Third Person’s POV
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Damian’s wolf refused to swallow the bitter pill of reality. He kept his neck stiff, barking back in denial.
“Impossible! I don’t care if Adide has seen some action on the battlefield–no matter how good her technique is, there’s no way she takes down one of our top melee masters!”
“The facts don’t care about your feelings! Milo was hauled off like a stray dog! That ‘master‘ of yours let politics and greed rot his predator instincts. His hunger for power capped his potential a long time ago.”
“Adide was forged in the most brutal death–drills since she was a pup. Do you pampered politicians even have a clue what kind of hell that is?”
Damian just let out a dismissive snort.
Even with the physical proof–Milo being shredded by her whip–his arrogance wouldn’t let
im believe a she–wolf could pack that much punch.
f it had been Lance who did that to Milo, Damian wouldn’t have said a word.
“She’s a kid. How sharp can her fangs really be?”
Bobby chimed in beside him. He was just as convinced that in a raw contest of physical power, a she–wolf stood zero chance against a man like Milo.
Helia stopped arguing. These males would never understand that for a woman to reach Adide’s rank, her strength had to be terrifying.
If herbat wasn’t lethal, why would those hardened, ego–driven soldiers bow to her?
How could shemand the Ironthorn Legion? Her glory wasn’t handed to her; it was built on a mountain of enemy skulls.
She waved a hand, looking exhausted.
“Call in all the high–ranking wolves in the delegation. Since you’ve turned tonight into a disaster, we’re overhauling our entire strategy for tomorrow.”
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Damian snapped, his wolf eyes burning with a mix of frustration and rage..
“No way! I’d rather rip up the treaty and go to war at the border!”
Helia ignored him and turned to her omega maid. “Go. Bring them here.”
Tonight was going to be a long, sleepless nightmare for all of them.
Inside the Silverlight pack Estate.
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The back gate was deathly silent. Alpha Howell stood by the window, his brow furrowed deep.
His wolf was pacing restlessly in his chest. With a heavy sigh, he turned to the few trusted pack members he’d summoned into his dim study.
“Get me amoner’s disguise. Now,” Howell said, his eyes cold and final.
“The capital is a cage. We’re moving out before dawn. You’re escorting me straight to Hudson City.”
Understood!” the wolves replied, bowing low.
ell had spent years training in secret; they’d never set foot on Silverlight
ny, but as bodyguards for a getaway, they were perfect.
is real power yers, most of them had been wiped out during the Madison treason
A cruel glint shed in Howell’s eyes.
“Open the vault. Every gold coin, every gem, every high–grade potion–load it all. Leave nothing.”
“Moon Goddess! My Alpha…” one wolf hesitated, whispering, “You’re leaving nothing for Luna Skye?”
For years, to keep up the “poor rtion” act in front of Lycan Erasmus, Skye hadn’t owned a single piece of decent magical jewelry or a fancy gown.
The entire pack’s budget had been stripped to the bone.
As for his valuable propert case he needed to ru
Newell had secretly liquidated them for cash long ago, just in
11:36 Tue, <b>Apr </b><b>7 </b><b>T </b>
“Leave her what?”
Howell scoffed, showing zero pity for his mate.
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“She’s a Luna. The royals pay her a monthly stipend. Plus, she’s got a small plot ofnd in her name. It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep her alive in this empty house.”
Howell clenched his fist.
He had big ambitions, and those required a sea of cash.
“My heir is already settled in Hudson City. We’ll need to recruit talent once we get there, and we’re going to need every cent! Go, search the ce. If there’s a valuable antique left in this building, rip it out and pack it!”
“Alpha Howell, shouldn’t we wait a bit longer? What if… the assassination worked?”
“It didn’t! The Western Tribe n is a total bust!” Howell growled through gritted teeth.
It had been over an hour since the Royal Banquet ended.
The Westerners‘ best fighter and a dozen elite killers had gonepletely silent.
He wasn’t worried about the assassins talking–dead men tell no tales–but he was praying that arrogant idiot Milo hadn’t fallen into Lance’s hands alive.
On the eve of the peace talks, the air in the capital was thick with the smell of blood and betrayal.
In the Ministry of Justice, the interrogation tools didn’t stop for a second.
And in the deepest hole of the Royal Tribunal, Velda–her mind finally shattered–was on her knees on the cold stone, howling like a wounded animal, begging for onest look at Ulrik.
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<strong>Olivia Harris</strong> is an emerging author celebrated for her captivating romantic and steamy novels. With a talent for crafting deep emotional connections and fiery chemistry between her characters, Olivia’s stories offer readers an escape into worlds filled with passion, intrigue, and heart-stopping drama.