Chapter 4

Mira

The execution square of Duskhaven was a grim, freezing stone pit built to scare people into obedience. Thick gray walls enclosed the space, and high iron balconies overlooked the cold mud where the pack members were forced to gather. Nella and Sarah stood up on one of the balconies wrapped in expensive furs, watching with wide, nervous eyes as the morning panic unfolded below.

Guards dragged me out into the center of the square and forced me down onto my knees against the scarred wooden block. The freezing oak pressed hard against my cheek, smelling of old blood and pine resin. My wrists were tied behind my back with rough rope that dug into my skin, but I didn't look down or cower. I kept my head high, staring straight ahead at Zane.

Zane stood at the base of the scaffold, his face pale and sweating, his chest heaving as he tried to look like an Alpha in control.

“Any last words, traitor?” Zane shouted up from the snow, his voice cracking slightly with panic as he tried to drown out Nella’s frantic screaming from the balcony above.

I turned my head slightly, pressing my cheek against the cold wood, and let out a soft, mocking laugh that only he could hear.

“You built your own grave, Zane,” I whispered. I did rather die here than watch any of you take one more damn thing from me. I spat.

Zane’s face twisted in blind fury. He raised his hand, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the courtyard. “Do it. Sever her head and clear the line.”

The executioner—a hulking brute with a heavy iron broadsword notched and scarred from centuries of pack discipline—stepped forward and gripped the heavy hilt with both hands, raising the massive blade high into the gray winter air. The crowd fell into a suffocating, breathless silence. The blade began its downward descent toward my neck.

I closed my eyes shut my heart pounding with both fear and rage. Right as the cold edge of the steel whistled through the air just inches above my skin, a voice boomed from beyond the heavy iron gates—deep, heavy, and packed with an ancient authority that made the frozen ground tremble beneath our boots.

“Nobody touches my Luna.”

The executioner froze mid-swing, the heavy sword stopping dead in the air. Whispers died instantly in the crowd. Nella’s frantic scolding cut off right in the middle of a word, and Zane whipped his head around toward the entrance, his jaw tight with sudden dread.

The heavy iron gates shuddered once and then slammed wide open.

He walked through.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating a sudden wave of heat that melted the frost around his boots, he moved with the calm, terrifying confidence of a predator entering a pen of sheep. Dark hair brushed the collar of his coat, framing a sharp, handsome face and cold, ruthless lips. But it was his eyes that caught everyone's attention: a bright, burning crimson that flickered with pure power.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I swallowed the lump in my throat as my hand twitched behind me.

His Beta and an advisor walked behind him, but nobody was looking at them. He filled the entire courtyard all on his own.

“It’s the Lycan King…” someone whispered from the back of the crowd, trembling. “It’s King Japel…”

Japel didn't look at the elders watching from above. He didn't even look at the guards who scrambled backward to clear a path. His glowing red eyes locked straight onto me.

Beneath the executioner's blade, a sudden, fierce wave of emotions crashed over me. A profound, stinging disbelief warred with a wild, surging spark of vindication. For two years, I had been told I was nothing—a broken, useless, unranked stray meant to be discarded when my usefulness expired. Yet, looking up at the towering, terrifying figure striding across the courtyard, a deep, resonant chord struck inside my chest.

For the first time since my betrayal, the suffocating darkness in my heart fractured, replaced by an intoxicating, pulsing warmth that whispered I was finally safe, finally seen, and entirely unstoppable.

Without breaking eye contact with me, Japel raised a single, gloved hand toward the scaffold and gave a sharp, imperious flick of his wrist.

“Release her. Now,” Japel commanded, his voice vibrating through the stone.

Before the executioner could even react, an invisible wave of crushing Lycan pressure slammed into him, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling backward off the wooden platform. He caught his balance, ran towards me, and released me.

The moment I was freed, Japel took three long strides through the snow, stepping right onto the wooden scaffold and stopping just inches away from me. Up close, his scent—pine, rain, and clean air—wrapped around me, making me feel grounded for the first time in years.

Zane forced himself to stand straight beside the scaffold, trying to look tough in front of the king. “Lycan King Japel,” Zane said, forcing a tight bow, his hands trembling. “To what do we owe this unexpected visit?”

“I am here for my Luna,” Japel said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a heavy weight that echoed off the stone walls.

Zane blinked, trying to hide his panic behind a mask of confusion. “Luna? There must be some mistake, Your Majesty. There is no one here fit for that. This female…” He pointed at me with pure disgust. “…is just a broken, wolfless outcast I’m getting rid of.”

A few pack members chuckled nervously behind him.

“Silence!” Japel roared.

The word dropped like lead. The laughter vanished instantly, and two elders flinched.

Nella leaned too far over the balcony railing, desperate to save face. “Your Majesty, she can’t have children! She’s useless! How could a wolfless nobody ever give you an heir?”

Japel slowly turned his head toward her. The raw heat of his anger flared so intensely that Nella gasped, stumbling backward and falling into her seat while her guard caught her.

“Say another word,” Japel said softly, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet square, “and I will rip your tongue out right here.”

He turned back to me. His angry expression melted away, replaced by a deep, quiet focus as he looked down into my face.

“What is your name?” he asked quietly.

“Mira,” I answered, holding his burning red gaze without blinking. “Mira Daven.”

A small, sharp smile touched his lips. “I, Lycan King Japel of Grimstone, claim you, Mira Daven, as my mate and my Queen—in front of this entire pack.”

He reached out and gently touched the inside of my wrist.

The moment his skin met mine, a bright gray-gold mark flared to life over my pulse, glowing with a warm, steady light that cut through the gray shadows of the execution pit.

Zane gasped, taking a step back as he realized what had just happened. “That’s impossible! She doesn't even have a wolf! You can’t mark someone who is wolfless—”

“She was never wolfless,” Japel cut him off, his voice absolute and certain. “You were just too blind and too weak to wake what was inside her.”

Click.

Deep inside my ribs, an old lock snapped open.

My heart hammered against my chest like a drum. A sudden wave of heat flooded my blood, burning through every bone and joint in my body. It hurt—a sharp, wild, intoxicating pain—as my body shifted and locked into something entirely new.

Fangs pushed through my gums, and long claws shot out from my fingertips, scraping deep grooves into the frozen wood of the scaffold as I dropped to one knee, a low growl rumbling in my throat.

Everyone in the square stared in pure shock and horror.

The woman they had called useless, broken, and barren for two years looked up, her eyes glowing a bright, terrifying silver.

And from deep within my chest, a voice that was finally my own tore through the courtyard in a roar that shattered the glass lanterns along the walls.

I was always here.