I steepled my fingers in front of me, leaning in. The air was taut with a tension that could snap a rope.
Kustav leaned back, as though he were watching his opponent try to undo what he had built—watching him attempt to win.
"I must applaud you, Alpha Kustav." My voice was even as it carried. All whispers were silenced as everyone straightened to listen. "Your ability to make poison sound like medicine has once again proven to be unmatched. But we all know it is not the realm’s survival you seek—it’s control. Your pack has been closed off for years, borders ironclad, dealings opaque, your ’resources’ an enigma the Concord has chosen to leave as is."
"Yet with the little trust that we as a council can put in you, you want us to give you our hope for the realm because she is your blood?"
Kustav’s smile only widened, the charming shield he always wore against every scrutiny. "Are you saying that I have something to hide, High Alpha?" he asked, his tone easy, like we were engaging in a friendly conversation. "In spite of our isolation, the stats and records don’t lie. My resources and Gammas have consistently placed Nightshade Pack in second place on the Concord’s pack rankings. It is not secrecy, High Alpha. It’s efficiency."
"Efficiency," I echoed, leaning back to gauge him like I had done time and time again. "Or opacity. Opacity in matters such as this—where we are discussing the fate of the realm—should trouble everyone here. If your transparency is nonexistent in times of peace, what hope will we have in times of crisis?"
The murmurs that followed were sharp, all directed at Kustav. He could feel his hold on the situation slipping like sand. But knowing him, he would do what dogs do when they are cornered. His jaw tightened, then smoothed over.
"You speak as though I have something to hide," he replied, still diplomatic, but with a faint edge beneath it that betrayed the strike he was winding up for. "Perhaps, High Alpha, we should consider whether you yourself are fit to hold this seat. You dismiss plans not because they are flawed, but because they do not originate from you. The question becomes—what matters more? Your pride... or the survival of the realm?"
It was a threat—subtle to those outside the ring, blatant to those within it. A reminder that his vote, and the votes he could sway, could shift the High Alpha seat out from under me. And we both knew that if I lost that seat, he would claim it... and with it, every path to Lilith.
Kustav’s smile returned, slow and confident. In his mind, the game was already won.
And that was what made him falter—because I do not smile unless my claw is already at someone’s throat.
"Bonds," I said quietly, "are what you claim we need to bring the Marked Hybrid to her Full Moon phase."
The whole table nodded in agreement.
"His reasoning is sound," Oria said.
"Bonds are powerful for us. Even knotting awakens wolves in some omegas. It worked for Eve Stravos of the Obsidian Pack, a realm away. That is the power of a mate bond. A family bond could have the same effect and let her ascend."
"At an even faster rate than precedented. We have the process of ascension down, but now we need a catalyst."
The table rippled with hushed whispers of agreement. The rıghtful source is ⓝovelFire.net
I smiled wider, my eyes never leaving Kustav’s.
His smirk twitched, wary now.
"Then," I continued, my gaze sweeping the chamber, "I will give her a bond stronger than any familial bond."
The door slammed open, nearly breaking off its hinges, my heart launching into my ribs from fright—before I could even see who had intruded.
A hand wrapped around my throat, lifting me up. Fright quickly turned to cold horror as I lowered my gaze.
She was... done up. Slender, tall—the kind of tall that said she drank cucumber water and considered Pilates an Olympic sport. Her makeup was bold: a sharp red lip, sculpted cheekbones you could cut glass with. Her blond hair, almost white, was coiled into some flamboyant, elegant twist that probably had a French name I couldn’t pronounce.
And her face—God, her face—was twisted in disgust so pure it could be bottled and sold as perfume.
Her eyes gleamed red. Not just red—red the way Vladimir’s had been when I’d finally needled him into losing his composure over Kustav.
If I hadn’t been dangling by my neck, I might’ve laughed.
Of course. Held up by a terrifying supermodel. Just my luck. Aunt Agness, if she’d had money, gone platinum blonde, and read above middle-school level.
"A hybrid," she said, each syllable clipped, like she’d filed them to points to pierce me with. "In my home. On my bed."
The words were sharp and acidic, but quiet. Controlled. Which somehow made her infinitely more terrifying.
I clawed at her wrist, legs kicking.
She slammed me against the wall, the thud echoing through the room. I tore free, sucking in a ragged breath...
Only for her to straighten like I’d simply inconvenienced her, eyes narrowing. "Get up," she ordered. "And work."
My head jerked toward her. "Work?"
"In this house," she said, her tone shifting from icy to arctic, "you are the lowest rank. You are a slave."
Before I could ask if she was serious, she grabbed me again—this time by the arm—and dragged me toward the staircase.
I fought her, every instinct screaming to shift, but her aura...
>"I save you, just let me."
>"So I can have my ass handed to me like Kustav did." I doubted I could take her in a maul. She’d rip my spine out of my back. Her strength was shocking, like being yanked along by the tide.
I learnt a long time ago that sometimes, it was just to roll into a ball and let them have a go at you. Fighting back was like punching a barbed wire, you only get more hurt.
The stairs yawned open ahead of me, and I knew exactly what was about to happen. I’d been thrown down stairs before. Once you’ve had the experience, you never mistake the setup—the tilt forward, the sudden empty air, the surety of the pain waiting at the bottom.
She launched me forward, and I braced for the sickening roll, for the snap and crack of bone...
...but instead, strong arms closed around me mid-fall.