Chapter 3

By morning, the news had spread through every pack network on the continent.

I didn't know how—Gideon suspected a servant—but by dawn, the message was everywhere: "Lost Voss Heir Surfaces After 20 Years—Supreme Alpha's Granddaughter Was Living as a Rejected Luna."

My phone, once I checked it, showed 113 missed calls. Forty-nine from Draven.

I ignored every one.

Gideon arranged a meeting with the Alpha Council at noon—the twelve pack leaders who governed the Dominion under the Supreme Alpha's authority. Elder Maren, my grandfather's chief legal advocate, prepped me for an hour.

"Magnus will challenge your claim the moment you sit down," Maren warned. "He's spent twenty years planting loyalists on the Council. Half those Alphas owe him territory, warriors, or blood favors. He'll call you an outsider—weak, unranked, unfit."

"I ran my mate's pack household for three years. I managed his alliances, hosted his rivals, kept his territory running while he spent his nights in another wolf's bed." I met her eyes. "I am not unfit. I've just been invisible."

Maren smiled, thin and sharp. "Hold that energy."

The Council chamber was hewn from mountain stone—a round table of ancient oak, twelve carved seats, torchlight flickering across the walls. Every seat was filled. At the head sat Magnus Voss.

He looked exactly as I'd imagined: broad-shouldered, silver at the temples, wearing authority like a second skin. His smile didn't reach his eyes. Beside him, his son Cade slouched with the bored entitlement of someone who'd never earned a single thing.

When I walked in, every wolf went still. I felt twelve Alpha auras press against me like a tide. Testing. Measuring.

Magnus spoke first. "So. The lost pup returns." He leaned back, studying me. "You must be confused, Sera. This is a war council, not a nursery."

A few Alphas chuckled.

I didn't flinch. I pulled out a chair, sat, and opened the folder Maren had prepared.

"I'm Sera Voss, granddaughter of Alaric Voss and his named successor as Supreme Alpha. I'm here to formally present my claim and call for a full audit of Dominion resources."

Magnus's smile tightened. "Alaric is dying. He hasn't been lucid in a year. Anything he signed is legally void under pack law."

"Then challenge it." I slid the succession decree across the table. "This was witnessed by three independent Elders, sealed by a Moon Judge, and accompanied by a healer's assessment confirming full cognitive capacity two years ago."

His jaw clenched.

"Furthermore," I continued, voice steady, "I've filed for an independent audit of the Dominion's warrior deployments, territory allocations, and resource ledgers for the past five years."

The chamber erupted. Alphas whispered. Cade sat upright for the first time.

"You have no authority!" Magnus's palm slammed the table.

"As named heir and my grandfather's appointed representative, I do." I held up a sealed power-of-authority parchment. "And I know that four hundred warriors were diverted from the Dominion's eastern border to a shadow pack called Iron Fang over the past eighteen months. I know Iron Fang is commanded by your lieutenant. And I know the territory it holds was carved from Dominion land—without Council approval."

Dead silence.

Magnus stared at me. The color drained from his face, then surged back crimson.

"Lies."

"It's in the ledgers." I placed three pages of records on the table—copies from the vault. "Shall I continue? There's more."

He stood, chair scraping stone, and pointed a trembling finger at me. "You walk in here with forged documents—"

"Sit down, Magnus." The voice came from the far end of the table—Alpha Thornton, the oldest and most respected member. His expression was granite. "If these numbers are real, the audit proceeds."

"Then an audit will prove your innocence," I said simply. "Unless you have something to hide."

Magnus grabbed his coat, shot me a look of pure venom, and stormed out. Cade scrambled after him.

One by one, the remaining Alphas turned to me.

"The audit," Thornton said. "Proceed."

I nodded, face calm, pulse roaring.

When I stepped out, my phone buzzed. Draven. A voicemail.

"Sera, what the hell? Voss? Are you insane? Call me. Now."

His voice had changed. Three days ago—cold, dismissive. Now—an edge of panic.

I deleted it.

Gideon fell into step beside me. "Magnus just made three calls. His lawyer. A Council member. And Draven Blackwell."

I stopped. "Draven?"

"Silver Ridge has a pending military alliance with the Dominion. Three hundred warriors and territorial protection. Magnus has been fast-tracking approval."

So that was the connection. My mate hadn't just rejected me. He'd been dealing with the man who tried to have me killed as a child.

"That alliance," I said quietly. "Freeze it."