Cass’s POV

"Well, Cass... you’re a smart one, aren't you?" Oliver paced around me, his eyes tracking my defenseless, naked form with predatory hunger.

"Why?" I demanded, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Was this you from the very beginning?"

"Of course not," he replied. "My ambition solidified only after you rejected me. I came here to carve out my own pack, but I soon realized that a vacant territory isn't enough. Your pack is the most powerful on this continent. I wanted it. I wanted

you

—our power combined would have been absolute."

"So you’re just another power-hungry maniac, just like my father," I spat.

"Call me what you wish. It is my right." He smiled, a cold, thin expression. "You still haven't figured it out, have you?"

"Figured out what?"

I tried to exert my will—to command him to

die

—but he didn't even blink. My power simply dissipated against him like mist against a stone. A cold dread settled in my gut. He wasn't just resisting; he was immune.

He stepped into my space, pinning me against the earth. "If you were a common wolf, I could have bent you to my will by now. But we are the same, Casseopea.

Oliver Gunvald

—does the name ring a bell?"

The realization hit me like a physical blow. The three founding bloodlines: Chevalier, Solveig, and Gunvald.

"You’re a Gunvald," I whispered.

"I killed my two oldest siblings to claim my inheritance, and when I was caught, I was branded for the Hunt," he explained, his voice devoid of remorse. "I escaped, but I lost my seat. Now, I’m taking it back—starting with your throne. I don’t want to kill you, Cass. You’re too rare. I’ll make you my Luna."

"I’d rather die."

"You won't have a choice."

The chase was a nightmare of adrenaline and claw. Oliver shifted, a massive, primal beast, and I followed suit, our wolves tearing through the dense underbrush. We slammed into each other with the force of boulders, gravity and momentum fueling our violence.

I was battered, my vision swimming in and out of focus, when he finally pinned me. His fingers dug into my eyes, his voice a guttural growl. "You don't need to see to be my Luna."

No.

Suddenly, Oliver was ripped from me, sent flying through the air like a ragdoll.

Colt stood in the clearing, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with a feral, protective rage. "You’ve touched her for the last time," he growled.

"Colt, don't look into his eyes!" I screamed, remembering Oliver’s immunity-bypassing influence.

Colt didn't listen. He tackled Oliver, his fists raining down with murderous intent.

Honora appeared at my side, her eyes fixed on the brawl. "Kill him, Colt!" she urged. "He is the architect of this destruction. End him now!"

"Death is too easy," Colt snarled, pinning Oliver to the dirt. "He belongs to his family’s justice, not mine."

"You fool!" Honora snapped, her frustration boiling over. "You’re giving him a chance to slip through your fingers!"

Colt stood up, exhausted and defiant. "I don't care about your opinion, lady. I’m done taking orders."

Honora’s expression shifted, the maternal veneer vanishing to reveal something much colder. "If I can't trust you to keep her safe, then I’ll have to handle it myself."

As Colt sauntered toward me, his guard completely down, Honora raised her hand. A fine, shimmering dust puffed into his face. Before he could even draw a breath, his knees buckled, and he collapsed into the dirt, unconscious.

"Colt!" I scrambled toward him, but Honora blocked my path, her eyes glowing with a terrifying, ancient power.