Rise Of A Shattered Luna

Tiffany's POV

The air in the pack house had always smelled like pine and burning sage, but tonight it was different. It smelled like sweat and desire.

Josh had me pinned against the door, his hand around my throat. Not hurting, but claiming in a way that made my head spin.

“Tiffany,” he growled, voice like thunder under my skin. “You’re mine tonight.”

I didn’t get a word out before his mouth crashed into mine, stealing every thought I had left.

It was our anniversary. The night he’d found me, a frozen, broken thing in the snow. The night the Alpha of the Greycrest Pack brought the defective stray into his den.

His mouth came down on mine, hard and insistent. I kissed him back because it was the only language we had left that didn’t require a wolf to speak.

Then his phone rang.

He snarled, but he answered. I saw the name: Felix. His Beta and best friend.

“Josh, have you lost your damn mind? You—”

“Old Tongue. Now.”

I was not supposed to understand it by ear. But I… I heard it. Always had.

It was why they called me “Crazy.” Why they looked at me with fear, then fury, when they found out I wasn't theirs on my eighteenth birthday. Just a crazy wolfless freak.

My mind, trained and tortured by a lifetime of listening, translated Felix’s words instantly.

“You took Sarah as your true mate? After everything? After Tiffany? Tell me you’re joking.”

Josh’s reply was calm. Horribly, terribly calm. “She’s sick, Felix. The Moon Sickness is in her blood. The healers give her weeks, maybe less. Her last wish was to make the bond official. To give our story a proper end.”

“An end?” Felix sounded like he was choking. “And Tiffany? What is she? The warm body in your bed until your true mate passes? She has nothing, Josh. No wolf, no family. She gave you everything; she pulled you back from the silver sickness when our own healers gave up! What does she get?”

“She won’t know,” Josh said, and the ice in his voice finally reached my heart, freezing it solid. “She can’t understand the Old Tongue. As long as the pack stays silent, she’ll never know. Once Sarah is at peace, I’ll make things right with Tiffany. Everything will be fine.”

A hollow, bitter laugh from Felix. “You really believe she’s sick? Sarah is a lot of things, but dying isn’t one of them. She’s as healthy as a winter wolf.”

“Enough.” Josh’s tone held the finality of a slamming cell door. He ended the call.

The silence that followed was louder than any howl. He turned back to me, his gaze softening, the beautiful gold in his eyes warming to something like affection. He saw my pale face, my wide, unblinking eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his thumb stroking my cheek. The concern was genuine. That was the worst part. It hurt more than any lie. He could lie to Felix, lie to the pack, but in this moment, he wasn’t lying to me. He was worried… worried about the wrong thing— my health, but not my bleeding heart. I wanted to shake him and tell him I knew what he just said, but I just shook my head.

“I… don’t feel well,” I whispered, the truth tasting like the bitter herbs I used for fever.

He frowned, his forehead pressing against mine. “A headache? Do you need anything for that?”

I shook my head, my throat sealed shut. His phone buzzed again on the table—a text this time. He glanced down, and his whole body stiffened. The shift was instantaneous. The lover was gone, replaced by the Alpha, his senses snapping to a threat I couldn’t perceive.

“Rogues. On the southern border,” he said, already pulling his shirt on, the fabric snagging on the rough scars my salves had faded but never erased. “I have to go. Rest. I’ll send Mara to sit with you.”

He was out the door in an instant, leaving me alone in the room that suddenly felt as hollow as my chest.

I waited until his footsteps faded. Then I let the tears fall.

I’d seen the message. It wasn’t pack business.

It was from Sarah.

“Josh, the pain is back. Please come.”

My nails dug into my palms. The sharp sting was the only thing that felt real.

‘She won’t know. She can’t understand.’

He had married her. Bonded with her, Sarah Winters. The real daughter of the Winters Pack. The she-wolf with a spirit as sharp as her claws.

I was left to bleed out on the mountain five years ago because they discovered the truth at my Moon Ceremony.

On my eighteenth birthday, under the full moon, they found out I had no wolf, and I was called “Wolfless. A defect.”

My parents conducted a secret blood test, and it revealed that I was a switch, not their true daughter. Their real heir, Sarah, was brought home—a fierce wolf-born. Her hatred for me was instant.

My life was erased. My room, my place, all given to her. Then the punishments began— the airless root cellar that became my new room and the silver-tipped whip that burned my skin enough to tear but not kill me, while my adoptive parents simply closed the door and turned up the music.

