Elaria's POV
Smoke seeped through the cracks of the hall, staining the air with smoke and blood.
I sat at the edge of the council table with my dress torn at the hem, my hair matted with dust, and my nails bitten raw. To anyone else, I must have looked like another frightened wolf-girl in a crumbling keep.
Good.
I want them to see weakness and fragility.
Because while they whispered of the curse of the prophecy and they tore at each other like starving dogs, I listened and I remembered. I planned.
The war outside shook the walls. Ironclaw horns howled through the night as Shadowfang claws scraped against the gates, and every hour, another warrior staggered in dripping blood.
The pack was breaking. I could smell it.
But the Bloodfang pack still clung to their secrets.
Aisla. Ordinary servant girl.
The cursed omega who stole what was mine. The girl who bent the triplets into knots, who drew every gaze, who left even the Alpha scheming in shadows.
