Betrayal Under The Blood Moon

Chapter Twelve

DANTE

The first crack of thunder pulls me from territory reports. Not storm-thunder but something older—power given voice, my mate's fury singing through Portland air. Through the window, I watch federal vehicles idle at our gates like black beetles against autumn gold.

Pete's call came five minutes ago. Psychiatrists. Commitment papers. They're claiming she's psychotic.

Now I stand on the main house steps, watching her stride barefoot across gravel. The dress—midnight blue shifting silver—ripples around her like water seeking its level. Every omega visible through ballroom windows presses close to glass, bearing witness to what happens next.

She blazes in the afternoon light. Not metaphor but fact—skin luminous with power that shines like moonrise and mother's milk. The blessing Morgana spoke of made manifest, turning my mate into something between flesh and divinity.

The federal agents cluster behind their vehicles, hands drifting to weapons. They smell the predator approaching despite their human limitations. Some instincts transcend species.

"Ms. Westbrook." The lead psychiatrist—soft face, harder eyes—steps forward with papers clutched like holy writ. "I'm Dr. Morrison. Your father sent us to help."

"My father sent you to cage me."

Her voice carries without shouting. Every word drops into waiting silence while the world holds its breath. Even the trees seem to lean closer.

"You're sick, Sadie. This delusion about being a—" Morrison pauses, disgust flickering across her features, "—a werewolf. It's treatable. We can help you return to your real life."

"This is my real life."

"Living with creatures who think they're animals? Who've convinced you to share their psychosis?" Morrison gestures at the house, the territory, everything we've built over centuries. "The Enclave Act exists for a reason. To keep the diseased separated from normal society."

The word 'diseased' hangs between them like a blade waiting to drop. Every supernatural within hearing bristles—my enforcers at the perimeter, the omegas watching from windows, even Pete beside me radiates offense.

"Diseased." Sadie tastes the word like wine gone to vinegar. "Is that what they're calling us now?"

"The clinical term is Species Dysphoric Disorder. Humans who believe they're supernatural creatures, who've infected themselves with mutagenic rabies to—"

Laughter cuts her off. Not kind laughter but the sound of someone finding absurdity in atrocity.

"Rabies? You think this is rabies?"

"The symptoms match. Aggression, delusions of transformation, pack behavior, hypersexuality—"

"What excellent diagnostic criteria." Julie materializes beside Sadie, every inch the lawyer despite afternoon dress. "Tell me, Doctor, what's your sample size? How many 'infected' have you personally examined?"

Morrison's jaw tightens. "The literature is extensive—"

"The propaganda, you mean. Fed to you by people like Senator Westbrook who'd rather believe in disease than difference." Julie produces a tablet from nowhere, scrolling through documents. "Would you like to see twenty-six years of medical records? Evidence of systematic suppression that nearly killed—"

"Falsified documents from cult members prove nothing."

Wrong answer. The air shifts, pressure dropping like the moment before lightning strikes. Sadie's skin brightens, power pooling in patterns that hurt to follow. Thunder rolls through cloudless sky while she becomes the storm's own daughter.

"You want proof?"

The words arrive on wind that shouldn't exist. Her hair lifts, floating on currents of pure energy. One of the younger agents fumbles for his weapon—stupid with fear, seeing threat in beauty.

"Williams, no—" Morrison starts.

Too late. The shot cracks across afternoon air. Silver bullet, because of course they came prepared for monsters.

Time dilates. I'm moving before thought completes, but Sadie's faster. Her hand rises, not to block but to direct. Lightning arcs from clear sky, following her gesture to strike the SUV's hood. Metal screams and glass explodes while electronics die in showers of sparks.

The bullet finds her anyway. Center mass, textbook shot that would drop anything human.

She doesn't even stumble.

"Ow." Mild annoyance as she looks down at the spreading red. "That stings."

Then her flesh moves. Ripples like water refusing intrusion. The bullet pushes out—slow, obscene—and drops to gravel with a musical ping. The wound seals itself, skin knitting closed until only blood remains to prove violence happened.

"Interesting." She examines the hole in her dress with clinical detachment. "Silver's supposed to be poison to our kind. Guess white wolves have different rules."

Morrison backs toward the vehicles, face corpse-pale. "That's... that's not possible. The infection doesn't actually grant—"

"Transformation?" Sadie's smile shows too many teeth. "Let me demonstrate."

"Sadie—" My warning comes too late.

She drops to all fours with fluid grace. The change ripples through her—not the violent shifting of new wolves but something organic as breathing. Flesh flows like mercury finding new shape. Bones stretch and reform without breaking. Fur spreads in patterns of moonlight and shadow.

