The forum post went up at three in the morning.
I didn't see it until Andi forwarded it to me with a single word: **Bitch.**
The post was titled *The Truth About Eleanor Bennett's Contract.* It was long. Detailed. And completely fabricated.
According to the anonymous author—who was definitely Lylah, based on the writing style alone—I had used dark herbs to manipulate the mate bond, coerced Greyson's mother into offering the lunar trust under false pretenses, and was now leveraging the Lycan Prince's name the way I'd leveraged Greyson's. The post included vague references to 'sources close to Ironveil' and 'documented evidence' that did not exist.
It had been shared in two small pack networks by dawn.
I read it twice. Set my phone down. Drank my coffee.
Andi called. "We're handling it."
"Don't," I said.
"Too late. Sunny's already drafting."
I sighed. "Andi—"
"She coached Lylah," Andi said. Her voice was cheerful. Gleeful, even. "She handed her a literal playbook. We have screenshots. We have timestamps. We have the handwritten list you gave Lylah with Greyson's scent triggers. This is going to be so satisfying."
"You're going to make it worse."
"We're going to make it accurate," Andi corrected. "There's a difference."
She hung up.
By noon, Sunny's response thread was live. It was titled *A Timeline of Events, For Clarity.* It was meticulous. Devastating. And it never once named Lylah directly—but every informed wolf who read it knew exactly who the 'returning childhood friend' was, who the 'coached replacement candidate' was, and what the 'step-by-step guide to triggering Alpha protective instincts' referred to.
The original post was deleted within two hours. Lylah's reputation took longer to bury.
---
Greyson opened the drawer.
I didn't see it happen. I wasn't there. But I knew he did, because Callum told me later—quietly, carefully, during a neutral-territory meeting I hadn't asked to attend but Jensen had insisted I observe.
"He's not well," Callum said. We were standing outside the conference hall, waiting for the session to start. "The severance is affecting him more than he's admitting."
I looked at Callum. He was Greyson's Beta. Loyal. Diplomatic. And currently looking at me like he was trying to solve a problem he didn't have the tools for.
"That's not my concern," I said.
"I know." Callum's voice was quiet. "But he's standing in hallways. Staring at doors. He opened the drawer where he keeps the pendant he gave you during the contract year."
I felt something twist in my chest. I ignored it.
"Did he take it out?" I asked.
"No. He just looked at it. Then closed the drawer."
I didn't know what to say to that. So I said nothing.
Callum watched me. "He knows he lost you. He just doesn't know how to stop losing you."
"That's not my problem either."
"No," Callum agreed. "It's not."
He walked into the conference hall. I stayed outside for another minute, staring at the closed door, feeling the phantom ache of a bond I'd never wanted in the first place.
Then I followed him inside.
---
The training session was routine. Boring, even.
Jensen had invited two visiting pack Alphas to observe Lycan Court protocols—standard diplomatic procedure, the kind of thing I was supposed to attend as his liaison but didn't actually need to participate in. I stood on the sidelines with a tablet, taking notes I didn't care about, watching wolves run drills I'd seen a hundred times.
One of the visiting Alphas—a man named Garrett from the Northridge Pack—walked past me on his way to the sparring ring. He looked me over. Dismissed me. Kept walking.
"That's the discarded Omega," he said to his companion, loud enough for me to hear. "The one who couldn't hold an Alpha."
His companion laughed.
I didn't react. I'd heard worse.
But my wolf did.
She stirred. Not the faint, curious stirring I'd felt over the past few days. This was different. Hotter. Angrier. Like something that had been compressed for too long and was now expanding too fast.
I felt it in my chest first. Then my hands. Then everywhere.
The heat spread. My bones cracked. Not painfully—just inevitably, like they'd been waiting for permission and had finally received it.
I dropped the tablet.
Jensen turned. His eyes met mine. He didn't look surprised. He looked like he'd been waiting for this.
"Eleanor," he said quietly. "Breathe."
I couldn't.
My wolf erupted.
Silver fur. Twice the size of a normal she-wolf. An aura so powerful it detonated across the training grounds like a shockwave.
Every wolf present dropped to their knees. Including Garrett. Including his companion. Including the two Lycan Court enforcers who'd been running drills.
Jensen didn't drop. He stood perfectly still, watching me.
I looked down at my hands—paws now, silver-furred, claws extended. I felt my wolf's presence like a second heartbeat, strong and furious and finally, finally awake.
Garrett was on the ground, whimpering, his head bowed in instinctive submission.
I walked toward him. Slowly. My wolf's aura pressed down on him like a hand around his throat.
"Say it again," I said. My voice came out rough. Deeper than usual. "Call me an Omega."
Garrett didn't move. Didn't speak.
I stopped in front of him. Looked down. "I'm waiting."
He lifted his head. Met my eyes. And I saw it—the recognition. The fear.
"Alpha," he whispered.
I held his gaze for another moment. Then stepped back.
My wolf receded. Not all the way—she was still there, still present, still awake—but enough that the aura lifted and the wolves on the ground could breathe again.
I looked at Jensen. He was smiling.
"Welcome back," he said quietly.
I looked down at my torn clothes. My shredded shirt. My ruined shoes.
"This outfit cost two hundred dollars," I said.
Jensen laughed. "I'll buy you ten."
I wanted to argue. I didn't have the energy.
My wolf was awake. And she wasn't going back to sleep.
