Chapter 13
**Six months later.**
The Volkov Estate was alive with sound—specifically, the sound of two eighteen-month-old Lycan princes destroying everything in their path.
Ash had discovered he could partially shift his hands—tiny claws emerging from chubby fingers—and was using this new skill to shred every piece of furniture in the east parlor. Cade sat beside the wreckage with a book (upside down) in his lap, occasionally looking at his brother with an expression that said *you're going to get us both in trouble.*
Viktor stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the destruction with a mixture of horror and overwhelming pride.
"They're going to be terrifying Alphas," he said.
"They already are." I scooped Ash up mid-shred. He growled at me—actually growled—and I growled back. He burst into giggles.
Life in the Volkov territory had become something I once thought impossible: normal. Happy. My sons had five uncles who competed for their attention. A grandfather who, despite his illness, insisted on seeing them every morning. A staff who adored them. A home.
And I had purpose beyond survival.
Viktor had begun transitioning responsibilities to me—diplomatic meetings, territorial negotiations, the endless politics of maintaining a sovereign bloodline in a world full of packs that wanted to absorb us.
I was good at it. Surprisingly good. The years of being invisible, of reading rooms and anticipating moods and surviving people who wanted me gone—it had made me perceptive in ways that served me well at a negotiating table.
"You have a visitor," Dmitri announced from the corridor, his tone carrying a note of disdain that told me exactly who it was.
"I'm not expecting anyone."
"She says she's from Bloodmoon." Dmitri's jaw tightened. "The Luna."
Every muscle in my body went rigid. Behind me, Viktor straightened to his full height.
"She came HERE?" Viktor's disbelief was tinged with dark amusement. "To our territory?"
"She's at the gate. Alone. No guards. She's requesting an audience."
I handed Ash to Viktor. "I'll see her."
"Absolutely not alone," Viktor said.
"Fine. You can watch. But I handle this."
Mira stood at the iron gates of the Volkov estate looking nothing like the woman I remembered. She was thin—gaunt, even. Dark circles under her eyes, her hair lank, her designer clothes hanging loosely. No crown. No pride. No performance.
The child wasn't with her.
I approached with Viktor and Roman flanking me. The power imbalance was absurd—three Lycans facing one diminished she-wolf—but I didn't care about fairness. Not with her.
"You have thirty seconds," I said.
Mira looked at me with eyes that held no fight. Whatever fire had driven her cruelty was extinguished.
"Kael rejected me," she said flatly. "Publicly. In front of the whole pack. After the Council hearing, the Elders demanded a review. The truth about my son came out. Everything came out."
I said nothing.
"They stripped my Luna title. Exiled me and my child from Bloodmoon. Vivian tried to have my son—" Her voice broke. "She tried to have him killed. Called him a rogue abomination. Kael stopped her, but he still sent us away."
The irony was so thick I could taste it. The exact words. The exact treatment.
"Why are you here, Mira?"
She fell to her knees. Literally dropped—knees hitting the gravel path, hands pressed to the ground.
"I'm begging you. Not for me. For my son. He's innocent. He's just a child." Tears streamed down her face—real ones, this time. "I have nowhere to go. No pack will take us. I have no money, no connections, nothing. They're hunting us—rogues who know what my son is, who want to recruit him."
"You called my children cursed," I said quietly. "You filed documents to have them declared illegitimate. You stood by while his mother chained me to a post to die."
"I know." Her voice was a whisper. "I know what I did. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm asking for mercy. For my son."
I looked down at her. At this woman who'd stolen my mate, my title, my dignity—who'd tried to steal my children.
She looked exactly like I had, kneeling on the cobblestones of the Blackwood courtyard. Powerless. Pregnant. Afraid.
The difference was: I'd been innocent. She hadn't.
But her son was.
"Get up," I said.
She raised her tear-stained face, confused.
"There's a safe house at the edge of Volkov territory. For displaced wolves and their children. You'll stay there. Your son will be protected." I paused. "But you step one foot near my family—near my sons—and my brothers will end you."
Mira stared at me as if I'd spoken in a language she didn't understand. Then a sob broke from her chest—ugly, raw, genuine.
"Why?" she gasped. "After everything I did to you—why?"
"Because my sons are watching." I nodded toward the window of the east parlor, where two small faces pressed against the glass. "And I want them to know that power isn't about revenge. It's about choice."
I turned and walked back toward my home, toward my children, leaving Mira kneeling in the gravel.
Viktor fell in step beside me, his expression unreadable.
"You're a better person than I am," he muttered.
"No," I said. "I just refuse to become what they were."
