Chapter 119
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The driver stood at the mouth of the alley, unmoved by the lingering stench of blood or the echo of broken bones behind him. He lit a cigarette, his eyes cold, his heartbeat steady–as if scenes like this were nothing more than routine.
By the time the cigarette burned down to the filter, the screaming had stopped.
The head of the Silverfang’s security unit approached cautiously, bloodstained and breathless, his hand trembling slightly as he tossed away the bloodied steel rod he’d used.
“It’s done.” he murmured.
The driver nodded once, calmly flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, and ground it beneath his boot.
“Good,” he said, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Then I’ll pretend you never let two traitors from the Ebonclaw Pack into the Matriarch’s birthday gala.”
The security captain forced out a shaky laugh. “Won’t happen again. I’ll double–check every guest list from
now on.”
The driver didn’t smile. He just stared–cold and sharp, like a blade held to the throat.
“You know Lucien Duskgrave hates having loose ends,” he said quietly. “Or letting anyone hold leverage over his bloodline.”
The captain’s face paled instantly. “Y–yes. I’ll erase every recording. Surveillance, street cams, alley feeds- I’ll wipe the blood, too.”
Satisfied, the driver waved him off. “Do it.”
Moments later, two broken bodies were dragged out of the shadows–Alaric and Zara Vale. The so–called patriarch and Luna of the disgraced Ebonclaw Pack. Blood stained the stone beneath them, trailing behind their limp forms like a red river.
The driver watched with a thin smile.
For what you did to Riley Vale–her broken legs, her broken heart–this is only the beginning.
Meanwhile, a luxury wolf–hide–lined car glided toward Mooncrest. Inside sat two women of striking
contrast.
The first wore blood–red silk and carried herself like a queen. Her figure was sensual and her beauty sharp as a blade. Years hadn’t dulled her appeal–instead, she wore age like armor. One glance was enough to mark her as a Luna of influence and wealth.
Beside her sat Scarlett Vale. Her white dress clung delicately to her figure, her dark hair styled into an elegant knot. She radiated a false innocence–like a poisonous flower hiding beneath snowy petals.
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119
She had spent the last month embedded in Northhaven, gathering intel. Her target: Lucien Duskgrave, the Alpha Prince of the Stormridge Pack.
The rumors were wild. That he was cursed. That no woman could please him. That he was dangerous beyond reason.
Scarlett had her doubts.
But the truth was far more complicated–and infinitely more dangerous.
Lucien Duskgrave wasn’t some broken heir. He was divine, in the terrifying way only Alpha royalty could be. Cursed, yes–but not crippled. His fate was tied to an ancient bloodline hex:
Until his fated mate loved him first, he would remain forever unbonded,
It was a cruel twist. One that prevented him from claiming by dominance or lust. Love had to come from the other side first.
Lucien had learned to weaponize the curse.
Long ago, a she–wolf–his childhood friend–spread whispers that he was… lacking. That he was impotent. That no woman survived his bed unscathed.
Lucien didn’t correct the rumors.
He let them spread like wildfire, because for the first time in his life, the obsessive flocks stopped.
But when she crossed a line–when the rumors touched his name too deeply–he ended her.
Within weeks, her family’s empire crumbled. Their ancestral lands were sold. She was cast out of the Northern packs and sent into exile, forced to live among rogues in the eastern desolation.
Last anyone heard, she was living on scraps. Depressed. Forgotten.
And now?
No wolf dared mention her name.
Scarlett licked her lips at the thought. She wasn’t afraid of Lucien. No, she wanted him.
That other she–wolf was a fool.
Lucien didn’t need resistance. He needed submission.
She would be the perfect Luna–not because she’d challenge him, but because she’d give him what he wanted:
Obedience. Softness. Control.
Scarlett smiled, leaning into the leather seat of the car, the wind from the Mooncrest highway whispering
past.
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Lucien Duskgrave was a weapon.
And she?
She planned to sheath him.
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