Sasha slammed her goblet onto the table, the wine sloshing over the rim, staining the wood a deep, bloodred.
“She can’t be serious.”
Reese smirked, leaning back in his chair like this was all some sort of joke. “Oh, she’s serious. And so is the pack, apparently.”
Sasha’s pulse pounded at the words. The pack. That was the worst part. That was what made her stomach curdle.
Because it wasn’t just Leon humoring Celine—it was the whispers in the hallways, the murmurs at training, the way people had looked at her after that nomination.
Like they could see Celine as something more.
Like she could actually win.
Elder Morvin sat at the head of the room, fingers steepled, his face unreadable. “This complicates things.”
Sasha scoffed, ignoring the way her hands trembled as she wiped the spilled wine off her fingers. “No, this ruins everything. She is nothing. A stray. A reject. And now she’s supposed to be a contender for Luna?” She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “It’s ridiculous.”
Ridiculous. That’s what it was.
And yet—Leon hadn’t dismissed her.
He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t scoffed. Hadn’t even looked at Celine like she was a mistake.
Sasha’s jaw tightened. She’d trained. Fought. Bled for this.
And now this girl—this outsider—was being considered.
She had spent years making sure she was always the closest to Leon—standing near him at every gathering, making sure her voice was heard in every strategy meeting.
She had trained until her muscles burned, perfecting her technique so he would notice her in the sparring ring. She had studied the politics of every pack, learned every alliance, memorized every weakness, so that when he became Alpha, she would be his most trusted advisor.
She had changed everything about herself.
Leon liked his women strong. He respected warriors, not daughters groomed to be pretty and silent. So Sasha had made herself indispensable. And he had noticed her.
She wasn’t imagining it—she had caught the flicker of interest when she fought, the way his gaze lingered when she entered a room, the times his hand had rested at the small of her back as he led her through the packhouse.
It had all been leading to this.
And then Celine—Celine, of all people—had appeared, standing there in that ridiculous dress at the banquet, sitting at his side, walking through the halls with that wild, uncertain look in her eyes, and somehow, somehow, she had stolen the moment Sasha had spent years creating.
No.
Not happening.
“She’s weak,” Sasha said flatly, forcing the words past the knot in her throat. “We need to remind her of that.”
Morvin finally spoke, his voice calm, measured. “I doubt we need to do much. She already doubts herself.”
Reese hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “But what if we make it worse?”
Sasha narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”
Reese leaned forward, his usual smirk sharpening. “I watched her at the banquet. She was stiff, uncomfortable. But the second her parents walked in?” He let the sentence hang, his smirk widening.
Sasha stilled
“Ah,” Morvin said, understanding dawning in his expression. “So they are the key.”
“They’re more than the key,” Reese said. “They’re the wrecking ball. Her confidence crumbled when she saw them. Her hands were shaking. She could barely breathe.”
Sasha’s mind whirled.
Celine might have thought she could outrun them. But what if they brought the past straight to her door?
Morvin exhaled slowly, nodding once. “Let’s send them a letter. Immediately.”
A slow, satisfied smile curled on Sasha’s lips. Because Celine might think she had a chance. But by the time they were done, she would wish she had never set foot in this competition at all.