Chapter 3

Collette Cooley POV:

The cloaked man merely raised one leather-clad forearm to parry, and the raw, bone-crushing force behind the strike sent Cooper—a mere Beta—staggering backward before crashing heavily onto the cold granite floor.

The black hood slipped back, revealing Arther Morgan's chiseled, ice-cold features. He radiated a murderous aura so dense it seemed he had just carved his way out from a mountain of corpses.

Floating in midair, I stared at him. In truth, he was ten times more striking and commanding in presence than Cooper, though the ancient warrior wolf sealed inside his veins was so terrifying that in life, it had always made me shrink back in fear. Because he doted fiercely on his younger sister Kaiya, he had occasionally extended a protective hand toward me as her closest friend—a kindness Cooper had twisted into a fatal snare.

Cooper scrambled up onto his elbows, his eyes bulging with red veins. "You dare show your face here? The council and the Alpha King didn't execute you for treason? Arther, by what right do you always walk away unscathed! You are the one who murdered Lottie!"

Arther did not even spare him a glance. Walking straight past him toward the stone altar, he dropped to one knee beside the Brazier of Lunar Flame. Beneath his cloak, he drew a ribbon-bound packet of the northern frontier's ancient vigil vows, their parchment inked in elder runes, and cast it reverently into the sacred hearth.

Those warrior hands, calloused from commanding legions and wielding heavy steel across a hundred battlefields, were trembling with an agonizing, barely suppressed tremor. He kept his gaze locked strictly onto the dancing embers, not daring to lift his eyes toward the frost-glass bier resting only paces away—as if looking at the shell of the female inside would shatter whatever remained of his restraint.

Golden-red flames licked upward, consuming the vows until gray ash spiraled toward the vaulted rafters. Instinctively, I reached out my translucent hand, but the smoke drifted straight through my palm.

"An empty vigil..." I murmured with a bitter smile, despising how thoroughly my past self had been blinded by Cooper's poisoned gentleness, reduced to a tethered phantom.

Arther rose slowly to his full height. Like a rabid cur, Cooper charged up behind him again, spitting venom.

"Get out! You are not welcome in this hall! Lottie's soul will curse you from the heavens!"

Arther turned his head, his gaze colder than the northern glaciers. "The newly appointed Minister Ortiz knows the truth in his own black heart. Tell me, does that grand title taste sweet when bought with your own lawful wife's life?"

Cooper bared his teeth in a twisted sneer. "Power demands sacrifice! Lottie loved me to the bone—she would have gladly bled to see me crowned with glory!"

"Are you worthy?" Arther's low growl froze the very air in the hall. The terrifying pressure of his Alpha aura slammed outward, causing hairline cracks to spiderweb across the stone pillars. "How you tricked her into this union—do you truly believe no one under the heavens knows?"

Shock struck my spirit like lightning. I drifted right between their faces. What did Arther mean?

Cooper clenched his fists at his sides. Beneath his manic mask, a flicker of raw panic cracked through his eyes.

"Do you think your scheme was flawless?" Arther mocked, his voice laced with venom. "Did you think that just because no Clan Elder stood forward to investigate on her behalf, your crimes would stay buried in the dirt? Years ago, you secretly conspired with Kiya to slash Collette's face with a poisoned silver blade, burning her inner wolf into dormancy and forcing the Hewitt family to break their betrothal so she would have no choice but to marry down to you—did you honestly think that secret would die with her?"

A bitter, metallic tang seemed to surge into my phantom throat. My furious hatred nearly ripped through the five-pace tether binding my soul!

Kiya? It was Kiya! The baseborn cousin from the Second Branch whom I had treated like my own flesh and blood, sharing every secret in my bedchamber, had conspired with Cooper all along to carve away my face and silence my wolf with silver poison!

Cooper's face turned the color of ash, though he bared his teeth stubbornly. "Vicious slander! Standing before this sacred altar, what proof do you possess?"

Arther did not waste another breath. His right hand dropped to his hip, slowly unsheathing the heavy royal broadsword, its runic steel humming with raw, judgment-dealing Alpha fury.

"What are you doing?" Cooper's voice cracked into a terrified shriek as he stumbled backward. "Guards! Protect the Minister!"

A low, subterranean roar from Arther's ancient battle-wolf rattled the stone floor. Before Cooper could retreat another step, a brutal crescent of cold steel severed the air. The heavy royal broadsword swept across with crushing kinetic force, cleaving through flesh and splintering kneecaps before Cooper's Beta reflexes could even register the motion.

A guttural, agonizing shriek tore from Cooper's throat as his severed legs gave out beneath him. Hot crimson blood sprayed across the white mourning banners hanging from the ceiling, splashing against the flagstones in an ever-widening pool of gore.

Despite his ear-splitting screams, the entire estate outside remained in absolute, enchanted hush. Not a single guard crossed the threshold; the perimeter had been locked tight in the iron grip of Arther's elite Shadow-Night wolf knights.

"Blame yourself for choosing the wrong prey," Arther said, heavy boots splashing through the dark puddle as he stalked forward, broadsword dripping. "She was never someone a maggot like you could touch."

Dragging his bleeding stumps across the slick stone, Cooper hauled himself backward, his fingers clawing frantically at the flags as sheer agony stripped away his sanity.

Arther came to a halt over him, looking down as if at roadkill. "Did you truly believe your meager, common wits allowed you to rise so high in three short years?"

Cooper's bloody fingers froze on the floor. His head jerked up, horror and disbelief warring in his eyes. "What... what are you talking about? It was the Third Prince... what other reason could there be?!"

"If it were not for who she truly is..." Arther's voice was a low death knell.

Before Cooper could wrap his mind around it, Arther reversed his grip and drove the heavy runic broadsword down with executioner's weight, running him clean through the back and pinning his treacherous heart to the stone floor.

Cooper's body arched violently, heels drumming the red-stained granite, until the frenzied light in his bulging eyes finally flickered out.

Arther leaned down, watching the final shudder leave his enemy's twitching mouth, and whispered the final cut into the dead man's ear:

"However, filth like you does not deserve to know."

With a smooth, practiced pull, Arther wrenched the broadsword from the corpse. He drew a linen cloth from his belt, wiping the blade clean of Cooper's tainted blood, and sheathed the steel without sparing the dead man another glance.

As the sound of the locking scabbard echoed through the hollow chamber, the suffocating, bloodthirsty Alpha aura around him suddenly receded like a falling tide.

Arther stepped out of the bloody pool and walked slowly back to the foot of the limestone catafalque. When he raised his head to face the viewing lid, all the savage, predatory fury in his golden wolf-eyes was gone—replaced entirely by a fragile, unbearable agony, and a look of tender, shattered remorse that left him standing almost breath to breath with my floating soul.