After a year, I ran. Filled with scars of silver that weakened me, I fled into the winter forest and collapsed in the snow near the Greycrest border, my blood staining it pink.

That’s when he found me.

Josh Greycrest, the alpha of the Greycrest Pack. He didn’t see a monster... He saw a scarred woman who needed help, and it was only later we found out who I was. The Last True Transcriber.

While other packs had scholars who studied the Old Script, guessing at meanings, I… I heard its true voice. My transcriptions were flawless, terrifyingly accurate.

For five years, I loved him with every silent, human beat of my heart. I nursed him through a silver poisoning so severe the healers said he’d never walk again. I used the only currency I had—my knowledge of medicine, my stubbornness—to find a cure, bargaining with a rogue healer they called the Witch Doctor.

The price was high. A piece of me I could never get back. But I paid it anyway without feeling any regrets until now.

He lived. He thrived. And he promised me, on this night, we would finally be official.

Instead, he bonded with the woman who tried to erase me from existence.

My hand was steady as I picked up my phone. I navigated to the encrypted number I’d been given three moons ago after transcribing a trade agreement with the Ironwood Pack.

Their head archivist had watched me work, her eyes wide. She’d seen me flinch at a whisper no one else could hear, and my pen had corrected a glyph everyone else had misread for generations.

“Ironwood Archives,” a calm voice answered.

“This is Tiffany Winters,” I said, my voice clear, devoid of the usual tremor. “I accept the position of Lead Transcriber and Archival Healer. I require immediate sanctuary and a contract of sole discretion.”

A sharp intake of breath. “The Last Transcriber… We have heard about you. Your terms are accepted; we will send an escort.”

Tiffany's POV

I called Renee back. My hands weren’t shaking, which was a small miracle, and my voice was cold, devoid of hope and heartbreak.

“It’s done. I’m leaving.”

A pause stretched across the line. “Tiffany… what happened?” Renee wasn’t just the pack healer I worked with. She was my only friend. She’d stitched up the silver wounds Sarah had given me and later, was the one who listened when I gushed over Josh. She knew almost everything.

I didn’t have the energy for the whole story. “Josh blood-bonded with Sarah… He did it yesterday. He thinks I’m too stupid to know what’s going on because he believes I don’t understand the Old Tongue.”

A sharp breath. “Oh, Tiffany.” She didn’t need more; she’d seen him getting distant, taking more night patrols. “The Ironwood offer is real. Their Alpha, Lysander, is a historian, and he cares about the old ways. You won’t just be a tool there... You might actually have a voice.”

A voice. That was the cruelest joke of my existence. I had the rarest voice of all, the one that could hear the true meaning in ancient texts, yet in this pack, I was expected to be silent. To listen and translate, but never to speak for myself. My value was in my silence.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Just get to the border. I’ll make sure the path from the healer’s lodge is clear. No one will see you leave from here.”

“Alright… thanks Renee… I really appreciate it.”

“Tiffany.” Her voice caught. “I'm going to miss you. This place… it won't be the same without you.”

My throat tightened. I couldn't say it back. Couldn't say I'd miss her too, because that would break me. So I just said, “Take care of yourself, Renee.” And hung up.

***

After the call, the storm finally broke. Rain hammered the windows. The wind screamed, rattling the woodwind charm hanging in the main room.

That charm, I’d made it. During the long nights of Josh’s silver sickness, I’d sat by his bed, whittling. My fingers had carved small shapes from sacred oak twigs—a crescent moon, a running wolf, and a protective knot, with each one being a silent prayer for his life. When he finally woke, he took them all, strung them on a leather cord, and hung them in the center of the den. ‘So the pack can see the hands that saved me,’ he’d said. ‘So they’d remember.’

Now, the clacking sounded like mocking whispers.

I reached up to rip it down, and my elbow hit a photo frame on the wall. It fell, and glass shattered everywhere as two photos fell out of the frame.

I froze. Two?

I picked them up. The first showed me beside Josh—my favorite blue dress, my hand in his, my stupid, trusting grin. I'd been so happy that day. So sure.

The second made my stomach drop. Sarah and Josh. Her head thrown back like she owned the world. His hand on her shoulder, his face soft in a way I'd never seen—a look meant for an equal. A mate.

The note underneath read in Old Tongue— “Farewell, My First Howl.” Dated the night after his recovery. The same night he'd come to me with a moonflower and asked me to be his.

My hands were cold. Every good memory turned to dust.

