Chapter 13 A slave not fit to be Luna

• The great hall of the Silver-Moon Pack house was thick with tension, smelling of stale woodsmoke, and the sharp, anxious pheromones of powerful, older wolves. The Werewolf Council, a ring of venerable, self-important elders, was seated around a massive, polished oak table. At its head sat Alpha Fenris, a chilling statue of dark power. His short, immaculate dark hair and expensive, tailored clothes did nothing to soften the predatory stillness of his posture.
• Elder Bernard, with a face like carved granite and an unctuous, unsettling smile, leaned forward. His voice held a demanding edge. “Alpha,” he began, placing his hands flat on the table, “the news of an heir is a blessing from the Moon Goddess, a balm on the wounds of our pack. But it necessitates immediate action. The pack's stability demands a Luna.”
• “The plan, Alpha, was clear. The most suitable female must be crowned. One who is talented, powerful, and, crucially, of pure werewolf blood. We cannot allow the bloodline to be tainted by a half-breed slave.” Elder Silas immediately backed him up, his voice a tight sneer. Another elder chimed in, pointing directly at Bernard. “And who is more worthy, more fitting of our great Alpha, than Lyra, Elder Bernard’s own doted-on daughter? She has the strength, the political acumen, and the lineage the Silver-Moon pack deserves!”