Moments later,

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The great hall of Blackwood Villa had been stripped of banners, tapestries, and every soft, decorative thing that might soften the weight of what was to come. Long tables had been arranged in a sharp U-shape, polished to a mirror sheen, and at the head - where only the Pack Alpha had ever sat - Aria Blackwood waited.

She wore no crown, no jewels, no armor. Only a fitted coat of charcoal wool, the Blackwood wolf stitched in silver over her heart, and the single silver band Malphas had slipped onto her finger three days prior. Her blonde hair was pulled back so tight it looked like...