Lucian's pov
The air in the manor was not merely tense; it was incandescent
I stood in the center of my office, my boots crunching over the remains of a hand-carved mahogany desk. Without Elara, the power inside me just curdled beneath my skin, it was like a storm begging to be let out.
I grabbed a heavy silver bust from the mantel and hurled it through the window.
Give me control, Vraal hissed in mind.
My wolf had been in a state of relentless, blood-slicked rampage since the moment Elara was taken. He was not merely restless, he was feral.
Vraal was an ancient beast, a creature of pride and apex cruelty. A Warlord.
He should have regarded her as nothing more than a temporary battery, a flickering candle in the dark. But the old beast had developed a twisted and deeply inconvenient fondness for the Anchor.
No, I snarled back, my knuckles whitening around the edge of a shattered sideboard.
I stormed out of the office and into the hallway, where servants and lower-ranked pack members stood lined up like statues.
They were terrified.
They should be.
I stopped in front of the Ward Captain, a man who had overseen the manor's protection for years.
"Explain how they walked through the veil."
"Alpha... the wards are intact," he stammered, his eyes fixed on my boots. "I believe they entered using the Sanguine Cipher."
The Sanguine Cipher was not a key in the traditional sense.
It was a blood-forged sovereign passage seal, created in the old era when the packs still stood as fractured kingdoms and war could ignite before moonrise.
To the naked eye, it appeared as a slender shiver of blood-stained cinnabarencased in a jagged wrap of cold-iron filigree. The glass was so dark it seemed to drink the light, but when held to the sun, a capillary-like weave of deep-crimson veins pulsed just beneath the surface. And when pressed against a boundary, the filigree etched with micro runes.
In those days, even allied Alphas could not cross into another territory without triggering its ward-lines, territorial veils, or ancestral blood defenses. Too many rulers died at borders they had come to defend. Too many heirs were locked out of the very strongholds they had been summoned to save.
So the first ruling bloodlines forged the Sanguine Cipher—an ancient rite of passage encoded with Alpha blood and recognized by the old wards themselves. It allowed its bearer to enter any sanctioned pack territorywithout setting off magical defenses. It didn't break the wards; it convinced them that the bearer was the rightful master of the land.
It was never meant for common wolves. Never meant for soldiers. Never meant to survive outside the hands of kings.
In the wrong hands, it was not access.
It was invasion.
And for the ward, I had no doubt it would still be intact. After all, they had been woven by the Sisters of the Pale Moon for the Valerius line alone.
I grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him against a portrait of my father.
"My father saw to it that every key were incinerated."
I leaned in, my fangs grazing his ear.
"The only way to bypass those wards is through blood-level authorization from within these walls. So tell me—who was witless enough to let that bastard in?"
I had long since learned that people needed to be told how to act, when to move, and where to stand, all because of their utter lack of logical reasoning before making decisions, a flaw I had found in both humans and werewolves alike.
Because of the circumstances surrounding my ascension, the council of doddering fools had insisted I permit broader access to the wards, as some grotesquely symbolic gesture of trust.
Trust.
One of most useless inventions of weak men.
I flung him aside like a piece of shit.
Killian stepped into the hallway. I didn't need to turn. I would have known his scent in a graveyard, in a battlefield and even in hell itself.
"Still nothing?"
"The trail ends at the ravine," he said. "The scent was masked. The abduction was thoroughly planned through.
I whirled around.
Killian looked like a ghost, his eyes sunken from exhaustion. I had been overworking him mercilessly in search of that human, but whatever the case, they would all rest when she was found.
Mina was there too, her fingers latched tightly onto Killian's arm.
My gaze settled on her, and disgust curled in my chest
"Why is your fake mate still clinging to you like a parasite, Killian? I didn't raise her to Last Fang so she could stand here looking weak and pathetic. Tell her to stand on her own or leave the room."
Killian's jaw tightened. He stepped forward, shifting his weight to shield her.
"Enough, Lucian," he snapped. "She stays because I say she stays."
I narrowed my eyes, the gold flaring.
"As an Omega, she should be productive, not panting after you like a bitch in heat. I'd hate to remind her how conditional rank can be, brother."
The hall fell silent.
***
"And as for the matter of the traitor—"
Mina flinched, her voice trembling.
"Lucian, I... we are all loyal to you, Alpha. You know that. We are all hurting. None of us would have opened the gate to a monster like Malakor."
For one brief, violent second, I considered tearing her from my brother's grasp and hurling her down the hall.
Lately, every word she uttered had begun to abrade my patience.
The door at the end of the hall swung open, and Vanya stepped in with the sort of expression women like her mistook for compassion — softened eyes, careful posture, concern wrapped in silk and calculation.
In the past, I would have been fooled by that.
"Lucian, darling," Vanya purred, walking toward me. "You're destroying yourself. She was never meant to carry this weight. But I know how to manage the Alpha's fire. I can care for you in ways she never could."
I didn't speak.
Before Vanya could take another breath, my hand was around her throat. I pinned her against the wall so hard the plaster cracked.
"First, don't you ever call me Lucian again."
"She was just a human," Vanya wheezed. "I can be... more. I am your equal."
"You're not my equal. No one is."
I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a jagged whisper.
"And if I discover you you had a hand in this..." My fangs lengthened as i smiled without warmth "I won't just kill you. I will unmake you. I will strip your rank, your name, and your skin, and I will leave what's left of you on your father's bed."
Then I threw her aside.
She crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. I didn't look back. The internal pressure was reaching a crescendo.
"Victor!" I bellowed.
The Head of the Blood Marshal appeared at the door instantly.
"I want the northern outposts raided. Every rogue, every mercenary, every businessman with a debt to this pack. I want them brought to the basement. If they don't have a name, give them a reason to invent one. I want the rat found, and whoever helped them dismantled."
"Lucian," Killian warned. "Let's think this through. Plus, the Council—"
"Let them come."
I looked out the window at the dark silhouette of the mountain range.
"She isn't dead," I whispered, the gold in my eyes flaring into a blinding light.
"How do you know?" Killian asked.
"Because I haven't finished with her yet," I growled.
I turned toward the door, my coat billowing behind me like a shroud.
"Get the cars," I commanded.
"Where are we going?" Killian asked.
I paused at the threshold, the shadow of Vraal looming over my features.
"We're going to see her father."