Chapter 2

My knees are raw beneath my jeans, the skin scraped bloody from three hours of scrubbing the pack house floors. The Omega supervisor—a bitter she-wolf named Marge who seems to relish my fall from grace—stands over me with her arms crossed, critiquing the streak patterns in the marble.

"A Luna who can't even clean properly," she mutters. "Pathetic."

I don't respond. The pill from this morning has wrapped my thoughts in cotton, but somewhere beneath the chemical fog, something is stirring. My wolf. Faint, like a whisper through static, but there.

Remember this, that whisper says. Remember her face.

"Lila." Justin's voice cuts through the hallway. "My office. Now."

Marge steps aside with a smirk. I push myself to my feet, my legs trembling with exhaustion, and follow my Alpha—my mate, though the word tastes like poison now—down the corridor.

He doesn't look at me when I enter. He's reviewing documents at his desk, his jaw tight with stress. The Lycan King's visit has him on edge. Good.

"The King arrives in two days," he says, still not meeting my eyes. "And you've made this pack look like a circus with your... behavior."

Behavior. As if my resistance to being drugged and demoted is somehow unreasonable.

"Since you clearly can't lead," he continues, his tone dripping with disdain, "you will guard. Ensure the pack is alert and ready for emergency drills at all times before the King arrives. No exceptions. I want every wolf sharp, prepared, vigilant."

He finally looks up, his eyes cold. "Do you understand?"

The order is deliberately vague. Ambiguous. He's setting me up to fail, giving himself ammunition for whatever punishment he's planning next. But as I stand there, swaying slightly from exhaustion and drugs, that whisper in my mind grows louder.

Alert. Emergency drills. At all times. No exceptions.

My lips curve into something that might be a smile if it reached my eyes. "Yes, Alpha. I understand perfectly."

Something flickers across his face—suspicion, maybe—but he dismisses me with a wave.

I bow my head and leave, that spark of rebellion catching fire in my chest.

---

At exactly 3:00 AM, I stand in the security room of the pack house, my finger hovering over the red button that controls the territory's emergency alert system. The system designed for catastrophic threats. Rogue invasions. Natural disasters.

Emergencies.

I press it.

The sirens split the night like the world is ending. The sound is deafening, primal, designed to trigger every wolf's fight-or-flight instinct. Through the windows, I watch lights flare on in houses across the territory. Wolves pour into the streets in various states of undress, some already half-shifted, their eyes wild with panic.

Justin crashes through the pack house doors in nothing but boxer shorts, his hair standing on end, Summer stumbling behind him in one of my old silk robes. The sight of her wearing my clothes adds a layer of satisfaction to this moment.

"WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?" Justin's roar barely carries over the sirens.

I calmly reach over and silence the alarm. The sudden quiet is almost as jarring as the noise.

"Emergency drill, Alpha," I say, my voice steady and clear. "As you ordered."

His face goes purple. "I ORDERED NO SUCH—"

"You ordered me to ensure the pack is alert and ready for emergency drills at all times before the King arrives." I meet his eyes, my expression perfectly neutral. "No exceptions. Those were your exact words."

The pack members are gathering now, confused and angry, their sleep-deprived faces turning toward their Alpha for explanation. Marcus, the Beta, looks particularly murderous, his eyes bloodshot from what I know was a late patrol shift.

Justin's jaw works soundlessly. He can't punish me. Not without admitting his order was poorly thought out. Not without looking weak in front of the pack.

"Three AM is hardly—"

"At all times, Alpha," I repeat softly. "You were very clear."

Summer tugs at his arm, whispering something, but he shakes her off. The pack is watching. Waiting. Some of the younger wolves are starting to smirk, recognizing the trap I've laid.

Justin's Alpha aura flares, pressing against everyone in the vicinity, but I don't flinch. The drug in my system dulls its effect, and my wolf—my beautiful, suppressed wolf—is laughing somewhere deep inside.

"Dismissed," Justin finally snarls at the pack. "Everyone back to bed."

As they disperse, grumbling and exhausted, he turns to me with murder in his eyes.

"My office," he hisses. "Dawn."

---

When I arrive at his office six hours later, he's waiting with Summer at his side. She's wearing the Luna's keys on her belt now, and the sight makes my wolf snarl weakly.

Justin tosses a small leather pouch onto the desk. It lands with a pathetic clink.

"The Alpha delegation from the Mountain Ridge Pack arrives tomorrow night," he says, his smile cruel. "You will prepare the welcome feast."

I stare at the pouch. Even from here, I can tell it contains maybe twenty silver coins. Barely enough for bread and water, let alone a feast worthy of visiting Alphas.

"This is your budget," he continues. "No more. If you fail, you'll be locked in the basement until the King's visit is over. We can't have you embarrassing us further."

Summer's smile is vicious. She thinks I'll beg. They both do.

I pick up the pouch, feeling its insulting weight in my palm. That spark in my chest blazes brighter.

"Of course, Alpha," I say quietly. "I'll prepare a feast they'll never forget."

And I will. Oh, I absolutely will.