The Alpha was losing control. The Luna was mad. And the true heir—the one who mattered—was gone.
Stories poured through the cracks of the court. A she-wolf with silver eyes. Two boys with her. They said she never looked back. They said the Alpha chased a ghost. Warriors began questioning his orders. Betas whispered behind his back.
“Why are we still following him?” one muttered near the stables. “His mate is a nightmare. The real Luna left and took the future with her.”
Ronan heard the unrest. He felt it everywhere—in the hesitation before a scout responded, in the cold stares of his once-loyal warriors. But he kept moving. Planning. Sending his trackers farther with every mission.
Inside the war chamber, he leaned over the table with three scouts around him. His voice was low, urgent.
“Go south,” he ordered. “Take the canyon path. No symbols. No sound. I want reports within the week.”
A young scout hesitated. “South, Alpha? You think she’s there?”
Ronan didn’t look up. “I know she is.”
From behind the half-closed door, Seraphine froze. She had heard every word. Her breath hitched as anger surged through her. She stepped into the room with a calm expression that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Going again?” she asked, voice sweet with venom.
Ronan turned slowly. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“No,” she agreed, eyes narrowing. “But you’ll need your blood.”
Before he could react, she slashed his arm with a dagger drawn from her sleeve. Blood hit the map like spilled ink. Ronan grunted in pain, staggering back.
“If you leave again for her,” Seraphine hissed, “I’ll kill them myself.”
For one long second, silence froze the room. The guards flinched.
Ronan lunged. He grabbed Seraphine by the throat and shoved her back against the stone wall. Her feet left the ground. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t struggle.
“You ever say that again,” he growled, “and I’ll rip the breath from your lungs.”
Her lips curled. “Do it.”
His grip tightened. The guards stepped forward. He looked at them—then back at her—and let go. Seraphine dropped to the floor coughing, but laughing too.
“Coward,” she spat. He left without a word.
The guards didn’t speak of what they’d seen—but word still spread. By morning, the kitchen staff whispered about blood on the war map. By noon, the stables knew Seraphine had been choked by the Alpha himself. By dusk, the council had summoned each other to emergency talks.
Ronan paced his chambers like a wolf trapped in a cage. His wound burned, but not as much as his pride. Everything was slipping. His name. His command. His bloodline. And yet… it was her name they whispered. Not Seraphine’s. Mira’s.
A knock interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
“Come,” he barked. One of his commanders stepped in, uneasy.
“Alpha, the eastern guard refuses to move without Beta support. They said they won’t risk their lives when the house itself bleeds confusion.”
Ronan’s voice was cold. “Then remove them from rotation.”
“They’re not alone,” the commander warned. “Others are waiting to see what happens next.”
“They’ll see soon enough.”
After the commander left, Ronan sat in silence. He thought of the scarf. The boys. The power Mira carried even when silent. He thought of her walking away from him, carrying everything he never deserved.
When Lady Virella returned that evening, he didn’t greet her. She found him seated by the cold hearth.
“You’ve done nothing,” she said flatly. He didn’t deny it. “You’re bleeding out one order at a time. The warriors talk. The betas won’t act. The scouts lie to your face.”
“They don’t lie,” he murmured. “They’re just afraid.”
She stared at him. “And you’re not?”
His eyes flicked up. “I am. But not of them.”
She waited. “I’m afraid she won’t come back.”
“She won’t,” Virella replied. “Not unless you go to her. Not unless you show her you’re worth the blood she carries.”
Ronan closed his eyes. “And if she still hates me?”
“Then let her. But bring her home anyway.” She turned to leave. Then paused at the door.
“Last warning,” she said without emotion. “Either bring back your Luna and your heirs—or die with your pride.”