Mara
I sat on the couch in Lucian’s office, surrounded by the chaos of his father’s files. Most of it made little sense at first glance—an incoherent tangle of failed transactions, bombings, attempted poisonings, illnesses, kidnappings, and written confessions from strangers whose names meant nothing to me.
But one thing was crystal clear: the Nighthorns had endured far too many “incidents” for this to be random.
The patterns weren’t patterns yet, but the frequency alone told the story. Alpha Vander was right—someone had been systematically targeting his bloodline. And this wasn’t about petty revenge or internal family politics.
Only another Alpha would benefit from this. Only someone with the ability to absorb the Mooncrest Key Mark from a legitimate bloodline heir.
This wasn’t sabot
