Clyda POV: The northern winds of the capital city howled like a dying beast, whipping my dark hair violently across my face as I kicked open the heavy door of the armored truck. I planted my combat boot into a muddy puddle, the freezing rain instantly soaking the hem of my black trench coat. Yet, the biting cold of the storm was absolutely nothing compared to the suffocating, absolute ice running through my veins. Four Simon Pack guards stationed at the estate gates immediately raised their high-beam flashlights, the blinding glare cutting through the torrential downpour straight into my eyes. The heavy, wrought-iron gates of the Simon Pack Manor remained firmly shut, a silent, towering testament to the family's relentless rejection of my existence. Right behind my idling truck sat a custom-built cryo-coffin, radiating a bone-chilling frost that battled the storm, yet not a single soul from my so-called noble family dared to step forward and claim it. "Halt! Pack territory is strictly off-limits! Exiles and banished wolfless like Clyda Simon are forbidden to enter!" The guard captain barked the order over the roaring thunder, his hand already resting heavily on the holster of his silver-loaded sidearm. For three long years, the high society of the capital had relentlessly mocked me. I was the illegitimate Simon daughter banished to the remote, unforgiving borderlands—a genetic defect born without an inner wolf, incapable of shifting into a Dire Wolf at the age of eighteen, and completely cut off from the pack's telepathic Mind-Link. To them, I was less than human, a stain on their pristine bloodline. I didn't slow my pace. I slammed the heavy truck door shut with a resounding metallic clang, my eyes colder than arctic ice as I walked straight toward their leveled gun barrels. Every step I took was slow, deliberate, and required every single ounce of my formidable willpower just to keep from tearing those massive metal gates right off their reinforced hinges. The captain narrowed his feral eyes and projected his dominant Beta aura, intending to force me to my knees in genetic submission. He simultaneously sent a quick mental alert through the pack link—*Code red, the banished wolfless is back.* But because I possessed no inner wolf in their eyes, his mental link couldn't touch my consciousness, and his pathetic Beta pressure washed over my skin like nothing more than a warm, insignificant breeze. "Giana, clear the way." I tilted my head slightly, speaking softly into the deep shadows behind me. During my exile, I hadn't just survived; I had thrived, cultivating four personal shadow operatives within the underground Obsidian Syndicate, each possessing a lethal, highly specialized skill. Nora was the mastermind of intelligence and finance, capable of bankrupting an entire noble pack in seconds. Lyra was the phantom of toxins, her sweet smile hiding a thousand untraceable ways to stop a werewolf's rapid heartbeat. Vex handled the logistics of death, ensuring no trace of a body was ever left behind. But the one who stepped from the shadows now was my primary blade. Giana Nelson, my personal shadow guard who owed her life solely to me, dropped from the roof of the truck like a phantom born of the storm. Her steel dagger carved a lethal, invisible arc through the heavy rain. In less than three seconds, all four guards collapsed into the mud, clutching their slit wrists as their firearms clattered uselessly across the wet cobblestones. I stepped right over the captain's trembling shoulder and walked to the back of the rig. My fingers brushed against the custom cryo-coffin, the frost biting at my skin. Giana stepped up beside me in perfect silence and yanked back the heavy waterproof tarp, exposing the complex mechanical latches underneath. "Open it." My voice came out raspy, my fingers curling into tight, white-knuckled fists at my sides. As the heavy mechanical locks popped open one by one with a hiss of depressurization, the bulletproof glass lid rose slowly, releasing a thick cloud of white frost into the driving rain. I looked down through the dissipating mist, my gaze locked onto the lifeless body inside. That was my older sister, Gertrude York—once the most dazzling, envied socialite across the entire werewolf continent. She was the woman who had been my only source of sunlight in a family of vipers, the only one who loved me when the world cast me out. Now, she lay in the frost like a broken, discarded ragdoll. My hand trembled violently as my fingertips brushed her pale, sunken cheek. The freezing cold traveled up my arm, and an invisible, crushing hand squeezed my heart so hard I couldn't draw a single breath. Her beautiful, peerless face was ruined, marred by horrific, blackened lacerations that made her almost unrecognizable. She was barely covered by a thin white shroud, exposing arms and legs that were completely covered in desperate defensive wounds and deep, necrotic burns. There was no permanent mate mark on her neck. Instead, deep, bone-exposing lacerations with blackened, sizzling edges tore across her delicate collarbones. Those were burns from high-purity liquid silver. In