“What do you want to do now?” Emma asked after lunch, her hand finding mine. “Alexander and I will support whatever you
I toucchoose.”
hed Marcus’s pendant. “I want to be a healer again.”
They both looked surprised. Even Alexander’s usually stoic face showed interest.
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“Before Ryan,” I explained, watching their reactions, “I was the Storm Shadow Pack’s youngest healer. The youngest in fifty years to master silver poisoning treatment.”
Emma nodded encouragingly.
“But Ryan wanted me home, safe, protected.” My lip curled at the memory. “So I gave it up. Now… I want to heal wolves suffering
from silver poisoning. Like my son.”
Alexander nodded slowly, his Alpha presence filling the room. “And your other plans?”
“Already in motion.” I smiled coldly, pulling out a thick folder. “I sent evidence of Jamie’s crime to the Pack Council. Security
footage. Witness statements. DNA from the victim’s wounds. Proof that they tried to frame an innocent pup for murder.”
Every day, Emma brought new updates about the Storm Shadow Pack’s implosion.
Sarah and Jamie’s scandal hit like a hurricane. The pack turned on them viciously, remembering how they’d mourned an
innocent pup while the real killer walked free.
Katherine and William, destroyed by the knowledge they’d murdered their true heir, withdrew their protection completely. When
the Council investigators came, they offered up Sarah and Jamie without hesitation.
“Katherine hasn’t left her room in weeks,” Emma reported. “They say she howls at the moon every night, calling for Marcus’s
forgiveness.”
The Pack Council’s judgment was swift: permanent exile for both Sarah and Jamie. No pack would ever shelter them. They would die as rogues, hunted by every wolf who crossed their path.
“They tried crossing into Red Claw territory,” Emma told me over tea. “The border guards recognized Jamie. They barely escape
with their lives.”
Ryan lost everything. His Beta position stripped away. His chance at becoming Alpha shattered like glass.
“He spends his days drunk on wolfsbane wine,” Emma said softly. “Begging anyone who’ll listen about his dead son.”
“Justice,” Emma whispered when she told me. “But not enough. Not nearly enough.”
One evening over dinner, Alexander came home with a thick envelope, his face uncharacteristically pleased.
“A gift,” he said, sliding it across the table. “You’ve earned it.”
Inside was an official appointment: Chief Healer of the Blood Moon Pack. My hands trembled as I read it.
“The pack has watched your work,” Emma said proudly. “They’ve seen how many lives you’ve saved. How many wolves you’ve healed from silver poisoning.”
Tears pricked my eyes. Finally, someone saw me – not as a mate, not as a victim, but as myself. As the healer I was always mean
to be.
“There’s more,” Alexander added, producing another document from his jacket. “This just came from the High Council.”
As I read it, my hands began to shake.
It was a verdict.
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