Marked for Betrayal, Born for Vengeance

Chapter 4

I turned to leave, but former Luna Varda let out a chilling, half-wolf howl of rage behind me. "Wait!"

I glanced back, my feet already carrying me toward the door, with no intention of halting. Varda's face had darkened, her composure completely shattered.

She roared at me, the volume echoing off the stone walls, "Arcelia, how can you be so utterly foolish? Lycanus is an Alpha; he will have more than one woman! Every major pack operates this way! You are still his mate, his first Luna. What more validation do you truly desire?"

Her words made me sneer inwardly. A year of quiet compliance and financial support had made them assume I was pliable, a soft commodity. They had forgotten that I was Alpha Torr's daughter.

"Cool your jets," I said flatly, my voice devoid of warmth. "Other packs can rot for all I care. The Obsidian Pack's traditions are no longer my concern."

Varda spluttered, clutching at her chest and coughing into a frail fist. Normally, I would have rushed to her side with a comforting hand, but this time, I remained perfectly still.

Sabira, Lycanus's sister, burst forward, her eyes blazing with fury. "Look at Luna Varda! You are embarrassing us! The Hearthstone Clan has already fallen and your family is gone! What makes you think your Alpha blood means anything now? Lycanus can reject you, too, if you push him!"

I looked at Sabira, dressed in the pale yellow silk gown I had personally commissioned for her last harvest festival. She wore it now while she questioned and accused me of being thoroughly inconsiderate.

"Take that gown off first," I said coolly, my eyes locking on hers, "then you may resume your tantrum."

Sabira's face flushed a deep crimson. "I didn't beg for this dress! I will return it!"

"Go ahead," I countered, completely unperturbed. "And those polished moon-gems at your throat and wrist? Return those too. I purchased them." I swept my gaze over the rest of the room only Varda managed to maintain a semblance of a poker face, the rest shifting awkwardly.

"Anything else you wish to say?" I asked into the thick, resentful silence. "No? Then I am leaving." I strode out, not looking back.

I did not immediately descend into the plaza. I paused just outside the door, my wolf letting out a vicious, satisfied snarl in my mind. "You should have let me take over. Let me rip their throats out with my claws and take back what is ours."

I rubbed my temples, responding silently, "We are in Obsidian territory, far too close to Lycan Erasmus's palace. I will not become an outlaw, nor give Lycanus an excuse to execute us."

Muffled voices drifted from inside. My ears twitched, and I mentally silenced my wolf to hear better.

Sabira was muttering, "I cannot believe Arcelia is being so stubborn. She ignores you, Luna Varda!"

Varda replied, her voice low and dangerously cold, "She will bend eventually. She has no choice but to stay."

Oh? A small, grim smile tugged at my lips.

To the Obsidian Pack, I was a lone wolf with no safe haven. Many she-wolves, after mating into other packs, could always return to their birth pack. But the Hearthstone Clan was extinct; only its guarded land and ruins remain, a historical museum piece.

Everyone assumed I was trapped here. They assumed wrong.

The next morning, Eira and I reached the secure border of the Hearthstone Clan's territory. The ancient Wards still glowed faintly, holding fast against the wilds.

As I approached the invisible barrier, my wolf let out a sharp, anxious snarl, instantly followed by a profound, echoing howl only Eira heard, shivering violently behind me as her ears sprouted wolf-tipped fur.

We walked in. The main plaza, untended for half a year, was choked with waist-high mountain grass. Dry leaves were piled in drifts, like forgotten, brittle memories. The autumn wind sighed through the empty streets and derelict homes.

Stepping back into Hearthstone, my heart ached with unbearable grief.

Six months ago, I had collapsed in tears at the site of the m******e, kneeling beside my grandmother and mother’s lifeless, blood-soaked bodies. Now, the sacred plaza held a single, towering stone altar dedicated to the fallen.

Eira and I stood in silent grief, tears finally falling, silent tributes to the c*****e.

Running my fingers over my family's simple grave markers, I whispered firmly, "Mother, Father, forgive the path I have chosen. I will not be a Luna for any pack, not when Lycanus is clearly not the mate the Moon Weaver chose for me. Rest easy. I will survive and I will rebuild."

Eira knelt beside me, openly weeping.

After paying our respects, we headed away from the Packhouse ruins and turned toward the distant path leading to the capital. Our next destination: Lycan Erasmus's Palace.