our world, silver is the only lethal poison capable of halting a werewolf's rapid cellular healing and burning their inner wolf to ash. My sister was dead. The realization hit me like a physical, devastating blow to the chest. Someone had tortured her, broken her spirit, and left her to die in unimaginable agony. I slammed my eyes shut as a furnace of pure, unadulterated rage roared to life in my chest. The dormant, ancient Sacred White Wolf bloodline—a secret I had kept hidden from the world—boiled violently through my veins. I wanted to carve the flesh from their bones. I wanted to drag whoever did this down to the deepest, darkest pits of hell to keep her company. Giana and the other hidden operatives in the perimeter felt the sudden, terrifying shift in the air. The sheer bloodlust radiating from my body made the falling raindrops seem to freeze in mid-air. They knew I was on the absolute verge of a massacre. "Don't be afraid, Gertrude," I whispered, my voice terrifyingly soft and laced with a deadly, unbreakable promise as I gently stroked her ruined cheek. "You won't be lonely on the road to the afterlife. I will send every single person who hurt you straight to hell to serve you." I slowly closed her half-open eyes, my expression settling into a mask of absolute, dead calm. It was my fault. When Elder Lady Agatha banished me to the borderlands, I thought my absence would remove the stigma from Gertrude, allowing her to live a peaceful, happy life as a Luna in the capital. I was wrong. If I had stayed, no one would have dared to touch a single hair on her head. "Who did this?" I ground out the words through clenched teeth, each syllable tasting like copper and blood in my throat. I turned around and looked down at the bleeding guard captain, my gaze stripped of all human warmth. The captain whimpered pathetically, pressing his hands against his bleeding wrists. Whispers were already starting to spread among the terrified servants peeking through the cracked gates. They remembered me. They remembered that years ago, when the arrogant son of the Marquis Pack tried to drug and defile Gertrude, I had publicly severed his reproductive organs with a hunting knife, leaving him a permanent cripple. They knew I was a demon when it came to protecting my sister. "It... it was the Lewis Pack... They said the eldest miss went insane..." The captain clamped his jaw shut, still trying to protect the pack executives' pride despite his bleeding wrists. "Elder Lady Agatha gave strict orders! No one is allowed to investigate this matter!" I let out a cold, hollow laugh and drew a custom whip braided with fine silver wire from Giana's tactical belt. I flicked my wrist until the tip cracked a sonic boom through the wet air, bringing the silver lash down hard across the captain's thigh. The metal seared into his flesh with a loud sizzle and a plume of white smoke, ripping a gut-wrenching, agonizing scream from his throat as the silver halted his healing. "I will ask one last time." I pressed the bloodied silver whip directly against his chin, keeping my voice soft and terrifying. "Who. Did. This?" The captain convulsed violently in the puddle, his eyes wide with sheer terror as the silver toxin ate into his bloodstream. "It was Alpha Dillon! He announced in public that she couldn't bear high-ranking pups and tore up their mate contract on the spot!" Hearing my former brother-in-law's name, my lips curved into a freezing, psychotic smile as I rolled the dark wooden beads on my wrist—the special enchanted bracelet hiding my divine scent—until the wood groaned under my crushing grip. "Good." I tossed the silver whip back to Giana. "Since he cares so much about breeding, I'll go cut off his bloodline myself."

Clyda POV: As Giana caught the silver-laced whip, the guard captain curled tighter into the freezing mud, clutching his smoking thigh and shivering uncontrollably. The foul smell of burnt werewolf flesh and wet asphalt hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood and the relentless downpour. "Alpha Dillon spoke the formal rejection oath right in front of the press..." The captain gasped for air between pathetic sobs, his feral eyes darting frantically toward the heavy iron gates of the Simon estate as if praying for reinforcements that would never come. "He looked right at her during the pack assembly and said, 'I, Dillon, reject you, Gertrude, as my mate'..." A bucket of ice water seemed to pour over me from head to toe, leaving my fingers entirely numb. In werewolf lore, only a fully marked mate bond triggers the full, soul-tearing agony of the Rejection Ritual. Having her soul ripped in half by the man she loved, while simultaneously being tortured with liquid silver, meant Gertrude had gone through absolute hell before taking her last breath. "And then? The Simon Pack just stood by and watched her get cast out as a packless Rogue?" I grabbed his wet, muddy collar and hauled him straight up out of the puddle, my grip tight enough to cut off his air supply and crush his windpipe. "He... he took a Chosen Mate! A new high-ranking female from a wealthy allied pack!" the captain