The Volkov Estate was alive with sound—specifically, the sound of two eighteen-month-old Lycan princes destroying everything in their path.
Ash had discovered he could partially shift his hands—tiny claws emerging from chubby fingers—and was using this new skill to shred every piece of furniture in the east parlor. Cade sat beside the wreckage with a book (upside down) in his lap, occasionally looking at his brother with an expression that said *you're going to get us both in trouble.*
Viktor stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the destruction with a mixture of horror and overwhelming pride.
"They're going to be terrifying Alphas," he said.
"They already are." I scooped Ash up mid-shred. He growled at me—actually growled—and I growled back. He burst into giggles.
Life in the Volkov territory had become something I once thought impossible: normal. Happy. My sons had five uncles who competed for their attention. A grandfather who, despite his illness, insisted on seeing them every morning. A staff who adored them. A home.
And I had purpose beyond survival.
Viktor had begun transitioning responsibilities to me—diplomatic meetings, territorial negotiations, the endless politics of maintaining a sovereign bloodline in a world full of packs that wanted to absorb us.
I was good at it. Surprisingly good. The years of being invisible, of reading rooms and anticipating moods and surviving people who wanted me gone—it had made me perceptive in ways that served me well at a negotiating table.
"You have a visitor," Dmitri announced from the corridor, his tone carrying a note of disdain that told me exactly who it was.
"I'm not expecting anyone."
"She says she's from Bloodmoon." Dmitri's jaw tightened. "The Luna."
Every muscle in my body went rigid. Behind me, Viktor straightened to his full height.
"She came HERE?" Viktor's disbelief was tinged with dark amusement. "To our territory?"
"She's at the gate. Alone. No guards. She's requesting an audience."
I handed Ash to Viktor. "I'll see her."
"Absolutely not alone," Viktor said.
"Fine. You can watch. But I handle this."
Mira stood at the iron gates of the Volkov estate looking nothing like the woman I remembered. She was thin—gaunt, even. Dark circles under her eyes, her hair lank, her designer clothes hanging loosely. No crown. No pride. No performance.
The child wasn't with her.
I approached with Viktor and Roman flanking me. The power imbalance was absurd—three Lycans facing one diminished she-wolf—but I didn't care about fairness. Not with her.
"You have thirty seconds," I said.
Mira looked at me with eyes that held no fight. Whatever fire had driven her cruelty was extinguished.
"Kael rejected me," she said flatly. "Publicly. In front of the whole pack. After the Council hearing, the Elders demanded a review. The truth about my son came out. Everything came out."
I said nothing.
"They stripped my Luna title. Exiled me and my child from Bloodmoon. Vivian tried to have my son—" Her voice broke. "She tried to have him killed. Called him a rogue abomination. Kael stopped her, but he still sent us away."
The irony was so thick I could taste it. The exact words. The exact treatment.
"Why are you here, Mira?"
She fell to her knees. Literally dropped—knees hitting the gravel path, hands pressed to the ground.
"I'm begging you. Not for me. For my son. He's innocent. He's just a child." Tears streamed down her face—real ones, this time. "I have nowhere to go. No pack will take us. I have no money, no connections, nothing. They're hunting us—rogues who know what my son is, who want to recruit him."
"You called my children cursed," I said quietly. "You filed documents to have them declared illegitimate. You stood by while his mother chained me to a post to die."
"I know." Her voice was a whisper. "I know what I did. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm asking for mercy. For my son."
I looked down at her. At this woman who'd stolen my mate, my title, my dignity—who'd tried to steal my children.
She looked exactly like I had, kneeling on the cobblestones of the Blackwood courtyard. Powerless. Pregnant. Afraid.
The difference was: I'd been innocent. She hadn't.
But her son was.
"Get up," I said.
She raised her tear-stained face, confused.
"There's a safe house at the edge of Volkov territory. For displaced wolves and their children. You'll stay there. Your son will be protected." I paused. "But you step one foot near my family—near my sons—and my brothers will end you."
Mira stared at me as if I'd spoken in a language she didn't understand. Then a sob broke from her chest—ugly, raw, genuine.
"Why?" she gasped. "After everything I did to you—why?"
"Because my sons are watching." I nodded toward the window of the east parlor, where two small faces pressed against the glass. "And I want them to know that power isn't about revenge. It's about choice."
I turned and walked back toward my home, toward my children, leaving Mira kneeling in the gravel.
Viktor fell in step beside me, his expression unreadable.
"You're a better person than I am," he muttered.
"No," I said. "I just refuse to become what they were."