I woke up the morning after our fifth anniversary with Nash's scent still clinging to my skin—cedar and rain, the familiar pull that made my wolf hum contentedly beneath my ribs. Five years. Half a decade of building Ironcliff together, of quiet nights and shared victories, of believing that choosing him over my crown was the best decision I'd ever made.
I dressed carefully that morning. A simple sweater, dark jeans, my hair pulled back. Nothing that would draw attention. I'd learned early that being Nash's Luna meant staying in the background, letting his strength shine without my shadow falling across it. I pressed my thumb lightly against the inside of my opposite wrist—a habit I'd developed somewhere in the second year, when the suppression of my Lycan wolf Sable first started feeling like a physical weight. The small pressure helped. It always did.
The drive to the pack house took twenty minutes. I'd made it a thousand times, knew every turn, every pothole. The building rose ahead—stone and timber, expanded twice since Nash took over as Alpha. I'd helped design those expansions, though no one knew it. I'd presented my ideas to Nash as observations, suggestions, gentle questions that let him believe the brilliance was his own.
I parked and walked toward the main entrance. The great hall would be full this time of morning—warriors finishing breakfast, pack members gathering before heading out for patrol or work. I usually avoided the crowd, preferring to meet Nash in his office. But today I wanted to see him. Wanted to feel the warmth of yesterday's anniversary still lingering between us.
I pushed open the heavy doors.
The hall went quiet.
Not the comfortable quiet of wolves acknowledging their Luna. This was different. Pointed. Several pack members looked away immediately. Others stared with something that looked uncomfortably close to amusement. My stomach tightened.
Then I saw it.
My official Luna portrait hung on the far wall, exactly where it had been mounted three years ago during the formal ceremony. Except now the painted eyes had been gouged into hollow black pits. The mouth was slashed open, dripping with what looked like black paint. Across the gilded frame, someone had scratched the word WEAK in jagged letters that caught the morning light.
The air left my lungs.
I recognized the handwork immediately. Sadie Matthews, Nash's Beta and childhood friend, had a distinctive style—theatrical, deliberate, designed for maximum humiliation. She'd done this. And she'd done it here, in the great hall, where every pack member would see it before I did.
I forced my feet to move. Crossed the hall toward the portrait, aware of every eye tracking my path. Up close, the damage was worse. The paint was still slightly wet. This had been done recently. Maybe even this morning, while I was driving here with anniversary joy still warm in my chest.
"Juliette."
Nash's voice came from behind me. I turned.
He stood at the base of the stairs leading to his office, arms crossed, chin slightly elevated. His Alpha aura filled the space—dominant, commanding, impossible to ignore. Sadie stood two steps behind him, her expression carefully neutral except for the faint curve at the corner of her mouth.
"Nash." I kept my voice steady. "Someone defaced my portrait."
"I can see that." He didn't move.
I waited for him to continue. To express outrage, to demand accountability, to defend his Luna's honor before the assembled pack. The silence stretched.
"This is a deliberate insult," I said quietly. "To me. To your authority. It needs to be addressed."
Sadie shifted slightly. "Oh, come on, Juliette. It was just a joke. You're being way too sensitive."
I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes on Nash. "A joke?"
"Sadie's right." Nash's tone carried an edge I'd heard him use with subordinates who questioned his decisions. Never with me. "You're overreacting. It's harmless banter. The pack needs to blow off steam sometimes."
Something cold slid down my spine. "Harmless?"
"Stop embarrassing me." His voice dropped into that particular register—the Alpha tone, the one that carried compulsion woven into every syllable. It hit like a physical force. My knees wavered. My wolf Sable, suppressed for five years, suddenly surged against the cage I'd built inside my own chest. "Sadie's my Beta. She's been with this pack since we were kids. She's earned her place here. You need to show some respect."
The Alpha tone wrapped around my throat. I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Every instinct screamed to submit, to lower my eyes, to accept his authority.
Around us, pack members watched. Some looked uncomfortable. Most looked satisfied. Rhea Voss, a mid-ranked she-wolf who'd always been one of Sadie's most vocal supporters, whispered something to the warrior beside her. They both smirked.
Nash turned and walked back up the stairs without another word. Sadie followed, but not before catching my eye. The triumph on her face was no longer concealed.
I stood there in the great hall, beneath my own defaced portrait, with the word WEAK burning into my vision.
My thumb found my wrist. Pressed. Hard.
And for the first time in five years, I felt Sable—my Lycan wolf, my birthright, my sovereign power—push back.
