Chapter 606
Vance stared at me, awe flickering in his gaze. Slowly, he dropped into a deep, reverent bow. “You have my absolute loyalty, my Luna.”
Dallas POV
Morning sunlight pierced the room. I blinked, the heavy fog of the sedatives lifting slowly from my mind. Ragnar stirred weakly within me—exhausted, but alive.
My first instinct was to look down. The white blanket was perfectly tucked around my legs. A wave of profound relief washed over me. She hadn’t seen. My shameful, broken secret was still safe.
Adella was asleep in the armchair beside me, looking so fragile yet so fiercely beautiful. I didn’t deserve her.
Suddenly, a sharp, frantic voice pierced my mind.
Alpha, Duncan Whitaker’s Mind-Link echoed, tight with urgency. The council is in an uproar. Dosha’s faction is citing the ancient laws. They’re formally challenging your claim to the throne on the grounds that your bloodline is compromised by silver.
My jaw clenched, a low growl rumbling in my chest. Dosha was making her move while I was still bleeding. I looked at my sleeping mate, bracing myself for the political storm I would have to face alone—completely unaware that my Luna had already built an impenetrable fortress around me.
Adella POV
Dallas’s jaw clenched, a low, dangerous rumble vibrating in his chest. Before I could ask what was wrong, the heavy door of the VVIP suite swung open. Duncan Whitaker strode in, his face grim.
“Alpha,” Duncan said, his voice tight with urgency. “Dosha and Elder Malcolm just pushed through a Ritual Injunction. Your power to appoint new council members is temporarily frozen.”
Dosha was trying to block Sloane Corbin from testifying. But Dallas didn’t look defeated—his storm-gray eyes gleamed with a predator’s calculation. Ragnar, his Inner Wolf, might be weak, but he was far from beaten.
“Let them play their games,” Dallas murmured. He nodded at Duncan, who retrieved a heavy, blood-sealed lockbox from the corner and opened it, pulling out an ancient, yellowed parchment—a Blood-Bound Charter.
Dallas looked at me, his gaze softening yet burning with quiet intensity. “Dosha blocked the Alpha King, but she forgot the land itself holds power. This transfers absolute ownership of Blackwood Grove to you. A belated dowry.”
My breath hitched. Blackwood Grove was the oldest, most sacred Marshall territory. “Dallas, I—”
“Sign it,” he urged, pressing his thumb against a fresh cut on his palm to draw a bead of blood. “With this.”
Trembling, I dipped my fingertip into his blood and traced my name onto the parchment. Magic flared—warm and ancient—binding my soul to the earth. I was officially the Lady of Blackwood Grove.
Three hours later, the High Council Chamber was a powder keg. The air was thick with the scent of ancient magic, polished obsidian, and the sharp tang of impending violence.
“This is an outrage!” Dosha shrieked from her hoverchair, pointing a trembling, bony finger at Sloane Corbin, who stood near the heavy oak doors. “Remove that traitor at once!”
I stepped forward, moving to the center of the millennial oak table. The room fell dead silent.
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