choked out, his face turning a bruised shade of purple. "The Lewis Pack sent her body back with the divorce papers days ago! They claimed that after she was banished, she ran into a pack of lawless Rogues in the wilderness... they said she was defiled and then murdered!" A Chosen Mate? Defiled by Rogues? I opened my hand and let him drop back into the filth like a sack of wet cement. A maniacal, terrifying laugh clawed its way out of my throat, echoing off the stone walls of the estate. "Good. Very good." The sheer audacity of their lies was almost impressive in its cruelty. Right then, the heavy wrought-iron gates of the estate swung open with a mechanical groan, and two black Maybachs sliced through the rain before screeching to a halt in front of us. Six Simon Pack Enforcers in tailored black suits poured out of the doors, their eyes glowing yellow as they fanned out to surround our truck. An arrogant middle-aged Beta with a trimmed mustache stepped out last, sheltered under a large black umbrella held by a subordinate. He was the personal proxy of my grandmother, Elder Lady Agatha Simon, who currently held the pack's corporate and political reins. He cast a disgusted, fleeting glance at the crippled guards bleeding on the ground before frowning hard at the glowing cryo-coffin. "Clyda, you banished wolfless trash, how dare you bring something so filthy to stain the family gates?" "Something filthy?" I took a slow, measured step forward, my cold gaze scraping across his smug face. "The woman lying in there is the eldest daughter of the Simon family. She is your blood." "She is nothing more than a discarded Rogue now, a useless shell who couldn't even birth a pup with an inner wolf!" The Beta proxy sneered without a shred of sympathy, his voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "Your adoptive mother, Beatrice, just spent the last hour kneeling on the cold marble floor of the grand hall, begging the Elder Lady to let this disgrace be buried in the family plot. Do you know what the Elder Lady said?" He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "She said Gertrude brought unforgivable shame upon the Simon Pack. If she hadn't been so jealous of Alpha Dillon's new Chosen Mate, none of this would have happened!" I glanced back at my sister's snow-white, ruined face inside the glass, and a suffocating wave of bloodlust surged straight to the top of my skull. The mental image of my gentle mother, Beatrice, kneeling and weeping for my sister while these monsters mocked her, pushed my sanity to the absolute brink. "By order of the Elder Lady, Gertrude's corpse is permanently barred from the family cemetery! Haul this box into the wilderness and burn it immediately!" At his command, two burly Enforcers stepped forward, their claws extending as they reached to seize the rig. "Touch her, and I'll chop your hands off." I stood directly in front of the coffin, keeping my voice low, steady, and vibrating with a lethal promise. The proxy barked out a condescending laugh. "With what? A genetic reject who can't even shift? Take her down!" The two Enforcers lunged at my shoulders, expecting an easy takedown of a fragile human. Giana tensed to strike from the shadows, but I raised a single hand to stop her. Moving faster than their Beta eyes could ever hope to track, I shot both hands out, clamped onto their extended wrists, and twisted with all my hidden, terrifying weight. The loud, sickening crack of snapping bone echoed clearly through the downpour as both men dropped to their knees, screaming in agony as their arms bent at unnatural angles. The arrogant smirk froze instantly on the proxy's face, his mouth falling open as he stared at my slender, seemingly fragile arms in utter disbelief. "You... how can a wolfless have that kind of brute strength?" "Go back and tell Agatha this." I shook the rainwater and dirt off my fingers, my voice dropping an octave, resonating with a dark, primordial authority. "The Simon Pack doesn't deserve to bury my sister." I spun on my heel, my coat flaring behind me, and strode back to the cab of the heavy rig. "Lift the coffin. Secure the latches." "Giana, get in." "Boss, where are we heading?" Giana vaulted effortlessly into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut as I turned the ignition key. The heavy diesel engine roared to life like a waking mechanical beast, the massive tires spinning mud and gravel into the air. "To the Lewis Pack headquarters." I stared through the windshield into the black, driving rain, my eyes reflecting the harsh, clinical glow of the dashboard lights. "Since they want to play dirty, I'm going to smash their corporate fortress to pieces. I'm going to collect a debt of blood." The proxy shouted frantically for the remaining Enforcers to block our path, but I stomped the gas pedal straight to the floor. They dove into the thorny bushes in sheer panic as the steel rig plowed right through the outer wooden barricades, shattering them into splinters. I left the opulent lights of the Simon estate far behind in my rearview mirror as we tore onto the flooded highway, heading straight toward Dillon Lewis's turf.