I yanked the chime down. The wood charms scattered. I didn't care about the time and effort I had put into it. It meant nothing to me now.

My phone buzzed. Renee had forwarded the official Ironwood invitation—a digital scroll with their mountain-and-moon seal.

I grabbed my papers and went out into the rain to the Pack Council outpost.

The clerk was an old wolf, half-blind. He took my papers.

“Transcriber Winters. Sanctioned passage is logged. Ironwood escort meets you at the border stone at dawn in three days.”

“Thank you.”

As I stepped back into the rain, my phone rang. Josh.

“Rogue scent on the western ridge. I’ll be out with the patrol all night. So don't wait up.”

He hung up.

A message popped up. From Sarah.

Two videos.

First video— Sarah and Josh under the sacred oak. They cut their palms and pressed them together—the blood-bond ceremony. Dated yesterday.

Second video— Josh tying a leather cord around Sarah’s neck. On it hung a small, carved stone wolf—the exact design I’d sketched for my own mate-bond charm. He was giving her my design. My secret. Timestamp: five minutes before he called me.

Of course he wasn’t coming home.

It was his bonding night.

A cold, hollow sound escaped me.

Then a voice message from Sarah played: “Josh is my true mate now. Stay away. If you don’t, you’ll regret it. And it won’t be like last time in the cellar.”

I didn’t hesitate. I typed back:

“Don’t worry. You can have him. I'm not the stand-in.” I blocked her.

The moment he chose her, it was over.

In three days, I’d be gone. And I would finally be free.

***

I took the long way back. Near the storage sheds, I grabbed three empty boxes.

Back in the pack house, I filled them with everything that smelled like him or reminded me of him. Gifts, clothes, even the wood charms. I dragged them to the trash pit and pushed them in.

Only the valuable things were left—a ceremonial silver dagger and a heavy gold torque. I’d return them.

By midnight, I was done. Too tired to feel. I washed and fell asleep.

The next morning, I took the valuables to the pack vaults. I rented a locker, put the stuff inside, and told the keeper to give the key to Josh in three days.

Back at the den, I started packing my real things—my notebooks, my inks, and the old documents I was still working on.

The door opened.

Josh walked in, smelling like rain, pine, and something I couldn't put my finger on.

He tossed his wet cloak over a chair. His eyes landed on my open bag—then swept the room. I saw his jaw tighten. The wall where the chime had hung. The bare shelf where my clothes used to be. The empty hooks by the door.

“Tiffany.” His voice had shifted—cautious now. “What did you throw out?”

“Old things.” I kept my voice flat.

He stared at me for a long moment. I could almost see him deciding whether to push. Then his phone buzzed—Sarah, no doubt—and the moment passed. “Alright. If you need anything new, let me know.”

“The Conclave is tomorrow,” he said. “The Alphas are meeting to finally sign the Accord. You should come.”

I froze.

I’d been transcribing the Accord for six months. The whispers in that parchment were tangled and angry, and I was the only one who could smooth them out. But he’d never taken me to a Conclave. No one knew the pack’s famous Transcriber, the mysterious “keeper,” was me—a wolfless woman. My work was always presented by him.

This invitation was probably him feeling guilty. A bone thrown to a dog.

“Okay,” I said, my voice flat.

Before I left for good, I’d take back my name.

My phone buzzed on the table.

An unknown number, which meant that it was out of this territory.

Josh’s head snapped toward it. His nostrils flared.

“Why,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, “is an outsider calling you?”

Tiffany's POV

I froze when I saw the caller ID; my stomach twisted into a knot.

It was the Witch Doctor.

Why was he calling? Our business ended five years ago. I’d paid my price—a rib, carved out from under my heart to save Josh’s life. The deal was done; we were supposed to be done. We shouldn't have any contact.

My hand immediately went to my side, to the spot where the ghost of that rib still ached when it rained, when I was tired, and when I remembered.

I hit ‘decline’ fast. “Spam,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Probably a scam.”

Josh glanced over and nodded, buying it. Lately, there’d been warnings about fraud calls trying to get pack secrets. “If scammers have your number, it's not safe. I’ll have Felix get you a new phone tomorrow.”

Before I could answer, his own phone rang. And it wasn't the ringtone he used for pack business; it was from a different phone.

He looked at me, guilt flashing across his face. He fumbled, rejecting the call. “That’s Felix, probably pack business. I’ll take it outside.”

He didn't wait for me to respond; he just hurried out of the room.

