The gala wasn't a celebration; it was a trap.
Sera stood in the center of the grand ballroom, the weight of the Thorne diamonds feeling like a cold noose around her neck. Alistair's hand was firm on her waist, but his body was a vibrating string of tension. His golden eyes weren't watching the dancers; they were scanning the shadows.
"Something is wrong," Alistair whispered, his voice a low vibration against her ear. "The air... it smells like ozone and silver."
Sera felt it too. The silence that followed her entrance wasn't just respect; it was the silence of a predator waiting for the signal.
Suddenly, the massive crystal chandelier above them flickered and died. A secondary, eerie red light flooded the room.
The heavy oak doors didn't just open; they were blasted off their hinges.
* * *
Alpha Kael didn't enter alone. Beside him stood a group of men in grey, sterile suits—The Council of Elders, the supreme authority of all werewolf packs, the ones who made even Alistair Thorne look like a common soldier.
And in their hands, they held a silver-bound scroll: An Execution Order.
"Alistair Thorne," the High Elder, a man with eyes like dead ash, projected his voice. "You have violated the First Law. You have granted the title of Luna to a human without the Council's Sanctification. You have diluted the bloodline for a common obsession."
"She is my Mate!" Alistair roared, his body beginning to shift, his platinum blonde hair bristling as his muscles expanded.
"The Mate bond is a biological accident," the High Elder countered coldly. "The Pack's purity is a divine law. By the power of the Moon Council, your title is suspended. And the human..."
He pointed a skeletal finger at Sera. "...is to be 'extinguished' to restore the balance."
* * *
Kael stepped forward, a look of pure, murderous ecstasy on his face. "I told you, Seraphina. Spirit breaks easily. And Alistair? He's about to watch his 'anchor' get dragged into the abyss."
Alistair didn't hesitate. He shifted mid-air, a massive, silver-white wolf that dwarfed everyone in the room. He let out a roar that shattered the remaining windows. But the Council's guards were prepared. They raised specialized rifles—Silver-Tipped Tranquilizers designed to subdue Alphas.
"Run, Sera!" Alistair's voice echoed in her mind through the bond, raw and desperate.
Sera didn't run. The PA in her, the woman who had survived Mark's betrayal and Alistair's coldness, stood her ground. She reached into her clutch bag, but she didn't pull out a weapon. She pulled out the Book of Ancient Luna Rites.
"Stop!" Sera's voice rang out, amplified by the shock of her audacity.
She held the book high. "By the Law of the First Moon, Chapter Seven, Section Three! 'No execution shall be carried out upon a Luna during the cycle of the Blood Moon without the Trial of the Three Deaths.'"
The High Elder paused, his ash-grey eyes narrowing. "A human knows the Rites?"
"This human knows that if you kill me now, you violate the very laws you claim to protect," Sera challenged, her icy blue eyes burning with a lethal intelligence. "I demand the Trial. If I survive, my title is sanctified. If I fail... you can have my life. But if you touch him, the Pack will burn this city to the ground."
* * *
A silence heavier than death descended on the ballroom. Alistair, in his wolf form, growled, a sound of agony and pride. He knew what the Trial of the Three Deaths was. No human had ever survived it. It was a physical and psychological torture designed to break the strongest wolves.
Kael's smirk faltered. The High Elder looked at Sera with a newfound, terrifying curiosity.
"You would trade a quick death for the Trial, human?" the Elder asked.
"I would trade anything to keep what is mine," Sera stated, her gaze shifting to the silver wolf at her side.
"So be it," the High Elder decreed. "The Trial begins at the next moonrise. Alistair Thorne will be caged in silver. And the human... will face the Serpent Ridge Pack alone."
As the Council guards moved in to restrain Alistair, he looked at Sera one last time—not as a protector, but as a partner. The "Face-Slapping" wasn't over. The real war had just begun.
END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN.