Chapter 592
“You would know all about killing your own blood, wouldn’t you, Dosha?” I stepped forward, leaving Dallas’s side to stand directly before the glass mirror wall.
I looked at Vance Decker. He gave a curt nod and tapped his encrypted tablet.
Instantly, a high-resolution federal magic document projected onto the fogged mirror. The seal of the High Council glowed ominously in the dim, steam-thick room.
“Estevan Norton’s signed confession,” I announced, my voice slicing through the heavy air. “Twenty years ago, you framed your own brother for treason. You paid Rogues to cripple his legs with silver in a prison cell — just to steal the Crimson Paw Alpha title.”
Dosha’s face drained of all color. Behind her, Sloane let out a choked gasp, her loyalty visibly fracturing as the truth unfolded before her.
“Lies!” Dosha spat, though her trembling hands betrayed her.
“But Estevan had more to say to the Justicars,” I continued, my gaze locking onto Dosha with lethal precision. “He testified that you orchestrated the silver ambush on Dallas in Siberia. You crippled your mate’s son to clear the throne for your own bloodline.”
The room went dead silent. Dosha’s facade shattered. She let out a feral, hysterical scream, cursing my name and Dallas’s existence. Beside me, Dallas shuddered violently, the water around him rippling as Ragnar’s silent, murderous roar vibrated through our mate-bond.
Driven by pure, cornered madness, Dosha lunged forward, trying to launch herself from the hover-chair.
She miscalculated the controls. The chair jerked violently, and she pitched forward, slamming face-first onto the wet tiles with a sickening crack. Sloane screamed.
Elder Malcolm rushed forward and reached down to help his ally, but Dosha violently shoved his hand away. She thrashed on the floor, her eyes darting to the glass wall where a crowd of Pack medical staff had gathered.
“She pushed me!” Dosha wailed, jabbing a trembling, accusatory finger in my direction. “The pregnant wolfless bitch attacked a crippled Alpha Female!”
Azalea stepped forward, her voice dripping with contempt. “The security runes in the ceiling are recording every second, Dosha. Save the pathetic performance.”
Elder Malcolm stood frozen, his face burning with suffocating humiliation. He had tied his legacy to a lying, murderous fraud, and the entire Pack was watching his downfall unfold.
Unable to control the narrative, he turned his furious, desperate glare on me. But he knew better than to raise a hand — the cameras were recording, and Dallas was still very much conscious.
“Pick her up, girl,” Malcolm barked, jabbing his heavy wooden cane toward Dosha. “Show some respect to your betters.”
I met his furious gaze without blinking, my chin held high. “She is not my Alpha. And I didn’t touch her.”
The blatant defiance from a wolfless snapped his fragile pride. His hand twitched — but he caught himself. Instead, he turned to Dallas, his voice cracking with desperation. “Control your Mate, or the Elders will hear of this.”
Dallas’s eyes blazed. “Get out, Malcolm. Before I forget you’re an Elder.”