Chapter 611
Elder Malcolm was hurriedly shoving ancient Pack documents and clothing into a leather suitcase. He froze the moment my wheelchair crossed the threshold. His Inner Wolf was cowering so deeply I could practically feel its shame radiating across the room.
“Alpha King,” Malcolm choked out, his hands trembling.
“You are leaving tonight,” I said, my voice devoid of warmth. “To the most remote Pack territory in Europe. You will never set foot in the Marshall Estate again.”
Malcolm collapsed to his knees, tears spilling over his wrinkled cheeks. “Please, Dallas. Let me explain. Dosha had proof. My son racked up massive gambling debts in the human world. I embezzled Pack funds to save him from the syndicates. Dosha found out and blackmailed me. I only did it to protect my bloodline.”
Inside my mind, Ragnar snarled with icy, absolute contempt.
“You risked the future of this entire Pack,” I said softly, the lethal edge in my tone making him flinch. “You helped a madwoman bring a silver weapon onto my grounds, nearly killing my pregnant Mate—all to protect a criminal son.”
Malcolm sobbed, his shoulders shaking. With a trembling hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an ancient obsidian badge—the symbol of his status as an Elder. He held it out to me, a pathetic offering of submission and repentance.
“Take it,” he wept. “I am sorry.”
I stared at the badge, then up at his broken form. “Keep it. Your loyalty is worthless to me now.”
I spun my wheelchair around and rolled out of the study. As I moved down the hall, the heavy, suffocating weight of the internal rebellion that had plagued my Pack finally lifted from my shoulders. There would be no reconciliation—only a brutal, necessary cleansing.
Adella POV
The garden patio had grown quiet. The cleaning crew had already scrubbed the scorched earth where the silver had melted the grass. Down the driveway, a black car idled, waiting to carry Sloane Corbin and Anson Fowler away from the chaos.
I stood near the glass doors, my eyes fixed on Dallas. He sat alone by the stone balustrade, staring out at the endless cedar forest. He had won tonight, but his posture was rigid, his broad shoulders carrying an invisible, crushing weight.
“Adella.”
I turned to find Azalea Sterling approaching, her expression tight with worry. Beside her stood Dr. Alistair Vance, his demeanor as calm and measured as ever.
“Is it the assessment?” I asked, my heart kicking against my ribs.
Azalea nodded, her Inner Wolf practically pacing with anxiety. “I’ll let Dr. Vance explain.”
Dr. Vance adjusted his glasses. “Luna, I have reviewed the Alpha King’s latest neurological data. He qualifies for an experimental nerve regeneration surgery at a secret, neutral Pack facility in Switzerland.”
A wave of profound relief washed over me. “That’s incredible. When can we—”
“There is a catch,” Dr. Vance interrupted gently. “The procedure’s success rate is exactly fifty percent. The risks are catastrophic.”
The relief shattered. “Explain.”
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