Vera arrived at the pack house three days after I returned, carrying a medical bag and a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Follow-up," she said when Zyon opened the door. Her voice was perfectly professional. "I need to check Anika's vitals and adjust her treatment plan."
Zyon stepped aside immediately, his concern flooding his face like he'd rehearsed it. "Of course. She's upstairs."
Vera climbed the stairs to the guest room where I'd been sleeping. I closed the door behind her and watched as she set the medical bag on the bed and opened it. Inside, beneath a layer of legitimate medical supplies, were six small devices no bigger than shirt buttons.
"Lycan Court tech," she said quietly. "Eliam had them delivered this morning. Untraceable. Voice-activated. They'll capture everything within a fifteen-foot radius."
I stared at the devices. They looked harmless. Ordinary. But I knew what they represented—the beginning of the end for Zyon and Margo.
"Where do they go?" I asked.
Vera pulled out a hand-drawn floor plan of the pack house. "One in your old bedroom. One in Zyon's study. One near the rear entrance Margo uses. One in the living room. Two backups in case we need to move them."
She worked quickly, her hands steady and precise. I kept watch at the door, listening for Zyon's footsteps. My wolf was restless again, pacing inside me, her energy bleeding into my chest. Sable didn't trust this house anymore. Neither did I.
Vera finished in under twenty minutes. She packed the medical bag, checked my blood pressure for appearance's sake, and made a show of adjusting my prescription dosage. When she left, Zyon was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
"How is she?" he asked.
Vera's expression remained neutral. "Improving. But she needs rest and minimal stress. I'll check in again next week."
Zyon nodded, his hand going to the back of his neck. Just for a second.
I watched from the top of the stairs. My thumb pressed against my wrist.
---
The devices went active that night.
I sat in the guest room with my laptop open, the surveillance feed streaming through an encrypted connection Damien Cross had set up. The screen was divided into six boxes, each showing a different angle of the pack house.
For the first two days, nothing happened. Zyon went to work. I went to work. We moved around each other like polite strangers sharing a house. He asked how I was feeling. I smiled softly and said I was getting better. He kissed my forehead before bed.
Sable snarled every time he touched me.
On the third night, Margo came through the rear entrance.
I wasn't home. I'd told Zyon I was working late on a campaign pitch, which was true—but I'd also driven to a coffee shop near Lycan Court territory and opened the surveillance feed on my phone.
Margo's voice came through first, sharp and confident. "He's asking questions."
Zyon's reply was quieter. "About what?"
"The accounts. He noticed a transfer last month that didn't match the pack budget."
I leaned closer to the screen. My hands were shaking.
"I'll handle it," Zyon said. "I always do."
"You'd better." Margo's tone turned colder. "If this falls apart, you're the one who takes the fall. Not me."
There was a pause. Then Zyon laughed—low and bitter. "Don't worry. Anika's too damaged to notice anything. She's been easy to manage since Europe."
My breath caught.
Margo's voice softened into something almost amused. "The European damage was a gift. She's still flinching during thunderstorms, isn't she?"
Zyon laughed again. "Every single time."
I closed the laptop. My vision blurred. Sable was howling inside me, clawing at the walls I'd built, desperate to shift and tear through the house and rip them both apart.
I didn't move. I just sat there in the coffee shop, pressing my thumb against my wrist until the skin turned white.
Then I forwarded the recording to Eliam.
---
Two weeks later, I had a dossier thick enough to destroy them both.
Transfer amounts. Account numbers. Timestamps. Recorded conversations where Zyon discussed siphoning pack funds and Margo outlined her gaslight strategy with boardroom precision. Damien Cross authenticated everything through the Lycan Court's legal team. Eliam reviewed each piece personally.
I spent my evenings in the guest room, compiling evidence while Zyon slept down the hall. I spent my days at work, performing competence and normalcy while my wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin.
And every few nights, I drove to Eliam's penthouse to review the latest recordings.
That's where I was when it finally broke me.
We were sitting at the glass table, the laptop open between us. Damien had just sent over a new batch of footage—Zyon and Margo in the study, discussing timelines for my exile. Margo's voice was calm and methodical, like she was planning a business acquisition.
"She'll break in another month," Margo said. "Maybe two. Then we push the narrative—unstable, unfit for pack life, better off as a rogue. Aaron won't question it if Zyon sells it right."
Zyon's laugh came through the speakers. "She already flinches when I touch her. It won't take much."
I stopped breathing.
Eliam reached across the table and paused the recording. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark and unreadable. Cain was straining behind the surface—I could see it in the stillness of his posture, the way his hands had gone very still on the table.
"Anika," he said quietly.
I couldn't answer. My sentences had fractured into nothing. I pressed my thumb against my wrist, but it didn't help. My wolf was howling, and beneath the sound was something rawer—grief, rage, shame—all of it tangled together until I couldn't separate one from the other.
Eliam stood. Walked around the table. Pulled me to my feet.
Then he pulled me against his chest.
Not gently. Not tentatively. With absolute certainty.
His scent hit me like a tidal wave. Pine and thunderstorm, sharp and overwhelming, flooding my lungs and sinking into my bones. Sable surged so violently I gasped. My hands fisted in his shirt. My wolf whispered his name—*Eliam*—and the bond blazed between us for the first time in seven years.
Raw. Undeniable. Alive.
I didn't pull away. Neither did he.
We stood there in the center of his penthouse, the surveillance footage paused on the laptop behind us, the city lights glittering through the windows. His arms were solid around me. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear.
And for the first time since Europe, I let myself feel it.
The bond the Moon Goddess had given us. The bond Margo had stolen. The bond that had never truly broken, no matter how many years we'd spent apart.
Eliam's voice was rough when he finally spoke. "We're going to destroy them."
I nodded against his chest. My voice came out barely above a whisper. "I know."
His arms tightened. Just slightly. "And then you're mine."
I closed my eyes. Sable howled in agreement.
I didn't argue.
