They all whispered the same thing: Aysel burned it because she couldn’t stand the idea of that ancestral home being transferred to Celestine. If she couldn’t have it, no one would.
For the first time, Luna Evelyn saw how cold her youngest daughter’s eyes could be.
Aysel only laughed softly. “So you do know how much it meant to me. Yet you still chose to betray Grandmother’s will.”
Luna Evelyn faltered. “We had our reasons-“
“I don’t care what reasons you had,” Aysel cut her off, her voice sharp as a blade. “Better that it burns to ash than be given to a murderer.”
“Aysel! Watch your tongue!” Luna Evelyn screamed, her tone half fear, half heartbreak. “Your grandmother’s death was an accident! Why can’t you let go of this madness? Celestine is your sister in blood-why would she ever harm her own kin? Don’t let jealousy blind you!”
Aysel’s expression didn’t waver. She knew she had no proof-and they would never believe her anyway.
Luna Evelyn pressed on, desperate. “You know arson is a crime, don’t you? And that house meant so much to Celestine. You’ve already hurt her badly-she was taken to the healer’s ward last night!”
“Oh?” Aysel’s tone turned flat. “Then go ahead. Report me.”
There was silence on the other end. Heavy, suffocating silence. Then came the strained reply, furious and powerless all at once: “You know we can’t. Aysel Vale, what have you become? I don’t even recognize you anymore.”
Of course she couldn’t report her. Aysel knew that well. The burned-down cottage still legally belonged to Luna Evelyn, and to accuse her own daughter of torching an old, near-worthless house would only make the Moonvale Pack a laughingstock among the clans.
The matter would be buried-like everything else they swept under the rug.
Aysel’s voice turned cold. “Then maybe it’s time you meet the real me. From now on, I won’t be the daughter you can leash with guilt and reputation. Push me again, and you’ll see how cruel I can truly be.”
The call ended.
For a long moment, Aysel sat in silence. Then she turned to find the man-the stranger-watching her from the shadows of her small apartment. His golden eyes glinted like those of a predator amused by the chaos before him.
“So,” she said dryly, “you see? Threatening me with a little fire won’t work. Now get out.”
Magnus Sanchez-though she didn’t yet know his name-tilted his head, a faint smirk curving his lips. “So you didn’t save me out of fear. You just couldn’t resist my looks.”
The dark tension broke, absurdly. Aysel blinked, speechless.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re unbearably vain?”
“Now someone has.”
She exhaled sharply. “You heard all that. I’ll have trouble soon. Staying here won’t be peaceful.”
Her meaning was clear-it wasn’t a safe den for him to recover.
He ignored that. “You know,” he said after a pause, voice low and teasing, “sharing family secrets with a stranger isn’t very wise. A lone wolf like me… might find it convenient to kill and bury you right here.”
Aysel rolled her eyes. “If you kill me, I’ll haunt you.”
“I’ve never tasted a she-wolf’s ghost before,” he murmured. “If you’re offering, I don’t mind finding out.”
“You’re insane.”
“Mutual diagnosis,” he said easily.
And just like that, the wounded Alpha stayed.
From the couch, he watched as she stomped off to her room, pretending to be angry-but her steps were light, her tail flicking in irritation more than rage. A smile tugged at his lips.
Showing mercy to a demon only invited it to stay. And Magnus Sanchez had always known how to take advantage of a crack in the door-until he owned the entire room.
By the time the two wolves slept through the day-curtains drawn, scents mingling faintly-the world outside had already erupted in uproar.
The fight with Celestine Ward hadn’t even settled before this new scandal broke. Within the Moonvale estate, chaos reigned.
Alpha Remus slammed a fist onto the table, fury shaking through his old bones. “That girl’s gone too far this time! Burning her grandmother’s cottage-has she lost her mind?”
“She’ll be taught a lesson,” said Fenrir, his eldest son, his tone cold. “Cut off all her accounts. Every card, frozen. Let’s see how she acts when she has no money left to make trouble.”
Alpha Remus grunted in approval, then sighed, glancing toward the infirmary where Celestine lay. “That poor child’s been through enough. When she’s healed, hold a global dance gala for her-make it grand. Let the world see the Ward blood still shines bright.”
“Understood,” Fenrir said quietly, though resentment flickered behind his calm. Every time Aysel made a mess, he was the one left to clean it up.
He picked up his phone. “Freeze all of Aysel Vale’s accounts. Not a single coin transferred to her for the next six moons. And contact a few healers from overseas. Celestine’s body has always been frail-make sure she gets the best treatment.”
His assistant hesitated… wasn’t Miss Aysel’s account frozen years ago-when she left the pack?
Fenrir frowned. He’d forgotten. Somewhere along the line, everyone assumed someone else was supporting her. Even Celestine had claimed she’d given her sister millions out of ‘sisterly love.’
He scoffed under his breath. “Ungrateful as always.”
The assistant didn’t bother reminding him further. Freezing Aysel’s nonexistent cards was a regular family ritual by now. He turned instead to contacting healers-because in his experience, Celestine Ward could leap and spin across a stage one night, then land herself in a healer’s bed the next.
