Chapter 3

Francesca Kelley POV:

Right before the scalding liquid touched my skin, I twisted my waist and slid half a step left.

The boiling black tea missed the hem of my red dress by an inch, splashing across the marble floor with a cloud of white steam.

Delma had thrown all her weight forward for that malicious toss, so she lost her balance entirely. She let out a shrill scream and crashed face-first into the puddle of hot tea on the floor.

I did not give her time to recover. I lifted my right foot and stomped hard on her back, pinning her writhing body to the wet mess.

"Ah!" Delma shrieked. The hot liquid soaked her neat white wedding gown, staining the silk brown.

I bent down, grabbed a handful of her styled hair, and yanked her head back so everyone could see her twisted, tear-streaked face.

"Cheap trick," I said flatly. "You dare pull this in front of me?"

"Francesca! Let her go!"

On the dais, Curtiss snapped. He let out a deafening Alpha roar, his eyes blazing blood-red.

His heavy Alpha Dominion rolled across the hall. Several low-ranking Omega servants dropped to their knees, hands clamped over their ears in pain. I only frowned and pressed my foot harder into Delma's spine.

I looked up at Curtiss, my voice cutting through the room. "You sent your servants to ransack your Luna's courtyard. Now your concubine tries to scar me in public. Curtiss, do you treat Taylor Pack law like dirt under your boots?"

Each line landed like a slap. The nobles around us started muttering, staring at the stained bride on the floor with open disdain.

Curtiss's pride broke in front of the crowd. He drew his ruby-hilted silver sword fully from its scabbard with a metallic scrape.

"You bitch, I'll cut your head off right here!"

He jumped down from the high dais. The silver blade sliced the air, aimed straight for my throat.

Silver was deadly to werewolves. Even a scratch burned off healing power and destroyed an inner wolf forever. Ten feet away, the cold aura of the blade made my lungs ache and my skin prickle. I released Delma's hair, my right hand brushing the small iron dagger strapped to my thigh under the skirt.

The silver blade came within two feet of my neck. Wind from the swing blew loose silver strands across my forehead.

A heavy pressure burst out from the shadowed pillars at the hall's side.

It was not ordinary Alpha power. An ancient, suffocating aura froze the air, forcing every werewolf in the room to their knees as if facing a top predator.

A tall, broad figure in a black military cloak moved between me and Curtiss like a dark bolt, carrying a scent of pine and winter snow.

Clang!

Sparks flared. A sharp metallic ring echoed through the hall.

Curtiss's full downward slash stopped mid-air. The deadly silver blade was trapped tight between two gloved fingers, unable to move an inch closer.

My breath caught. I looked up into deep storm-gray eyes set in a face carved from cold granite. It was Jerrell Hatfield, undefeated Gamma General of Silvermoon Kingdom, the warlord leading the feared Nightshadow Legion.

Curtiss's face went pale. He gripped the hilt with both hands and pulled with all his Alpha strength, but those two fingers held fast like welded steel.

"Drawing silver against an unarmed woman with royal witnesses present," Jerrell said in a low gravelly rumble that vibrated through the room. "Lord Taylor, have you no honor?"

"Jerrell! Stay out of my family business!" Curtiss shouted, his voice shaking with fear in front of the kingdom's deadliest warrior.

Jerrell let out a cold laugh. His arm tensed under the black sleeve, and he twisted his fingers sharply.

Snap!

The forged silver sword whined and split clean in two.

The violent jolt tore the skin between Curtiss's thumb and forefinger. Blood sprayed. He stumbled seven or eight steps back, crashed into a banquet table and knocked wine goblets flying.

Sharp gasps filled the hall. Snapping a royal silver sword with just fingers was beyond any normal Alpha.

Jerrell tossed the broken silver tip onto the floor and turned. His dark gray eyes locked on mine.

The second our eyes met, my heart skipped. A strange hot burn bloomed deep in my chest, sending a shiver down my spine to my toes.

He tilted his head slightly, glancing at the few tea drops on my red skirt. A faint line formed between his brows. "Are you hurt?"

I calmed my racing pulse, straightened my back and met his gaze without flinching.

"Only a few splashes. Thank you for intervening, General." My tone stayed polite, keeping clear distance.

Jerrell watched me for two long seconds, then stepped half a pace aside. He gave the scene back to me, standing guard like a quiet mountain.

I took a deep breath, pulled a rolled parchment scroll from my bodice, and walked toward Curtiss. He lay on the floor, clutching his bleeding hand and groaning.