Alessandra POV
Cressie placed the heavy mahogany box on the desk, her hands still trembling. The Silvermoon crest carved into the lid gleamed under the ambient light. I traced the familiar wood, unlatching it to reveal a brittle parchment sealed with dried, blackened blood.
The Blood Oath.
The moment my fingertips brushed the rough paper, the suffocating reality of the Luna's suite vanished. I was a wolfless pup again, dragged back into the damp, oppressive dark of the Vaughn Packhouse.
The memory tasted like ash. The air in that dying room had been thick with medicinal herbs and my stepmother Evelyn’s cloying scent—honey and rotting flowers. It was a malicious odor that fought to smother my mother’s fading aura of moonlight and white roses. Evelyn had despised my White Wolf bloodline, viewing my wolfless state as a stain. Her ultimate, vicious plan had been to sell me to a sadistic, aging Rogue Alpha known for collecting "special toys."
To save me from a fate worse than death, my mother, Sofia Vance, played her final gambit.
I remembered the young, ambitious warrior standing by her deathbed: Angelo Stone. I remembered the silver ritual dagger slicing their palms, their blood mingling as they clasped hands. My mother bought his Alpha title with half the Silvermoon fortune, extracting a sacred vow of eternal protection.
I blinked, the cold reality of the present snapping back. The room still held the ghost of Angelo’s sour, fear-laced musk and Cecelia’s artificial rose and vanilla perfume, polluting my own scent of winter frost and night jasmine. Angelo hadn't just broken a mate-bond; he had spat on a dying White Wolf's ultimate sacrifice. The last shred of grief in my chest hardened into a blade of pure, glacial vengeance.
"Look at this, Cressie," I murmured, pulling a thick, leather-bound ledger from beneath the parchment.
I flipped the heavy pages. Every line was a testament to their greed. The Stone Pack’s joint accounts were bled dry. Angelo’s father had drained millions to cover reparations from a botched border war. His siblings had siphoned the rest for their lavish lifestyles.
But the final entry made my blood run to absolute ice.
*Twenty thousand dollars.* Embezzled by Angelo himself to purchase a rare painting for Cecelia’s father, a human judge. He had used my mother's blood money—money meant for the Pack's Warriors and pups—to court his mistress.
"Oh, Goddess," Cressie whimpered, her tears spilling over as she saw the negative balances. "They've taken everything. What do we do, Andra?"
I looked at her, a cold, razor-sharp smile curving my lips. "I am not surrendering, Cressie. I am declaring war."
She blinked, wiping her cheeks in confusion.
"They think they've drained the well," I said softly, the dormant authority of my lineage straightening my spine. "But the dowry was only the branches. The roots belong to me."
I closed the ledger with a definitive snap.
"The Sanctuary medical centers across North America, the real estate empire—none of it was ever transferred to the Stone Pack. It remains solely in my name, guarded by my grandfather's most loyal Elder, Lorenzo 'The Owl' Dalton. Angelo and his parasites have been feeding off the scraps, completely blind to the feast."
I stood up, smoothing my skirts. I was going to walk out of this polluted Packhouse and leave Angelo the bankrupt, hollow shell he had created. Let him see how long his new 'Luna' lasted when the gold ran out.
"Pack your things, Cressie. Only what you can carry."
Before she could take a single step, three sharp, demanding knocks hammered against the heavy oak door of the suite.
