Chapter 21 STELLA'S POV My father, Alpha Magnus Vale, survived. Barely. The bullet had torn into his chest, shredding through flesh that had once carried the weight of a ingdom, but it had not killed him. Machines forced his lungs to rise and fall, tubes carried blood ike borrowed rivers. He looked fragile, almost human. But he was alive, and for now, that was nough. 'et word travels faster among wolves than among men. Pack whispers spread like wildfire amilies pulling back, allies slipping away, rival Alphas scenting weakness in the air. They saic he old lion was gone, that his daughter was only playing soldier while the Vale throne rotted. So I let them believe it. The funeral was staged in shadow, crafted with silver secrecy, every invitation sealed in black vax. A trick of smoke and teeth. I fed the media a sanitized obituary, a careful lie, just long nough to lure the traitors from their dens. hat night I did not wear black. I wore crimson. A gown tailored to bleed with me, a veil of lace ver my face like the ghost they claimed I had become. Beneath the silk, the wolf in me tretched and prowled, her hunger pressed against my ribs. My father was no saint," I told them, my voice echoing through the cathedral, low and lethal. "He vas a storm caged in flesh, a beast no bullet could tame. You didn't bury a lion, you buried a ing who taught me how to roar." heir eyes flickered, fear seeping into their marrow. That was all I needed. Fear meant they emembered what kind of bloodline I came from. hat night, we moved. Damien drove, his hands steady on the wheel, jaw tight with pain from the wounds he still carried. Ten of my strongest wolves followed in armored convoys, each one chosen by me. Their cents filled the night: iron, ash, and the wild tang of blood waiting to spill. The city was too quiet. Too still. We were halfway through the lower district when the street itself betrayed us. The first explosion hit the second car, fire bloomed, and the scent of burning fur and metal looded the air. My ears rang sharp as silver bells. 'Down!" Damien snarled, voice thickened with the growl of his half-shift. Bullets screamed through the windshield, claws of lead raking the glass. The car spun, tires shredding against the asphalt. Gunfire answered in a deafening chorus. 'AMBUSH!" one of the guards roared. His wolf broke through mid-shout, a howl cut short by the second blast. And then I saw them. Alpha Shawn. Walking through smoke like a king from hell, his eyes burning with that unnatural, fevered amber. Beside him stalked Mark, Marga, and Lydia, his brood, his creatures. Not dressed 6:52 pm A as mourners now, but as hunters. Mark's grin was wide, feral. His fangs glinted under the streetlamps. "Told you she'd come wrapped in blood," he crooned. "Didn't I tell you, Ed?" I reached for my gun. Too slow. A shot tore into my shoulder. Fire exploded down my arm. My wolf snarled inside me, furious. and caged. "Damien-!" He turned toward me, eyes already gold, shifting fast, but the bullet slammed into his back before the change could finish. He crumpled beside me, a half-shifted shadow with claws outstretched, gasping. 'RUN-" he rasped, blood bubbling in his throat. His eyes begged what his voice could not finish. Hands grabbed me. Rough. Reeking of wolf and smoke. A bag ripped down over my head, the stench of leather and blood filling my nose. Rope bit my wrists, but not enough to stop the remor of my bones straining toward the shift. Mark's voice slithered close to my ear. 'Don't worry, Ma. We're just gonna talk. Maybe bleed out that fire you carry." snapped, twisted, and sank my teeth into his hand. Copper burst across my tongue. He aughed, deep, delighted. Still got bite. Good. Dad likes 'em angry." They threw me into the back of a car. Slammed the door. didn't cry. Didn't scream. I just marked every scent, every sound. Damien's last breath stil echoed in my skull like a vow I could not break. woke to the sound of water dripping. A cold rhythm against the back of my neck. The air stank of mildew and rusted iron, a cage built for wolves. Chains rattled somewhere in the lark. My wrists burned raw where the zip ties cut deep, soaked with my blood. The gag shoved n my mouth tasted of cloth soured with old sweat and wolfsbane. My wolf growled weakly gainst it, poisoned but not broken. Dim bulbs swung overhead, the light sickly yellow, casting shadows that crawled. And then came footsteps. Heavy. Predatory. Mark stepped into the light first. Boots crunching over broken tile, gun loose in his hand, fangs lashing when he smiled. 'Hey, Ma..." he said, voice too calm, too familiar. "Surprised to see us? Thought you could play duchess in your dead Alpha's throne and forget about your little bastard in the shadows?" He squatted low, amber eyes reflecting the dim light. His scent was rage and abandonment, twisted into something feral. 'I'm your son, remember? The one you left to rot while you bathed in Vale silk. Did you ever think about me, Ma? Or did the bloodline mean more than your own blood?" I stared at him, unmoving. Let the gag hold back the snarl that burned in my throat. Chapter 21 2/3 39.0% 6:52 pm Then Alpha Shawn stepped forward. His wolf pressed close under his skin, the stink of his dominance thick in the air. He wore the same cashmere coat he always wore to funerals arrogance wrapped around him like armor. "You should've stayed in the dark," he murmured, crouching until his face hovered inches from mine. "You were perfect there. My maid. My tame little bitch who knew her place." His breath was hot, choking. "But then you grew teeth. You thought you were more than mine." He spat at my feet, the saliva red with someone else's blood. "You're still my maid," he sneered. "Just dressed in different rags." I counted them in silence. Seven wolves. Not pack. Mercenaries. Their scents told me everything: Balkan war-torn musk, silver-burn scars, Lydia's perfume woven through their collar like leash marks. And Lydia appeared last. She came like she always did, sashaying through blood as if it wer silk. Earrings crusted with dried gore, eyes glittering with mockery. 'Hello, Mother," she purred, switching to Serbian like a blade sliding free. "If only you'd taken u n. Mark and I. We were yours to save. But you didn't, did you? So we made our deal with Dadd nstead. To drag you down the way you left us under." She leaned close enough for me to smell the cloying perfume laced with blood. 'My twins miss you," she whispered with a giggle. "They say, 'Bring Grandma Stella home. W niss her rags and her hollow heart." stayed still. Silent. A wolf coiled in chains. They wanted tears. They wanted to beg. They wanted fear. gave them none. Because silence, in the language of wolves, is the promise of a kill. Chapter 21 3/3 306 5:52 pm