If Celeste had a silver for every time someone did something wildly inappropriate on the pack grounds, she could fund a Luna fashion line with matching capes for every moon cycle.
But this? This was a new level of bold.
She stepped out onto the patio that had become an accidental press circle—reporters with mics, members of the pack watching like it was a soap opera, and at the center of it all, Marissa. Blond, smug, and holding court like she was hosting the Real Housewives of Shadow Fang.
"I am the rightful Luna," Marissa declared, chin high, voice as smooth as silk and twice as suffocating. "Hunter and I have history. You can't deny a bond forged through fire and trust."
Celeste’s jaw clenched. "Luna, forged through delusion, maybe!"
Hunter stood beside her, stiff and eerily silent