Clyda POV: The heavy rig barreled down the flooded highway, putting miles between us and the Simon estate. The windshield wipers thrashed wildly against the glass, struggling to clear the torrential rain, while my knuckles stayed bone-white on the steering wheel. The deafening roar of the massive diesel engine vibrated through the floorboards, a mechanical beast perfectly mirroring the feral, untamed rage tearing at my insides. In the rearview mirror, several sets of high beams flashed aggressively through the mist—Agatha's Enforcers were still tailing us in their armored SUVs, desperate to stop me from dragging the family name into a full-blown, catastrophic pack war. "Lose them." I spoke calmly, my voice devoid of any panic, and yanked the steering wheel hard to the left. While shifting into a Dire Wolf is normally the fastest way for our kind to travel, hauling my sister's cryo-coffin meant I had to rely on twelve tons of reinforced Detroit steel. The massive trailer drifted violently across the slick asphalt, the sheer momentum slamming a pursuing SUV straight into the steel guardrail. A shower of bright orange sparks illuminated the night as the crunch of metal and the shattering of safety glass echoed over the storm. The crash barely registered over the pounding of my own heart. I didn't care if those Enforcers lived or died; they were merely insignificant obstacles in my path to Dillon Lewis. Half an hour later, the sprawling, imposing silhouette of the Lewis Pack headquarters—operating publicly as a multinational security conglomerate—rose out of the heavy mist. It was a modern, impenetrable fortress surrounded by high wrought-iron gates bearing the silver-wolf crest of the Lewis family. Two rows of heavily armed Gamma security personnel stood on guard out front, their eyes narrowing suspiciously as our roaring rig tore up the private, manicured drive. Instead of slowing down to announce my arrival, I pressed the accelerator harder until the engine's roar drowned out the rolling thunder. "Is she out of her mind?!" The Gamma security captain yelled in absolute panic, raising his automatic rifle as his men scrambled frantically for cover behind the concrete pillars. Less than twenty meters from the grand entrance, I stomped the brakes and wrenched the heavy handbrake up with all my strength. The massive tires screeched violently against the wet stone, burning rubber as the heavy rig slid sideways, locking into place dead center across the driveway. The massive trailer formed an impenetrable steel wall, completely sealing off the ornate gates of the Lewis Pack headquarters from the outside world. I kicked the cab door open and jumped down from the footboard, my boots splashing into a deep puddle. I let the freezing rain wash over my face, cooling the burning rage just enough to keep me focused. Giana dropped down on the other side and pressed a tactical remote, lowering the hydraulic lift at the back of the truck with a mechanical hum. The transparent, bulletproof cryo-coffin holding Gertrude's ruined body settled onto the pavement in full, undeniable view of the entire compound. The Gamma captain charged forward with a dozen heavily armed guards, several of them already flashing dangerous, vertical wolf pupils as their inner beasts reacted to the threat. "Move this rig now! You damn wolfless freak, do you have any idea whose territory this is?" The captain shoved the hot barrel of his assault rifle right up to the tip of my nose, his breath smelling of stale coffee and raw aggression. I didn't flinch. I raised two fingers, pinched the steel barrel of the gun, and slowly, deliberately pushed it aside. "Tell Dillon to drag his ass out here." I looked straight into his feral, glowing eyes, my tone as flat and casual as if I were asking for the time. Stunned for a split second by the dead calm in my gaze—a calm no ordinary human or wolfless should possess—the captain snarled, gripping his weapon tightly, and swung his rifle butt toward my temple in a vicious arc. Before the heavy stock could even graze my skin, Giana blurred past my shoulder. She moved with the speed of a true shadow operative, driving her steel-toed boot straight through the captain's kneecap. The sickening crunch of shattered bone was followed by a howl of agony as the captain hit the ground. Instantly, the rest of the Gamma guards racked their bolts, their fingers tightening on their triggers while they frantically projected a pack-wide Mind-Link alarm—*Intruder at the main gate! Requesting Alpha backup immediately!* "Bring me a chair," I ordered quietly, ignoring the dozen guns pointed at my chest. Giana moved like a wraith, pulling a heavy folding tactical chair from the truck's side compartment and snapping it open directly in front of the cryo-coffin. I sat down slowly, crossing one leg over the other, my black trench coat pooling around my combat boots. I leaned back, my posture exuding a terrifying, lazy arrogance as I stared down the barrels of their assault rifles. Rapid, chaotic footsteps echoed from the inner courtyard as the main building's bulletproof glass doors were shoved violently open. The commotion had drawn a massive crowd; corporate executives in expensive suits and high-ranking pack members flooded the portico, whispering furiously as they pointed at the lone wolfless woman sitting calmly in front of a frozen corpse. "The CEO is coming out..." The guards immediately lowered their heads in genetic submission, parting like the Red Sea to clear a path. Former Alpha Richard Lewis walked out leaning on a heavy ebony cane, flanked by a dozen elite corporate executives. Right beside him was his son, the current Alpha and CEO, Dillon Lewis. Dillon wore a bespoke Armani suit, his handsome face tight with irritation and poorly hidden guilt. He possessed the kind of striking, aristocratic features that made high-society females swoon—the exact same charming, deceitful eyes that had once tricked my sister into believing he was her fated protector. The moment his gaze landed on the glass cryo-coffin, the blood drained entirely from his face, and his confident steps faltered. I remained seated, my fingers lightly drumming a steady, rhythmic beat against the armrest of the chair as I looked up at the man who had systematically destroyed my sister's life. "Good evening, former brother-in-law." My lips curled into a cruel, blood-chilling smile. "I'm here to return your trophy. And to collect a life." Dillon's handsome features twisted in sudden fury, and his full, oppressive Alpha aura exploded outward like a shockwave, aimed straight toward me.