Chapter 4

Thea Vance didn't look like someone who destroyed wolves for a living.

Mid-forties, graying hair pulled back in a practical braid, wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She could have been a healer. A pack historian. Someone's favorite aunt.

But her eyes told a different story—sharp, watchful. The eyes of a she-wolf who'd spent fifteen years on the Council's investigative unit before they pushed her out for asking the wrong questions about the wrong bloodlines.

Now she asked those questions for clients who could afford her services.

We met at a roadside tavern on neutral territory—sticky wooden booths, whiskey that burned like wolfsbane, the kind of place where nobody looked twice at two females talking quietly in a corner.

I slid the drive across the table. "Everything I have on Damon Blackwood."

Thea pocketed it without looking. "Margot briefed me. Cheating betrothed, Crimson Vale connections, possible conspiracy against his own Alpha." She stirred her drink. "What do you need that you don't already have?"

"The full picture. I need proof that can't be buried by pack politics."

"Proof for who? The Council?" A dry smile. "We both know that's not how our world works."

"Proof for all four packs. For everyone at my mating ceremony in two weeks."

Thea's eyebrows rose. "You're planning to blow this up publicly."

"I'm planning to make sure he can never claim me again."

She studied me, then pulled out a worn leather journal. "I'll need access. Territory records, travel patterns, pack communications."

"I already have access to his study." I thought of Damon's arrogant lack of passwords. "He thinks I'm too submissive to look."

"Good. Males like him always underestimate the females closest to them." She flipped the journal open. "Give me a week."

……

Six days later, Thea called. "We need to meet. Now."

Her voice was tight. Whatever she'd found had rattled her—and Thea Vance didn't rattle easily.

Same tavern. Same booth. But this time, a thick folder waited on the table.

"Your betrothed isn't just cheating," she said. "He's running a shadow operation. Smuggling silver weapons through his mistress's territory—hunter contacts, black market deals, all funneling through shell dens in the mountains."

She spread photographs across the table. Damon and Vivian running together in shifted form. At a hidden cabin. Tangled in furs before a dying fire.

I'd seen similar photos on his computer. But these were timestamped, cross-referenced with territorial movements.

"The trail leads to Crimson Vale," Thea continued. "But here's where it gets interesting."

She pulled out a printed transcript. "I have a contact who pulled this from a Council surveillance they've been sitting on for months."

I read the first line and my blood went cold.

Damon: "The old wolf's getting careless. After the ceremony, we move. Take him out, make it look like Silverpine did it—death of an Alpha tears up the alliance and gives me the seat."

Marcus Cross: "And your mate?"

Damon: "She becomes my insurance. A Thornwood princess mated to the grieving heir? When I point the claw at her bloodline, she'll do anything to prove their innocence—sign over hunting grounds, ports, whatever I demand. And if she refuses? A bonded female can't testify against her mate before the Council."

My fingers curled around the transcript, crumpling the paper.

"He's planning to kill his own father. Frame my pack—"

"Use you as a puppet to hand Crimson Vale everything the Thornwoods have built." Thea's jaw tightened. "This isn't betrayal, Seraphina. This is a coup."

I stared at the transcript. At the casual way he discussed murdering his own Alpha.

"There's more." She pulled out one last document. "Vivian Cross isn't just some she-wolf he picked up—she's Marcus Cross's sister. Crimson Vale's Beta bloodline. Placed deliberately. This has been planned for years."

Years. Before the betrothal. Before the bond blindness lie. Before he ever marked me with his scent.

I was never his true mate. I was always just the prey.

"What do you want to do?" Thea asked quietly.

I gathered everything into my bag. "Copies in multiple caches, different territories. If anything happens to me, it all surfaces automatically."

"And the ceremony?"

"The ceremony happens. But I won't be the one walking away broken."

That night, I called Reid.

"I have everything. Enough to bury him."

A pause. "You're certain about this?"

"I'm sure."

"Then the pack stands behind you."

……

Meanwhile, Thea sent me the latest recordings. Vivian was cracking.

"You're certain nothing will go wrong at the ceremony?" Damon's voice carried an edge I'd rarely heard.

Vivian's response grew heated: "Will you claim me after? When are you planning to reject her bond? Marcus keeps asking—"

"Now isn't the time. Pack politics are more complicated than we anticipated."

In another recording, Vivian was nearly snarling: "You used me! You never planned to break from her!"

Damon's voice turned terrifyingly calm: "Watch yourself. Don't forget who's protecting your hunts. Your brother needs intelligence, not a hysterical she-wolf."

One week before the ceremony, Damon came home with his carefully prepared miracle.

"Seraphina!" He burst into the great room, face alight with wonder. "Something incredible happened! The healers say my bond sense suddenly returned!"

He cupped my face, his wolf pressing against mine—warm, desperate, perfectly performed.

"I can finally feel you again, little wolf." His voice dropped intimate. "I can't wait to announce to all four packs—my mate has come back to me."

I gazed back, letting him perform.

"That's... wonderful," I whispered, letting my eyes glisten. "I've been praying to the Moon Goddess..."

He kissed my forehead, pleased. "I knew you'd wait. My good girl."

That night, I heard him in his study, tone light and casual.

"...Relax, everything's under control. Seraphina's still the same obedient princess... The Thornwoods have no idea... After the ceremony, we proceed as planned..."

I leaned against the shadowed wall, barely breathing.

My heartbeat was slow. Steady. The heartbeat of a she-wolf who had already chosen her kill.

You never understood, Damon. Sensing a bond isn't just about mystical connection.

It's about instincts that run in the blood. Survival skills sharpened through generations. A heart so thoroughly shattered it became utterly still.

You thought you were hunting a lamb.

You didn't realize you'd cornered a wolf.