POV: Elias Beaumont
Glass smashed against the wall inches from my head. I ducked, feeling sharp pieces rain down on my shoulders.
"Traitor!" Marcus screamed, grabbing another cup to throw. "You chose her over your own pack!"
I moved quickly despite my wounds, catching his wrist before he could throw again. "Enough!"
The meeting room fell silent. Ten pairs of eyes stared at me—my pack leaders, my most trusted fighters. Or at least, they used to be.
Three days had passed since the fight with The Mother. Three days since Dorian had made his choice and helped us destroy the crystal. Three days of healing wounds—both physical and deeper ones that wouldn't mend so quickly.
"You weren't there," I said, my voice low but strong. "You didn't see what we faced."
"We saw enough," Marcus hissed, pulling his arm free. "Our Alpha running off with the Blood Moon heir, leaving us helpless. Half our land burned. Wolves dead."
The claims hit harder than any physical blow. Each word true.
