Chapter 546
“It is a cruel kindness, Adella,” Gigi whispered, stepping closer and offering me a long, black raven feather quill. “It is the only way to give him the peace he needs to let go. You must make the lie the truth.”
My hands trembled violently as I reached for the quill. The feather felt unnaturally heavy, weighed down by centuries of Pack law. I looked down at my flat stomach—thinking of the tiny life growing inside me, and then of Dallas, my fierce, broken Alpha, dying in a sterile room and believing I didn’t love him enough to stay.
I was doing this for them.
Through a blur of tears, I pressed the nib to the bottom of the parchment. The magic in the paper flared, warm and demanding. I didn’t sign my married name. I signed the name of the woman who was about to become a ghost.
Adella Everett.
The moment the ink dried, a sharp, invisible snap echoed through the silent room. The faint golden hum of the parchment faded into dull normalcy. The magical and legal tether that bound my soul to Dallas Marshall was officially, irreversibly severed.
Gigi carefully rolled the parchment and slid it back into the envelope. She looked at me, her eyes softening with a profound, devastating pity.
“You are free, child,” she murmured.
She turned and walked out, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, staring at the empty space where the parchment had been. I was free from the Pack, free from the politics, free from the title of Luna. But as I curled my knees to my chest and let the first agonizing sob tear through my throat, it didn’t feel like freedom.
It felt like a death sentence.
The morning sun offered no warmth as it bled through the frosted windows of the Rockies safe house. I hadn’t slept. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands resting protectively over my flat stomach. The phantom ache in my chest—where my mate-bond to Dallas had once burned so brightly—throbbed with a hollow, sickening rhythm.
The heavy oak door opened again. Eleanor “Gigi” Marshall stepped inside, bringing with her the crisp scent of old parchment and sharp lilac. She looked at my packed duffel bag, then at my pale face.
“The Ghost Protocol is ready,” Gigi said, her voice a quiet, steady hum in the dead air. “You will be given a new identity and a fabricated history. We are moving you to an isolated Marshall estate on the Scottish coast. No internet, no communication devices. You will be entirely cut off from the world.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “And then what?”
Gigi stepped closer, her presence commanding my full attention. “There are two paths. If the Goddess calls him home—if Dallas succumbs to his injuries—you and the pup will be brought back in absolute secrecy. The child will be raised and protected as the sole heir to the Alpha King.”
“And if he lives?” I whispered, my voice trembling at the thought of him surviving only to find me gone.