The mansion was too quiet, too heavy, as if the walls themselves were suffocating.
In the grand hall, Zarya sat curled on a velvet chair like it was a throne, her posture arrogant, chin raised high.
The maids scurried around her, their eyes darting with fear, their lips muttering “Luna” under their breath because she had ordered them to.
She savored it. Every bow, every hushed word of obedience, was fuel to the dark hunger that burned inside her. She wasn’t Luna, not truly...but the mark on her neck, seared there like a brand of possession, made them believe otherwise. That mark was her crown. Her proof.
Alpha Logan’s mother lay in her chamber, pale and weak, her breaths still uneven. She could finally speak now, her voice gravelly, cracked from the venom’s lingering curse, but her bo