My eyes went to my phone on the table; it was still connected to the old comms speaker in the main room. Josh thought it was just for music; he didn’t know it could listen.

I had never spied before. It felt wrong—like I was becoming someone I didn't recognize.

But after hearing that ringtone, I didn't care about 'wrong' anymore. I needed to know. I needed to stop being the fool who trusted.

I opened the app on my phone and turned the volume low.

The screen showed the living room.

There he was, by the window, phone to his ear. He was staring outside, not noticing the charm I made was gone. That made something in me break more.

His voice was soft and gentle. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Sarah’s voice came through, sounding sweet and fake. “Josh, you’re the best. Hey… The Alpha Conclave is tomorrow for the treaty signing. Can I come? I heard the Keeper finalized it. It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the Keeper.”

Josh paused. “I’m not—”

“Oh, come on. Don’t lie!” she laughed. “Everyone knows the Keeper’s work is why the pack is so strong now. It has to be you.”

My chest tightened; every document I translated, every long night, every headache… was for him. For the pack. For the man whose life I’d bought with a piece of my own body.

Josh was quiet.

Sarah’s voice went sad. “Josh… I always wanted to learn the Old Tongue. But I never got the chance. And now, with me being sick… Since we’re bonded… Could you let me be the Keeper tomorrow? Just for the day? I want to know what that respect feels like. Before… you know… I’m gone.”

My hand clenched; she wanted to steal my name. My work. The identity I’d earned with pain and silence and a missing rib.

Josh hesitated, glancing toward my room. Then he sighed. “Okay,” he whispered. “Tomorrow. I’ll tell them you’re the Keeper.”

“I love you!” she squealed.

A wave of coldness washed over me.

He knows I’m the Keeper.

He knows.

He knows what I gave up for him. And still, a few sad words from Sarah, and he just gave it away. Like my rib, my pain, and my silence, meant nothing.

This is what his real loyalty looks like.

I cut the connection. I could barely breathe.

If he was going to just hand my life’s work to her…

Fine. I would take it back myself.

I called the Witch Doctor’s number back.

It rang three times.

He answered. His voice was flat and creepy. “You hung up on me. Changed your mind? Want me to stop his healing now? I still have your first rib, you know. It remembers you.”

A chill went through me. I saw it in my head sometimes—my rib, clean and white, on a shelf somewhere in his dark hut. “I don’t care what you do,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Help me tomorrow. I’ll agree to anything after.”

A low laugh. “Five years ago, you traded a rib for a man’s life. You said you’d die for love. What changed?”

“Deal or not?” I hissed. I had nothing else to trade but my future. And right now, that seemed cheap.

“Deal,” he said.

I told him exactly what I needed, and then I hung up.

Josh walked back in, avoiding my gaze. “Tiffany. You can’t come to the Conclave tomorrow.”

I looked up. “Why?”

I looked hard at the man I had loved for five years. The man who was healed because of a piece of me. Something inside me finally broke completely.

Josh finally met my eyes. “The Keeper’s identity is a secret. It’s for safety. Stay here. After tomorrow, I’ll make it up to you.”

He walked out.

My eyes burned. My fists were so tight my nails dug into my skin.

Five years.

My rib—a complete waste to him.

My phone chimed. A message from the Witch Doctor.

It was an official invitation to the Conclave—a high-level one.

Sarah wanted my glory? Let’s see if she could steal it from me when I was standing right there.

I didn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Sarah wearing my name. Josh handing her my life. The Witch Doctor's cold eyes watching me from the dark. I lay on the floor of my room—I couldn't stand the bed I'd shared with him—and stared at the ceiling until dawn bled through the window.

The next morning, I put on my dark grey scholar’s tunic, braided my hair, and went to the Conclave Lodge.

Sarah's smile faltered for just a second. She recovered quickly, tilting her chin up like she was already the Alpha's mate, already the Keeper. But I saw it. That flicker of fear.

I had been a fool.

A cold smile touched my lips as I walked in.

A few heads turned. A wolf-less woman walking into an Alpha Conclave was weird.

Josh turned and saw me. His face went instantly white with shock and anger.

He shoved Sarah away and quickly stormed over, grabbing my wrist hard… That would definitely leave a scar.

“What are you doing here?” he whisper-yelled. “Who told you to come?”

Tiffany's POV

Josh’s grip was a vise, cold and mechanical. He wasn't protecting me; he was suppressing me.

His eyes flicked nervously toward the Great Hall.

"Go home, Tiffany. Now," he hissed.

