My parents had begged me to return for months, hounding me daily with calls and visits. I resisted every time. I had escaped from Dreadshade Pack and vanished into the quiet corners of Thornveil Pack—where nobody knew me.
Except Hannah.
She alone knew where I’d gone.
But that chapter was now closed.
I stepped out of my apartment, gripping my letter tightly. My feet moved on instinct, carrying me through dim alleyways and deserted streets.
I was heading toward the man who held power.
Toward the one who could give me what I needed—except the one thing my soul cried for.
Elior.
I could never hold my son again. But I could ensure justice. And those responsible for our suffering would face their consequences.
The estate rose before me like a fortress, silent and intimidating.
A butler led me inside, guiding me through the sprawling halls and into a grand drawing room.
“Lord Drakemoor will be with you momentarily,” he said politely.
I had barely settled on the divan when the doors opened with a soft creak.
There he stood.
Lord Aldric Drakemoor.
I had expected an elderly man with weary eyes and a tired gait.
But the figure who entered the room was neither frail nor aged.
He was older than Ronan, yes—but far from old. The atmosphere shifted with his arrival, the weight of his presence sucking the air from the room.
Those violet eyes—icy and devoid of warmth—seemed to peer directly into my soul. My wolf whimpered, instinctively recoiling from the immense, dangerous energy radiating off of him.
He was hauntingly beautiful.
Terrifyingly so.
Long, silver hair neatly pulled back. A sleek black coat and matching tie that clung perfectly to his tall, elegant build. And when he smiled… it was a smile that could convince even the most stubborn heart to surrender everything.
Grace cloaked in menace.
“Selene Soltren,” he said, voice like polished glass.
I kept myself composed as he sat across from me.
The butler returned, laying out tea and pastries, but I had no appetite to even glance at them.
“I’ve read your letter,” Aldric began, reclining slightly, one leg resting over the other. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the chair’s armrest. “Are you prepared to follow through on the arrangement?”
I didn’t flinch.
“Yes. I am.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what exactly do you seek in return?”
“The truth,” I answered firmly. “And justice.”
Justice for the child I could never cradle again.