Where my mate stood, a wolf now crouches. But not just any wolf.

Enormous doesn't cover it. She stands eye-level with the SUVs, massive enough to make grown agents stumble backward. White as fresh snow except for silver patterns that trace mystic significance across her coat. Eyes that hold too much intelligence, too much fury, too much power for any natural creature.

Beautiful. Terrifying. Mine.

Except the claiming isn't complete, and that technicality burns as she stalks toward the federals. Each step shakes earth. Her growl resonates in frequencies that make primitive brains scream run.

Morrison falls to her knees, commitment papers scattering like leaves. "This isn't... we were told... species dysphoria doesn't..."

Sadie lowers her massive head until they're eye level. When she speaks—because of course my mate breaks that rule too—her voice carries wolf-thunder and human fury combined.

"Still think I'm delusional?"

One agent breaks entirely, sprinting for the vehicles. Two others follow, dignity abandoned for survival. Only Morrison and her remaining guard stay frozen, prey-locked by proximity to an apex predator.

"The literature said... the government assured us..." Morrison's words fragment. "You're not supposed to exist."

"Lot of things exist that you're not supposed to know about." Sadie's wolf form manages sarcasm, because she's exceptional even in defiance of natural law. "Whole communities behind these walls. Families. Cultures. Centuries of history you've been taught to call disease."

"The Enclave Act—"

"Was written by humans who feared what they couldn't control. Who caged us 'for our own protection' while telling the world we were sick." Power bleeds into her words, making windows rattle in their frames. "Go back to your government. Tell them what you saw. Tell them the white wolf of Portland says we're done being your dirty secret."

Morrison scrambles for the abandoned papers, hands shaking. "Your father—"

"Is a man who drugged his daughter for twenty-six years rather than accept her nature." The wolf's eyes flash silver-bright. "Tell him I remember everything. The pills. The doctors. The way he held me down for injections when I fought back. Tell him his Senator's career ends the moment he pursues this further."

"You can't threaten—"

"I'm not threatening. I'm promising." Sadie's form ripples, fur receding as she shifts back. The return to human shape happens faster, like her wolf was just visiting. She stands naked in afternoon light, blood still painting her chest, completely unbothered by exposure. "Every document. Every prescription. Every specialist who helped suppress a white wolf for political gain. I have it all."

Julie steps forward with perfect timing, wrapping a coat around Sadie's shoulders. "My client has extensive evidence of medical abuse. Criminal suppression of supernatural identity. Violation of the Treaty of Montreal, Section Seven regarding minor Otherkind. Would you like to see the filing I'm preparing for international court?"

Morrison runs. Flat out sprints for the remaining vehicle, her guard stumbling after. They leave rubber on asphalt in their hurry to escape, commitment papers floating forgotten like snow.

Sadie watches them go, power still crackling through her skin in patterns that speak of blessings and birthrights. Then she sways, just slightly. Enough that I'm moving before she can fall.

"I've got you."

She turns into my chest, letting me take her weight. "Did you see their faces? When I shifted? Morrison about pissed herself."

"You shifted in front of federal agents. Spoke in wolf form. Threatened a Senator." I breathe her in—ozone and copper and victory. "You know what you've done?"

"Started something that needed starting." Her words slur slightly. "Somebody had to. Might as well be the white wolf who shouldn't exist."

She's burning fever-hot against me. The power that made her glow now eats at her reserves, demanding payment for miracles. I lift her easily, cradling her against my chest.

"Pete, tell the omegas tea continues. Their Luna will return shortly." I'm already moving toward the house. "Julie—"

"On it. Media response, legal filing, all of it." She's typing on her tablet while walking. "This plays perfectly into public sympathy. Federal agents shooting at unarmed woman, commitment papers for someone clearly supernatural not delusional."

"They'll spin it."

"Let them try. I've got twenty reporters on speed dial who'd kill for this story." Her smile promises professional devastation. "Senator's daughter reveals supernatural heritage, gets shot by federal agents? That's front page material."

I carry Sadie through side entrances, avoiding the omegas who press against windows. They've seen enough revolution for one afternoon. Up the stairs to our suite—my suite, technically, but she's been sleeping here since the heat broke. Waiting for the right moment that keeps getting delayed.

First the heat itself, her mind too fever-drunk for proper consent. Then preparation for the Challenge, tradition demanding unclaimed status. Now this—power expenditure that leaves her limp in my arms, skin still traced with fading lightning marks.

"Stop thinking so loud." She murmurs against my throat. "I can feel you brooding."

"You taxed yourself. The shifting was one thing, but channeling lightning—"

"Worth it for Morrison's face." She laughs, then winces. "Okay, everything hurts. Is that normal?"

"For a wolf who's existed less than a week? Who just channeled enough power to short-circuit federal property? Yes."

I set her on the bed, already reaching for the medical kit Jinsoo insisted we keep stocked. She's taught me basic care—how to clean wounds that heal too fast, monitor temperature spikes that come with power use, spot the difference between exhaustion and actual danger.

"The blessing." I trace one silver pattern across her shoulder. "Morgana said the mother goddess marked you. I thought it was metaphor."

"Morgana says lots of things that sound like metaphor." She catches my hand, pressing it flat against her chest where the bullet hit. "Did you know she was white wolf once? Before she defied the mother and lost her fur?"

"She told you that?"

"Showed me. During the heat, when everything went sideways." Her eyes drift closed. "The goddess gave her different sight when she took the wolf away. Morgana sees threads now. Possibilities. She saw me coming years ago."

"And didn't warn me?"

"Would you have believed her? White wolf appearing in your territory, already grown, raised human?" She shifts, making room for me on the bed. "You'd have thought she'd gone fully mad."

Truth in that. I stretch out beside her, not touching beyond where her hand holds mine. The partial bond pulls tight between us, demanding completion I can't give. Not yet. Not until the Challenge completes and she chooses me formally in front of witnesses.

"Yesterday." She opens her eyes, brown with silver threads. "In your office. That was..."

"Manipulative. Calculated. Extremely effective."

"I was going to say hot, but those work too." She grins, looking young despite everything. "Did you know you make this sound? When you're close? Like thunder in your chest."

"You were paying attention to my sounds while—"

"While sucking your brain out through your c**k? Yes." No shame in her voice, only satisfaction. "I pay attention to everything. Lawyer training combined with wolf instincts. You never stood a chance."

"I'm Alpha of the largest territory on the west coast. I've faced down challenges from ancient bloodlines, negotiated treaties that reshape supernatural law, built empires from nothing."

"And I made you beg." She turns toward me, playful despite exhaustion. "Admit it. When I did that thing with my tongue—"

"You're trying to kill me."

"I'm trying to seduce you. There's a difference." Her hand traces patterns on my chest, finding skin through shirt gaps. "We have to wait for s*x. Fine. Tradition demands it. But there are so many other things—"

"You just channeled lightning. Shifted in front of federal agents. Threatened to destroy your adoptive father's career." I catch her hand before it can wander lower. "You need rest."

"I need you." Simple. Honest. Devastating. "Do you know what it's like? Feeling you this close but not having you? The bond pulls all the time, demanding things we can't do yet."

"Three days."

"Three days." She echoes, then yawns wide enough to crack her jaw. "Assuming no one kills you during the Challenge."

"No one's killing me."

"Arrogant Alpha." But she's already drifting, power expenditure catching up. "They'll try though. Ten Alphas minimum, all thinking they deserve me more. Some probably planning accidents. Poison. Silver bullets when no one's looking."

"Let them try."

She makes a soft sound, maybe agreement, maybe exhaustion. I stay beside her, watching silver patterns fade from her skin as the mother's blessing recedes. Beautiful even in depletion, my mate who refuses limits.

The door opens carefully. Julie peeks in, tablet still in hand.

"The omegas?"

"Inspired. Terrified. Mostly inspired." She enters properly, voice low to not wake Sadie. "They want to know if the Luna needs anything."

"The Luna needs sleep."

"The Luna needs revolution." Sadie mumbles without opening her eyes. "But sleep first. Then revolution. Then really good s*x with my mate who's being annoyingly noble about tradition."

Julie snorts. "I'll tell them you're recovering from putting federal agents in their place. They'll understand."

She leaves us with afternoon light slanting through windows. Below, I hear omegas talking—excited voices carrying plans and possibilities. The tea continues without their white wolf, but her actions gave them something better than presence.

Permission.

To be more than tradition allows. To refuse the cages others build. To shift in broad daylight and dare the world to deny their existence.

"You started something today." I tell my maybe-sleeping mate. "Something that can't be stopped."

"Good." Definitely not sleeping. "Someone had to. Might as well be the white wolf who makes Alphas beg."

"I didn't beg."

"You will." Promise and threat combined. "Three days, Dante Byrne. Then I'm going to wreck you properly."

She drifts into real sleep, leaving me with that image burned into my brain. My mate—powerful, fearless, absolutely committed to destroying my control in the best possible ways.

Three days.

If I survive that long.