A low growl rumbled through his chest—a warning he had never used on me in five years.

"This is my ceremony, Alpha," I whispered, stepping into his space until I could smell the sharp tang of his breath. "After five years of spilling ink to write your legacy, don't you think it's time I finally stood in the light?"

His pupils blew wide, the gold of his wolf flashing at the edges of his irises. "Not now. I’ll arrange a formal introduction later. Just go."

The foolish, desperate part of me that still loved him died.

He gave me nothing… no honesty, no apology.

He was already looking past me, checking to see if anyone had noticed the stray at the door.

"You really plan to reveal my identity later?" I asked.

"Stop being unreasonable," he snapped, his thumb hovering over his phone to call security.

He was ready to have me dragged away like garbage.

"I'm not leaving."

My voice cut through the heavy air of the hall like a blade.

I didn't wait for his response.

I slipped out of his grasp and strode to the center, under the chandeliers. I raised my right wrist, making sure the crystal lights caught the glow of the sacred stone wolf charm.

These stones were rare, limited relics I’d tracked down using the Old Texts.

I had spent months carving this specific design, intending to give it to Josh as our mating gift.

Now, Sarah was wearing a cheap imitation.

I gave her a slow, provoking smile.

She stormed forward, shoving my shoulders with enough force to put me to the ground.

“Tiffany! Where did you get that charm? Did you steal it?"

The room went dead silent.

"A wolfless... stealing?" the whispers rippled through the crowd.

"This is mine," I said, my voice steady enough to ring against the vaulted ceiling.

Sarah let out a jagged laugh. "Yours? A broke fraud like you?" She turned to the crowd, playing her part with crocodile tears. "This is the fake daughter our family raised. We kicked her out five years ago because she couldn't keep her hands off things that didn't belong to her. And now it seems she's still the same."

I looked at Josh. He knew the truth.

He had found me shivering in the rain after that "kicking out" and had treated the whip wounds on my back himself.

But when I looked at him now, he looked away.

He surrendered to the lie to protect his status.

"Ms. Winters," I called out, "accusing me of theft because of a past you invented? Do you have any proof I haven't made something of myself?"

“Something of yourself? You're a thief… nothing more,” Sarah sneered. "Everyone knows today's ceremony features the Accord translated by the 'Keeper.' Well – I'm the Keeper. That design is mine. Alpha Josh can confirm it."

The room erupted.

The representatives from the other packs surged forward, looking at Sarah with reverence for a power she didn't possess. I looked only at Josh.

I needed to hear him pull the trigger himself.

"Josh—" Sarah murmured, clutching his arm.

He caved. "Yes," he said, the word sounding like a death knell. "Sarah is the Keeper. She’s been the chief translator for five years."

My heart shattered.

No one knew better than Josh that I had bled for those translations.

No one knew better than Josh that Sarah couldn't read a single letter of the Old Tongue.

Fine.

So be it.

Sarah turned to the guards, her face smug. "You heard the Alpha. She stole it. Security! Strip her and check her for the other relics she’s hidden!"

Two guards slammed me against the cold stone floor.

Air whooshed out of me as my shirt tore open, exposing the silver whip scars that ran from my shoulders to my waist.

The room went dead. I heard someone gasp. Another chair scrape back. Even the Alphas, who'd seen war and blood, went still at the sight of what had been done to me—silver scars, layered and overlapping, years of cruelty carved into skin that was never meant to heal properly.

"Josh," I choked out, my head forced up, eyes locking onto his. "Look at me. Tell this room… swear to the Moon Goddess that Sarah is the one who bled for your name.”

He didn’t answer.

His gaze slipped past my face… and fell to my back.

He stared at them as though he’d been struck, like the sight of them hurt him all over again.

Because he had seen them before.

Five years ago, when he found me broken and barely breathing.

When those same scars had been open wounds.

I remembered him then – on his knees behind me, fingers trembling as he cleaned and wrapped my back layer by layer.

Whispering promises:

"You’re safe now."

"I’ve got you."

"I won’t let you die."

And then suddenly, his entire demeanor changed.

His jaw tightened as his hands curled into fists. And he took a half-step toward me.

But Sarah was faster. She grabbed his arm hard. "Josh... my stomach... it hurts..." she whimpered.

A lie I knew all too well.

Josh froze.

The warmth in his eyes faded into something I had never seen.

He looked at Sarah like she was fragile, breakable – like the truth alone might shatter her.

When he faced me again, my chest tightened.

The man who cared for me was gone.