Better to call a few extra. Just in case.
Third Person’s POV
Celestine lay in the healer’s chamber, eyes rimmed with fire-red fury. The Moonvale Pack had been buzzing with concern over her, but none of it mattered now-her dreams had been shattered.
The troupe’s messenger had just delivered the news: because of her injury, she wouldn’t take the Black Swan’s center stage. The role she had spent six months preparing for would go to a replacement. The part she had worked tirelessly to perfect-the lead in the international master’s new choreography-slipped from her claws like prey escaping the hunt.
And all because Aysel had struck first, leaving her legs broken.
Celestine’s wolf, restless even under sedation, surged with rage. How dare Aysel, once the quiet, obedient cub of the Moonvale Pack, now rise with such cunning and vengeance? The idea was unbearable.
She clenched the edge of her bed, stifling the wail she refused to let her pack see. Her pride and stubbornness masked the pain, but every fiber of her being throbbed with betrayal.
Damon noticed the tremor immediately. The Blackwood Alpha’s eyes softened with concern as he approached.
“What is it? Why are you crying?” His hands hovered over her shoulders, attuned to both human and wolfic unease. “Is it the injury? I can summon the healers.”
“No!” Celestine snapped, gripping his wrist. “It’s not that… The troupe just told me that the Black Swan lead has been given to someone else. I… I feel hollow.”
She swallowed hard, forcing a fragile smile that barely hid the ache inside-a mask any Moonvale observer would read as pitiful, but true wolves saw the storm beneath.
Damon’s amber eyes darkened. He knew how much this role meant to her, how every sinew of her soul had been trained for it.
“Aysel acted impulsively,” he said, carefully. “I will make it right. She owes you.”
Celestine’s gaze sharpened, a small edge of wolfish cunning passing over her face. “It’s… alright. I understand. Aysel has always been the grandmother’s favored cub. Claiming her territory was natural. If she truly wanted the little estate, I could let her have it. I don’t want conflict between you and her over me.”
Damon adjusted her pillows, helping her upright, the weight of his presence both protective and reassuring. “Don’t blame yourself. That estate should have a share for you, and you need it now more than she does.”
He hesitated briefly, then added, in a tone meant to settle the pack-born pride: “She owes you this.”
To him, the house was nothing compared to the pain Celestine had endured. Aysel was caught in her own pack-driven obstinacy-everything she desired, she had to dominate. She had never allowed herself to touch what Celestine once played with and discarded, not even once. Now, the estate was no exception.
Even if ownership legally transferred to Celestine, Aysel would likely return, scenting her claim-and Damon could almost see the storm brewing in her wolfish mind. Since the failed pairing, Aysel had avoided him entirely, not even sparing a call. Her silence gnawed at his patience.
He glanced at her silent phone, irritation prickling along his spine.
“She hasn’t answered?” he asked. “Shall I try again? I can explain on your behalf-about that day at the crowning ceremony. You didn’t leave deliberately.”
Lykos, entering the chamber with midday sustenance, scoffed at Damon’s words. “She’s dramatic. For a minor slight, she’s got you running circles. And after she put Celestine in the healer’s bed, you’re still making excuses for her?”
“Lykos,” Celestine chided, eyes narrowing, but there was warmth behind it.
The younger Vale cubs often played such games. Damon remembered Aysel as a little cub, trailing after Lykos, boastful: “Brother, I have a little sibling now. Want five minutes? No, one will do. You can’t live without me!”
He pushed the memory aside and redialed
Aysel’s number. Several days had passed without contact, and his wolf’s instincts buzzed with worry. He needed her calm, her reason… and an apology for her violent act.
Unexpectedly, this call connected. The three in the chamber-Celestine, Damon, and Lykos-turned their attention to the ringing phone.
“Aysel…” Damon began.
“Hello.”
Two voices answered at once. Damon’s brow furrowed-the male voice, deep and drowsy, unmistakably wolfed in tone, held a magnetic rasp. His pulse jumped.
“Who are you? How do you have Aysel’s phone?” Damon demanded, tension coiling in his wolf-heart.
“She’s still sleeping,” the stranger replied, unmoved.
Before Damon could press further, Magnus Sanchez-Shadowbane’s Alpha, the continent’s apex wolf, known in wolfing circles as Rafe-hung up and silenced the device.
He leaned back against the sofa, single hand shielding his face from the harsh light, his wolf instincts relishing the rare calm after the storm. The morning had been chaotic: from parents to packmates-each call a hunt, a test of dominance, each one tied to the same target: Aysel.
Magnus, for all his fury and pride, found amusement in the calculated chaos of the Vale cub. Her aggression, her timing, the way the pack fumed-perfectly synchronized like wolves circling prey.
Meanwhile, Damon remained tense, unable to shake the unease. A stranger-male, strong, cunning-holding Aysel’s phone, sleeping in her den. The implications of this intrusion were immediate and dangerous.
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