Morning arrives too fast. I sit across from Rhys at breakfast, pushing food around my plate while he reads reports. His jaw works as he chews, his eyes scanning documents with methodical focus. I watch him—the strong jaw, the calm authority, the man I thought I'd spend my life with. The question burns in my throat until I can't hold it anymore.
"Tell me about the Bloodfang massacre," I say.
Rhys's head snaps up. His fork freezes midway to his mouth. "What?"
"The Bloodfang Tribe. Fifteen years ago. Your father led the attack."
He sets down his fork with deliberate slowness. His expression hardens into something unreadable. "Why are you asking about this now?"
"Because I want to understand pack history. I'm Luna. I should know."
He leans back in his chair, his gray eyes studying me with calculating precision. "It's not a pleasant story."
"Tell me anyway."
Rhys exhales through his nose. His voice shifts into the formal cadence of an Alpha recounting official history.
"Bloodfang was a rogue tribe operating in the northern territories. They refused to join the pack council, rejected all treaties, and raided our supply routes consistently for months. My father received intelligence that they were planning a coordinated attack against multiple packs, including ours. He had no choice."
"No choice but to kill everyone?" My voice stays carefully neutral, but my hands clench beneath the table hard enough that my nails bite into my palms.
"They were insurgents. Dangerous. My father gave them chances to surrender, to negotiate peacefully. They refused every offer. When our scouts confirmed they were stockpiling weapons and recruiting rogues from across the region..." He shakes his head. "It was eliminate them or risk civil war. He chose to protect his pack."
"How many died?"
"Nearly all of them." His jaw tightens visibly. "It wasn't easy. My father carried that weight his entire life. But he did what an Alpha must do—he protected his people."
Ice spreads through my veins. "Were there children?"
Rhys hesitates for just a fraction of a second, but I catch it. His eyes flicker. "A few. But my father showed mercy where he could. He wasn't a monster, Ardena."
The word mercy hits me like a fist to the stomach, but I keep my face perfectly still. "That was generous of him."
"You've never cared about old pack conflicts before." Rhys leans forward, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Why now? What's changed?"
I force a shrug, keeping my shoulders loose. "I've been thinking about what it means to be Luna. Understanding our history, our decisions, the responsibilities you'll face, that we'll face together."
"This isn't about Luna duties." His voice drops, taking on a sharp edge. "You've been distant since the wedding. Distracted."
"I only asked a question."
He stands abruptly. The chair scrapes against stone. He circles around the table toward me with predatory grace. "What aren't you telling me?"
I stand too, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Nothing. I wanted to know. Now I know."
We stare at each other across three feet of charged air. Tension crackles between us like lightning before a storm. Rhys reaches out, cupping my face with one hand. His thumb brushes my cheek, the gesture tender but the pressure firm.
"I love you. You know that." His voice softens but loses none of its intensity. "But you're my Luna now. That means loyalty. Complete loyalty. To me, to this pack, to everything we're building." His thumb traces my jawline. "Whatever's in your head, let it go."
I nod slowly, leaning into his touch even as my stomach churns with revulsion. "I will."
He kisses my forehead, then releases me and returns to his reports.
***
In the afternoon, Rhys calls a council meeting. I attend as Luna, sitting at his right hand in the high-backed chair that marks my position. The wood presses cold against my spine. Elders and senior warriors fill the chamber, their faces grave and expectant. The air sits heavy with anticipation, thick enough to choke on.
Elder Cael speaks first, his voice cold as winter stone. He rises from his seat. His ceremonial robes rustle.
"The intruder who disrupted the Luna ceremony sits in our prison, breathing air he doesn't deserve. He attacked our Alpha, desecrated sacred ground during our most holy rites. He mocked our traditions and spat upon our laws."
"He endangered children," Elder Maren adds. "Innocent families gathered in worship."
"Precisely." Cael's eyes sweep the room. "There can be only one sentence for such crimes."
"Death," a warrior shouts from the back.
"Death," another echoes.
Murmurs of agreement ripple through the assembled wolves like water over stones. Heads nod in unison. Fists pound against the table in rhythmic approval, the sound building like war drums.
Rhys stands slowly, and instant silence falls across the chamber. His command fills the space like physical pressure against my skin.
"The prisoner will be executed at dawn, three days from now. Publicly, in the central square, so the pack understands that such violations will not be tolerated. We'll make an example that echoes through every territory, a message to any who would dare challenge Ironvale's authority."
"Make it painful," a warrior calls out. "Let him suffer for what he did."
"We're not savages." Rhys's voice cuts sharp. "It will be clean. Quick. But witnessed by all."
"What about the body?" Elder Cael asks. "Display or immediate burning?"
"Burn it." Rhys's tone brooks no argument. "We don't leave threats, even dead ones, to fester into legends."
Elder Maren taps her staff. "Should we invite the neighboring packs? Let them see Ironvale's strength?"
"Send formal invitations." Rhys nods. "Their Alphas should witness what happens to those who attack during sacred ceremonies."
My wolf roars inside me, slamming against my ribcage hard enough to bruise. My vision blurs at the edges. Three days. Dawn. I dig my nails into my palms beneath the table, drawing blood to keep from screaming.
Rhys glances at me, his expression unreadable. "Any objections, Luna?"
Every eye in the room turns to me. Elders watch with hawk-like intensity. Warriors lean forward. The weight of their expectation presses down like stones on my chest. My wolf slams against my ribs, screaming, clawing, begging me to speak. To object. To save him.
I dig my nails deeper into my palms. Blood wells beneath the table where no one can see.
I force my voice steady, clear, authoritative. "None, Alpha. Justice must be served."