"Sarah is the Keeper,” he said, his voice flat and clinical.

Tiffany's POV

Sarah’s grin blazed with victory, and before I could stop it, a single tear betrayed me, warm against my cheek.

I hated it. Hated that he could still make me cry after everything. But I let it fall. Let them see. Let them know what they'd done to me.

I had given him everything.

I was a fool… I thought standing here would change something.

I thought… just for a second – he would look at me and remember.

But he didn’t.

And that hurt more than anything they could do to me now.

"Search her," Sarah pressed sweetly. “Make sure she didn’t hide anything.”

Josh didn’t look at me. "Take her away."

I laughed—a broken sound that scraped out of my throat.

"Why?" I asked, forcing myself upright despite the pain. "Afraid of witnesses?"

The guards hesitated.

Good.

I stayed where I was – already exposed, already stripped of everything that mattered.

There was nothing left for them to take.

Whispers spread through the hall.

Different now.

“Those scars…”

“Those aren’t rogue wounds…”

The realization rippled outward.

One of the older messengers leaned forward, his brows drawn tight as his gaze traced the lines across my back.

“That’s not recent,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s years of damage…”

Years? Yes.

Some younger pack members covered their mouths, trying to hide the horror etched on their faces.

A few older ones shook their heads slowly, muttering curses under their breaths:

"Who… did this to her?"

"Why hasn't anyone stopped it?”

Sarah’s composure flickered but only for a second.

“Don’t be fooled!” she snapped. “She’s putting on a show—”

She spoke quicker now… Too quick.

“She probably got those in some back-alley fight after we kicked her out… she’s a thief, a liar—”

Her words stumbled over each other.

She turned abruptly, grabbing Josh’s arm.

She was losing control, and she knew it.

Her eyes wide and pleading. "Josh, please. She's ruining your signing. Make them take her away."

Josh froze, stone still, eyes bloodshot. His head dropped, eyes fixed on the floor.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, then loosened, then tightened again like he couldn’t decide what to do with them.

"Get her out of here," he commanded, his voice barely a whisper. "Drag her if you have to."

"There is no need for such violence," a calm voice interrupted.

I knew that voice. I'd know it anywhere—the same voice that had whispered "Eat quickly, little one" through the cracks in the cellar door. Arthur.

The crowd moved aside.

Arthur, the family butler, stepped forward. He was the only person in that house who was ever kind to me; he used to sneak me bread when I was locked away.

He carried a silver tray with a glass of red wine.

"A toast," Arthur said, his voice carrying a strange, resonant weight. "To the 'Keeper' of the Greycrest Pack."

Sarah straightened immediately, pride rushing back into her posture like she had been handed a crown.

“A celebration,” he continued, his gaze steady, “of her… absolute honesty.”

For the briefest second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

Then it was gone.

Sarah didn’t notice.

"Finally, someone with some sense," she sneered, looking down at me with pure loathing. She lifted the glass to the room. "To the truth!"

She drained the glass in a single, greedy gulp.

I felt a cold peace settle over me as I watched the wine disappear down her throat.

Josh watched her, too.

Her parents looked smug and happy.

Arthur didn't look at his masters.

He looked at the gathered Alphas; his voice turned very cold.

"I should inform the Council," Arthur said. "That wine contained a truth serum. It is an extract from the Old Texts. No one can resist it. Not even an Alpha.”

Sarah froze.

The empty glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the stone.

Josh’s head snapped toward the butler. His calm expression fell apart, replaced by a sudden, dreadful realization as he looked from the shards to Sarah’s glassy eyes.

She stood rigid, pupils glazed, hollow. Mindless. Her mouth hung slightly open, and I watched the fight drain out of her—the scheming, the manipulation, all of it stripped away until there was nothing left but the truth she'd tried so hard to bury. I stayed on my knees, watching her crumble.

Satisfaction twisted in my chest—every lie, every mask, unraveling before the most powerful wolves in the territory.

A few messengers gasped; some shifted uneasily, their eyes wide as they watched her lose control.

Beside her, her parents were frozen in panic.

"What... what did you do?!" Damon, my adoptive father, roared. His voice cracked as he stepped toward Arthur.

I flinched at the sound, a reflex born of eighteen years of seeking his approval, only to be cast aside as a tool, as trash.

Arthur didn’t flinch. "I let the truth be heard, Alpha Damon." Then he turned to Sarah, eyes cold.

"Miss Sarah, tell the Alpha. Tell him about the marks on Tiffany’s back.”