Chapter 11
One week after the Summit, the Council dropped its inquiry on Alaric's pack.
The charges: negligent containment of a dormant Royal bloodline. Failure to report anomalous mate signatures. Conduct unbecoming an Alpha toward a fated mate.
The penalty: formal censure, territory reduction, and—most devastating—public record.
Every pack on the continent would know that Alaric Black had a Lycan Queen in his bed and treated her like a broken toy.
The news broke like wildfire.
I was signing documents in my office when Dominic entered, expression unreadable.
"He's requesting an emergency hearing. Says he wants to testify."
"About?"
"He wants to publicly renounce Vanessa. Reassert his bond claim to you."
I set down my pen.
"He can't reassert what was dissolved."
"He's arguing the dissolution was filed under duress. That you left without giving him a chance to—"
"To what? Stop sleeping with his mistress?" I laughed—short, sharp. "Deny the hearing."
Dominic hesitated. "If I deny it, he can appeal to the full Council. Which means a public trial. Your testimony. His. Vanessa's."
A media circus. Every detail of his betrayal laid bare before the supernatural world.
I weighed it.
"Let him appeal," I said. "I have nothing to hide. He does."
Dominic inclined his head. "As you wish."
That night, I stood on The Obsidian's rooftop terrace. Manhattan spread below—glittering, indifferent.
My phone buzzed. Restricted number.
I answered.
"You've made your point." Alaric's voice—ragged, wrecked. "I get it. I deserve all of it. The censure. The humiliation. Fine. But don't do this publicly. Not the trial."
"How did you get this number?"
"Does it matter? Nora—Dr. Laurent—please. The public record will destroy my pack. My people. They had nothing to do with—"
"They watched me suffer for five years and said nothing."
Silence.
"Your mother called me 'the barren one' at dinner parties. Your Beta helped you coordinate 'patrol nights.' Your pack looked through me like I was glass." My voice didn't waver. "They chose their complicity. Now they share your consequences."
A sound—somewhere between a growl and a sob.
"What do you want? Name it. Territory. Wealth. A public apology—"
"I want nothing from you, Alaric. That's what you can't accept. I don't want revenge. I don't want you back. I just want the truth on record—so no other Alpha treats his mate the way you treated me."
Long silence. The sound of his breathing—shattered.
"I loved you," he whispered. "I still—"
"You loved the idea of me. Quiet. Grateful. Contained." I looked at the skyline. "That woman died three years ago. Mourn her if you want. But stop calling me."
I hung up.
Blocked the number.
And the wild thing in my chest—my wolf, fully awake now—howled with something that sounded like triumph.
---
The charges: negligent containment of a dormant Royal bloodline. Failure to report anomalous mate signatures. Conduct unbecoming an Alpha toward a fated mate.
The penalty: formal censure, territory reduction, and—most devastating—public record.
Every pack on the continent would know that Alaric Black had a Lycan Queen in his bed and treated her like a broken toy.
The news broke like wildfire.
I was signing documents in my office when Dominic entered, expression unreadable.
"He's requesting an emergency hearing. Says he wants to testify."
"About?"
"He wants to publicly renounce Vanessa. Reassert his bond claim to you."
I set down my pen.
"He can't reassert what was dissolved."
"He's arguing the dissolution was filed under duress. That you left without giving him a chance to—"
"To what? Stop sleeping with his mistress?" I laughed—short, sharp. "Deny the hearing."
Dominic hesitated. "If I deny it, he can appeal to the full Council. Which means a public trial. Your testimony. His. Vanessa's."
A media circus. Every detail of his betrayal laid bare before the supernatural world.
I weighed it.
"Let him appeal," I said. "I have nothing to hide. He does."
Dominic inclined his head. "As you wish."
That night, I stood on The Obsidian's rooftop terrace. Manhattan spread below—glittering, indifferent.
My phone buzzed. Restricted number.
I answered.
"You've made your point." Alaric's voice—ragged, wrecked. "I get it. I deserve all of it. The censure. The humiliation. Fine. But don't do this publicly. Not the trial."
"How did you get this number?"
"Does it matter? Nora—Dr. Laurent—please. The public record will destroy my pack. My people. They had nothing to do with—"
"They watched me suffer for five years and said nothing."
Silence.
"Your mother called me 'the barren one' at dinner parties. Your Beta helped you coordinate 'patrol nights.' Your pack looked through me like I was glass." My voice didn't waver. "They chose their complicity. Now they share your consequences."
A sound—somewhere between a growl and a sob.
"What do you want? Name it. Territory. Wealth. A public apology—"
"I want nothing from you, Alaric. That's what you can't accept. I don't want revenge. I don't want you back. I just want the truth on record—so no other Alpha treats his mate the way you treated me."
Long silence. The sound of his breathing—shattered.
"I loved you," he whispered. "I still—"
"You loved the idea of me. Quiet. Grateful. Contained." I looked at the skyline. "That woman died three years ago. Mourn her if you want. But stop calling me."
I hung up.
Blocked the number.
And the wild thing in my chest—my wolf, fully awake now—howled with something that sounded like triumph.
---