Lucien's POV As soon as Riley stepped into the bathroom, I turned toward my men without missing a beat. "Clothes. Salve. Surveillance," I ordered. "Last two hours. Every hallway. Every private room." They didn't need clarification. When a Duskgrave speaks, especially the Alpha Prince of Stormridge, you move. Within minutes, everything was delivered to the suite-soft robes spun from moonweave silk, formulated for sensitive wolf skin. A case of high-grade healing salves, laced with wolfsbane extract for inflammation and rapid recovery. And a tablet with the hotel's surveillance footage already queued. I dismissed the rest. I needed to see it with my own eyes. As I sat, the screen lit up, and the first flicker of movement sent a slow burn through my chest. Scarlett. Snarling like a feral pup, dragging Riley by her hair, expression twisted with malice. And Ronan Duskcliff-gutless little coward-just watching. Not just watching. Shoving her. Locking her in. Feeding her to the pack like prey. The next frame hit harder than any punch. Scarlett, ripping apart the ceremonial embroidery from Matriarch Duskgrave's hand. The very crest meant to be gifted before the Elders' Council. A direct insult to our bloodline. Then came the worst part. Seraphina and her clique of overdressed vultures descending on Riley like she was meat left in the woods. Blows, claws, fury. And Riley-gods, she didn't even fight back at first. The rage coiled in my chest, silent and lethal. I felt my fangs begin to press against my gums. My grip on the tablet turned my knuckles bloodless. Then I saw it. Ronan's face-split lip, blood dripping. Good girl, I thought, pride and fury mixing like wildfire in my veins. She'd gotten one hit in. Just one. But I could smell it-the shift in her. She wasn't going to be anyone's chew toy ever again.I was about to rewind, to memorize every face that would pay, when the soft click of the bathroom door pulled my attention. I looked up-and stilled. Riley. Wrapped in white, her robe clinging to her damp skin. Her hair, dark and still wet, framed her face like ink against parchment. Her eyes, gods above-those eyes. Tired, wary, but unbroken. Long lashes still kissed with water droplets. Her lips, too red. Slightly swollen. My wolf growled low inside me. Ronan. The thought alone made my vision tint with red. I stood. "Come here," I said. My voice was quieter than I intended, but it came out rough, commanding. There was no room for refusal. She obeyed. Not out of fear, but instinct. The way a true she-wolf responds to a tether she doesn't fully understand yet. She sat on the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the hem of her robe like it might shield her from the world. I approached with the salve and a sterile pad. Dipped it. Reached for her face-and froze. Her scent. It wasn't just soap or oil or steam. It was her. Moonlight and moss, pine needles after rain. A scent touched by the gods, meant to haunt. It wrapped around me, quiet and constant, and for a moment, I just breathed it in. "Lucien?" she whispered. Fragile, unsure. I looked at her, the bruise blooming across her cheekbone. "It'll sting," I warned, voice like gravel scraping stone. "Brace yourself."I bent close. Closer than I needed to. I wanted her to feel my breath. My presence. I wanted the scent of me to wrap around her too. The moment the salve met her skin, she flinched. Just a little. She didn't pull back. I watched her lashes tremble. Her breath catch. The way she clutched her robe like it was a shield and I was the storm. She didn't know it yet-but I was the storm. And she was the only one I would ever protect from it. "Did that hurt?" I asked, my voice brushing her throat. "N-no," she said, eyes darting away. "It's okay." I murmured, "I'll be gentle." I treated each bruise like it was a wound carved into my own flesh. When I finished with her face, I didn't stop. I took a towel, gently pressing it to her hair. Then I pulled out the dryer-Alpha Prince or not-and began drying it myself. My claws retracted as I ran my fingers through her damp strands, careful not to pull or rush. She didn't flinch. Didn't protest. She just sat there, eyes closed, as if trying to memorize the feel of peace. Of care. She'd never had this. That much was obvious. No one had ever treated her like she was sacred. But she was. And under my protection, no wolf would ever touch her again. I wrapped a blanket around her shoulders once her hair was dry and took a seat beside her. She turned her face toward me, voice like wind through ash leaves. "Thank you... Alpha Lucien." It hit me harder than I expected. She hadn't said it like a title.She'd said it like a vow. I looked at her-not just as a victim or a survivor-but as mine. Not in chains. Not in possession. But mine in purpose. She would not walk this road alone anymore. She was pack. She was Stormridge. And anyone who laid a claw on her would feel the full weight of a Duskgrave's wrath. Ronan. Scarlett. Lee. Every smug face on that screen. They thought this night would end like the others. But it wouldn't. Not with me here. Not with Riley under my protection. This was no longer about justice. It was about retribution. And I'd burn the world to give it to her.