The Cursed Alpha's Fifth Luna

Charlotte dashed to the door and pulled the bell cord. It rang twice, and two maids hurried into the chamber, bowing low.

"Your Grace!" they greeted.

"Prepare my things," she ordered, her voice cutting through the silence. "We’re leaving for my father’s estate immediately."

"At once, Your Grace."

She turned to the second maid. "You, go send a message to my son. Tell him to meet me at his grandfather’s house now!"

"Yes, Your Grace."

The maids scattered to carry out her orders, their footsteps fading down the corridor, and left Charlotte alone in the middle of her chambers. She stared at the dying hearth, at the grey ash slowly swallowing the last red coals, and something in her chest tightened along with it. If she reached her father’s estate before Rodrigo woke, she could claim she’d been away the whole time.

And it would buy her something more valuable than an alibi — time to think. Time to hatch a better plan.

She drew a slow breath and smoothed the front of her dark gown, forcing her hands steady.

"We are ready, Your Grace." The maid stood before her, a bag slung over one shoulder, eyes lowered.

Charlotte cast her a single glance, then turned toward the doors. "Let’s go."

The grand hallway greeted her with cold, drafty air, the kind that clung to stone in winter and never quite left. Her heels struck the marble in sharp, hurried clicks as she descended the staircase, and her heart thudded harder with every step.

He wouldn’t be able to do anything until morning. He couldn’t.

She only needed to leave the estate tonight.

But halfway down the first landing, a heavy silence bled inward from the courtyard, swallowing the usual clatter of the house whole.

Dozens of armed soldiers were running toward the pack house. They fell into formation as they reached it, shoulder to shoulder around the perimeter, hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. Every exit, blocked.

Charlotte’s heart sank to her stomach.

She was too late.

There was no way out.

Her eyes swept the line of armed men until they landed on a familiar, formidable figure standing at the front.

Seven.

His clothes were soaked through with dark, dried blood. Charlotte’s gaze lingered there. There was too much of it— and yet he moved without a limp, without so much as a wince.

It wasn’t his.

Rodrigo must have been badly wounded. Or perhaps — dead?

Could he really be?

The dark possibility unfurled a sudden warmth in her chest, loosening the knot that had coiled there minutes ago.

Seven spotted her and started walking toward her, his pace unhurried but deliberate.

Charlotte stepped out onto the portico, a frown carving itself into her brow.

"To what do we owe this pleasure, Seven?" she asked, letting her eyes drift over the courtyard, over the ring of guards surrounding her own home.

Seven closed the distance in slow, heavy steps, his dark eyes fixed on her face, searching for a flicker of guilt she refused to give him. Her expression stayed blank, carved from the same stone as the hallway behind her.

He stopped in front of her and bowed, stiff at the waist.

"Your Grace." He straightened, meeting her eyes again. "No one is permitted to enter or leave the pack house." His voice was flat, final. "Return to your chambers."

Charlotte arched an eyebrow. "And can I know why?"

"These are the Alpha’s orders."

Silence stretched between them while she studied him — his pale face, the darkness pooled in his eyes that she couldn’t quite name.

How badly was he hurt?

Was he really dead?

She blinked once and let her gaze drift past him, over the courtyard, over the wall of guards.

"And where is the Alpha you speak of?" she asked.

"You may return to your quarters, Your Grace." He ignored the question entirely.

Her hands curled into fists behind her back as she stared at him.

"Who gave you the authority to command the Vermont Pack Guard without the Alpha? I don’t see him anywhere. Or has something tragic happened to him?"

Seven’s grip tightened around the hilt of his blade. His expression didn’t move. "An incident occurred within the pack territory. It is being investigated to ensure those responsible do not escape."

"And?"

"No one enters or leaves until the investigation is complete." His gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. "If you refuse to comply, Your Grace — you will be considered a suspect."

Something dangerous flashed through Charlotte’s eyes. Then she laughed — a soft, mocking sound that made the nearest guards shift on their feet. She took one predatory step closer.

Seven didn’t flinch. He held her gaze, a single frown creasing his forehead, as if daring her to come closer still.

She stopped inches from him and dropped her voice to a sharp whisper. "You must have forgotten the tradition, Beta Seven. So I’ll remind you." A slow smile curved her mouth.

"In the event the Alpha is unavailable and unable to perform his duties, his brother assumes command of this pack until a formal transition. So tell me, Seven — who are you to seize control of the guard? Or have you suddenly decided you no longer value your head?"

Silence fell over the courtyard, deathly and still. The servants being herded into small groups froze mid-step. Every eye in the estate pinned itself to the two of them.

Seven held her stare, refusing to back down, the air between them stretched thin as wire. Just as his lips parted to answer —

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Slow, deliberate applause rang out through the iron gates.

Every head in the courtyard turned.

"Well, well, well," a lazy voice drawled through the silence. "What exactly do we have here?"

A cold spike of tension shot through Seven’s shoulders. He turned, slower than everyone else, as if he already knew.

A black stallion trotted through the open gates, magnificent even in the dark. Mounted atop it, was Dominic — relaxed, unbothered, as though he’d arrived to watch a play staged for his amusement.

A wicked smirk spread across his face as his eyes swept over the assembled soldiers. Then his gaze found Charlotte and stayed there.

"Mother," he said, his smile widening, "I leave the territory for a few days, and I come back to a party?"

Dominic swung down from the saddle in one easy motion and crossed the courtyard, laughing under his breath, totally unbothered by the gathered men.

Seven said nothing. He only watched him come, jaw set, blade still sheathed at his hip.

When Dominic reached them, he bypassed Seven entirely and went straight to his mother, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"What is going on?" he asked.

Charlotte let out a slow breath, the fight still simmering just beneath her composure. "Your brother’s second in command seems to forget his place," she said, her eyes cutting to Seven as she spoke. ’’The Alpha is missing, and he has seized control of the army.’’

Dominic turned to him, one brow lifting. ’’Is that true?’’

"You both — return to your quarters." His voice dropped. "I do not think I need to repeat the Alpha’s orders."

Seven’s jaw tightened. "If that is all."

He turned and started walking away.

Dominic watched his back for a heartbeat. Then he was gone from where he stood — and standing in front of Seven in a flash of movement.

"Who are you again?" Dominic asked, his voice low and grave, all the earlier amusement burned out of it.

’’I don’t remember you being someone of importance enough to challenge me except you have chosen today as your last day on earth.’’