Rogan, already making arrangements to transfer territory rights and den resources. His voice carrying through a speaking-stone, giving instructions:
"Separate everything tied to my mating bond with Selene—including my holdings in the outer territories. Transfer all of it into Lyra's name. Make the ward-stone bindings seamless. Selene has zero tolerance for deception, so I need to prepare for the worst."
"Understood, Alpha."
"If Selene can accept this situation, admit she was wrong, and make room for Lyra within our den... then fine. She remains my bonded Luna."
"But if she refuses to know her place?"
"Then I'll make certain Selene ends up with nothing—no territory, no tribute, no pack standing."
I stared at that familiar face in the orb's glow.
A chill seeped through me, settling deep in my bones like silver poison.
The Alpha I'd shared a den with for years—the moment I caught him in his scent-betrayal, his first instinct wasn't fear. Wasn't remorse.
It was demanding that I clear his Omega consort's reputation.
So he wanted me to accept his Omega consort into our bond—and then tolerate her presence within our territory.
I laughed. Actually laughed.
But Rogan wasn't wrong about one thing.