembling like prey caught in a clearing. I wiped my bloody palm against the curtain, leaving a crimson streak. "He needs a war," I said flatly. Not stitches. Not pity. Not waiting. War. Chapter 20 3/3 37.7% 5:52 pm