Third Person's POV Tension rippled through Luna Evelyn's chest like a storm barely contained. Celestine had already explained-she had nothing with Damon, that tonight had been a misunderstanding. And who else could have orchestrated such a spectacle if not Aysel-the rebellious Moonvale daughter, her resentment burning like frostfire beneath her skin? And then there was Knox Draven, lurking in that resting den. Evelyn didn't even want to imagine that his presence might be part of Aysel's plot. Yet it was hard not to. The ones in that room were her own blood-her daughter and her son. Lykos shared her fury. Tonight was nothing but disaster for him. First, his sister Aysel had struck him before the guests. He had stayed in the den, icing the bruise in silence. Then, for reasons beyond reason, sleep began to weigh upon him like a tranquilizing spell. Groggy, he stumbled into the inner room and collapsed upon the bed. Half-aware, he had heard Damon's deep voice and Celestine's soft one in the outer room-then the sound of hurried footsteps leaving. The next he knew, a scream tore through the rain, and he jolted awake-rushing out only to see Knox Draven pinning his sister Celestine against the couch, his hands rough, his scent tainted with lust. Lykos lunged, pulling Knox off her-but the Ironhowl wolf twisted, overpowered him, and sent him sprawling. Their struggle cracked the window open-just as the storm outside broke. From the garden below, dozens of Pack eyes turned upward, catching the damning sight through the glass. Now, standing before Luna Evelyn, Lykos seethed, his voice trembling with rage. "Aysel dared to shame us all-me, my sister! Mother, you can't give her the Moonveil bracelet tonight!" Evelyn didn't answer, but doubt flickered in her golden eyes. Perhaps... Aysel should at least kneel and apologize before receiving any blessing. The air turned sharp. Jackson, Magnus's enforcer, stepped forward, his patience thinning. "You've all had your chance to speak," he said coolly, rapping his knuckles against the open door. "Now move." He'd followed the courtesy of diplomacy; it wasn't his fault the Moonvale wolves refused to yield. A flick of his hand-and a squad of Shadowbane sentinels surged forward. They seized the three without hesitation, their strength overwhelming. Even Lykos, strong for a young male, found himself helpless, his wrists locked in an iron grip that felt like forged stone. Evelyn's composure cracked. "Release us-we'll walk ourselves!" she snapped, fear creeping into her tone. She glanced toward Celestine, who stood pale and trembling, her garments hastily straightened. "It's just a birthday rite," Evelyn said sharply. "Let Celestine change her gown first. Aysel won't mind." Jackson's smile remained polished but hollow, his eyes glinting like steel. "Luna Evelyn," he murmured, "in no den is the Alpha kept waiting." Then, with a tilt of his chin, he ordered, "Take them down." He turned and walked away, leaving silence in his wake. ... In the rain-drenched garden below, time stretched heavy for Alpha Remus and his heir, Fenrir. Every second felt like the prologue to doom. Aysel, the cause of it all, seemed utterly untouched by the tension. Reclining on a carved moonstone chair, she let Magnus offer her fruit and sweetcakes. She nibbled each with languid grace, unbothered, her silver eyes gleaming under the lanternlight. Around them, guests from distant packs pressed closer-every one of them seeking a word, a smile, a favor from the Alpha who ruled half the continent. The air around Aysel shimmered with power and moonlight; even laughter seemed to bend toward her. Across the field, the Blackwood heir, Damon, watched from afar. His parents' warning grip on his arm was the only thing keeping him still. To offend Shadowbane was to invite ruin. And so he stood, silent, his chest aching as he watched the girl he'd once walked beside, now radiant beside another wolf. Mary, standing nearby, couldn't resist the cruelty curling her lips. "Look at you, Damon Blackwood," she mocked softly. "The mighty Eastern Alpha. And yet your little Moonvale rose got stolen right from under your nose. Thought you could bed your fiancée's sister and still have both? Coward. Pathetic." Damon turned, eyes dark as a storm. "Mary," he growled, voice low with warning. "Don't speak of what you don't understand." But his wolf was already stirring within, snarling against the leash of restraint-because every word she said tasted like truth, and it burned.