"Alright. We need to move if we're going to make the convoy before moonrise. Let's go."
Agata Greyhollow dropped the last of the bags at my feet with the brisk efficiency of an Alpha handing cargo off to an omega drudge. "Iris, you'll handle the pack's effects. You're taking the ground transport, so it will be easier for you to manage everything. This way, we won't have to fight the weight limits on the storm-hawk."
I looked at the eight enormous cases lined up before me. Each one weighed at least fifty pounds. Designer leather, brass-cornered, stamped with the Greyhollow crest. The combined weight of an entire pack's wardrobe and personal effects, entrusted to the one member of the den they considered least worthy of the name she'd been forced to carry.
I smiled. "Of course. You all go ahead. I'll catch up."
The moment the den gate sealed behind them and the last of Agata's withered lavender and bitter herbs faded from the foyer, I lifted my crystal communicator and called a disposal service.
When the workers arrived, the lead man surveyed the line of cases with raised eyebrows. "You sure about this, ma'am? These are in perfect condition. What's inside?"
"Clothes. Den goods. Nothing of real value." I kept my voice indifferent, as though I were discussing the turning of the moon rather than setting a match to the Greyhollow pack's belongings. "If you find anything useful, keep it. Otherwise, feel free to discard the lot."
I paid the disposal fee in gold moons. They loaded all eight cases into the back of their hauler and drove off. I stood in the empty foyer, my wolf quiet and watchful beneath my skin, and watched until the vehicle disappeared around the bend of the estate's long gravel drive.
Then I made two more calls.
The first was to a severance counselor. A rogue advocate who specialized in the kind of bond dissolution that powerful packs preferred to handle in the dark. I gave him the details and told him to draft the rejection terms at once.
The second call booked a private passage on the overnight route. First-class sleeper. One berth. Just mine.
I had barely settled into the narrow compartment, the rhythm of the rails humming beneath me like a second pulse, when my communicator lit up with Lena's name.
I answered on the fourth ring.
"Iris, the lodge can't find our booking. They have no record of any reservation under the Greyhollow name. Send me the confirmation."
I let a beat of silence pass. Then another.
"Oh. I almost forgot to mention." I kept my voice light, almost careless. "I canceled it."
The silence on the other end was absolute. I could picture her standing in some grand lodge hall, surrounded by the pack and her precious Tessa, the communicator pressed to her ear, the blood draining from her face.
Then the storm broke.
"Why would you do that?" Her voice cracked with a rage I'd only ever heard her aim at an enemy across a territory line. "Where are we supposed to den tonight?"
"Wherever you want." I leaned back against the headrest and watched the dark countryside blur past the window.
"Iris, have you lost your mind? Why would you sabotage our reservation?" She was snarling now, every pretense of composure stripped away, and beneath the words I could hear her wolf scrabbling for control she didn't have.
Something cold and clean settled in my chest. Something that might have been freedom, or might have been the first breath before a very long fall.
"Seriously, Lena?" My wolf rose then, slow and certain, and the old Ravenfall steel slid into my voice without my asking it to. "You bring the Thornvale girl on a pack run, parade her in front of everyone like she's the true Luna instead of me, and you still expect your mate to arrange the safe den?" I let the words land one by one, precise as silver rounds. "What would the other packs think if they knew? What would the Council Elders say? That the heir of the Greyhollow line can't even secure his own den for the night without the mate he treats like a den-drudge?"
