Chapter 3

Beatrix POV:

My eldest brother, Daron Cantrell, charged up the pavilion steps with fury blazing in his dark brown eyes, grabbed my wet wrist with his Alpha-ranked grip, and yanked my arm backward.

I released my hold on Kylee's throat and shifted my weight into a low combat stance so I wouldn't fall, watching coldly as Daron pulled our coughing adoptive sister against his chest.

"Daron... she tried to strangle me to death..."

Kylee collapsed into his arms right on cue, tears spilling down her cheeks as she trembled like a wounded fawn while Daron stroked her golden-chestnut hair over and over.

Daron whipped his head around and glared at me, his knuckles popping.

"Beatrix, have you gone insane? How dare you lay a violent hand on your own sister? Kylee is innocent!"

"She shoved Maeve into the lake and tore her shoulder open with wolf claws."

I pointed down at Maeve bleeding on the grass, my voice flat and icy.

"Are you blind, or do you only have eyes for your fake sister?"

Daron spared Maeve a brief, disgusted glance.

"An insolent servant deserves to be disciplined. Even with Beta healing, she won't die—now apologize to Kylee at once!"

Watching the two of them cling to each other under the guise of pure sibling affection made my stomach turn. Ignoring Daron's barking, I turned my back on them and dropped to my knees beside Maeve on the lawn.

Maeve's breathing was shallow and rapid; injuries caused by shifted Dire Wolf claws carried a tearing toxin that stopped normal coagulation. I ripped a clean strip of linen from my inner hem, pressed my thumbs hard against three nerve-and-vessel points around her collarbone, and used an ancient werewolf herbalist acupressure technique to seal her main artery.

"Carry her back to my quarters."

I barked the order at two trembling Omega gardeners standing by the hedge, then followed them down the path without giving Daron or Kylee another glance.

Once inside my remote courtyard bedroom, I bolted the oak door and pulled a weathered cedar box from a hidden compartment beneath my floorboards. Inside lay dried silver-leaf moonwort and blood-clotting roots I had gathered in the borderlands.

I crushed the bitter herbs between my palms, packed the paste over Maeve's jagged claw wounds, and wrapped her shoulder tight. Only when her pale cheeks regained a faint flush and her chest rose evenly did my racing pulse begin to slow.

Staring at her bloodstained bandages, I bit my lower lip until I tasted copper. In this ruthless pack hierarchy, if I didn't secure absolute power soon, the Cantrells would tear us both to pieces.

I walked over to my writing desk, unlocked the bottom drawer, and pulled out a heavy brass coin engraved with an iris totem. Five years ago in the lawless black market, I had used my herbal skills to save Agatha, the personal confidante of the Royal Dowager, and she had given me this token for a single life-or-death favor.

I couldn’t reveal my wolf abilities, and I couldn’t use the Mind-Link either. So I picked up my phone and dialed the memorized eleven-digit number. It rang twice before Agatha’s calm voice came through the speaker.

"Miss Beatrix?"

"Agatha, I need an audience with the Dowager today."

I kept my voice low and steady while glancing at my locked door.

"I have a proposal regarding the Black Ridge Pack marriage."

Thirty minutes later, I slipped out through the unguarded drainage tunnel behind the estate hills and climbed into the black bulletproof Maybach Agatha had waiting on the highway.

The sedan glided through the heavily fortified gates of the Royal Pack territory, where Agatha led me into a quiet greenhouse tearoom. The Dowager sat in a velvet armchair, dressed in a regal charcoal silk suit, sipping black tea from a bone-china cup.

"You want to take Kylee's place and marry Constantine Boone of the Black Ridge Pack?"

The Dowager set her cup onto its saucer, her sharp gray eyes studying my still-damp hair.

"Do you know that after taking three liquid-silver sniper rounds to the chest, he is a brain-dead vegetable who could lose his Lycan wolf and stop breathing at any moment?"

"I know."

I met her gaze without blinking.

"And I also know the Black Ridge conglomerate needs an official Luna to stabilize their board and military defense, while I need an untouchable title to sever ties with the Cantrell Pack forever."

The Dowager let out a soft chuckle, tapping her manicured fingernail against the porcelain rim.

"You are far sharper than that whining adoptive girl your mother dotes on. However, an edict from the Alpha King is not a toy to be swapped on a whim."

"The Cantrells are trying to fool the royal family and Black Ridge by sending a low-born commoner in place of a blood daughter."I laid my trump card squarely on the table.

"If Constantine ever wakes up and discovers the fraud, it will trigger a pack war—whereas I carry the true, pure Cantrell bloodline."

The Dowager narrowed her eyes in thought for a long moment before nodding once.

"If you are willing to act as this living sacrifice to ward off his bad luck, I will speak to Alpha King Enrique tonight and have the bride's name changed."

"It's a deal."

I bowed my head, my fingers curling tightly around the brass iris coin in my pocket before Agatha escorted me back to the car.

Night had fallen by the time I crept back through the estate tunnel and pushed open my bedroom door, where the sharp, uninvited scent of pine and gun oil hit my nostrils.

I spun around toward the dark sitting area just as Cheyenne stood up from my armchair, twirling my fountain pen between his fingers.

"Where have you been all afternoon?"

He raised his chin, questioning me as if he still owned every breath I took.

I pointed straight at the door, my face like carved ice.

"Get out of my room."

Instead of leaving, Cheyenne took two long strides toward me, a smug, self-assured grin spreading across his face.

"My guards saw you sneaking back from the direction of the Royal territory—what, did you finally come to your senses and go beg the Dowager to force me to marry you?"