Chapter 171: Chapter 171
Lyra
Damon leaned forward now, resting both hands on the edge of the blood-splattered table, and looked them dead in the eye.
"The rogue problem," he said, as if the past fifteen minutes of chaos hadn’t happened. "You’ve all been ignoring it. Hoping it would fade. Hoping the weaker packs would get slaughtered before the rogues made it to your doorstep."
He scanned their faces. Not a flinch. Not a blink. Cowards.
He looked around the table, his gaze slicing through every old man like a blade.
"You think they’re just angry exiles with no plan? Wrong. They’re building sothing. And from the way your border packs are going quiet? I’d say they’re almost ready."
So of the n stiffened. I could feel it—panic trying to rise in their throats like bile, but too afraid to co out. No one wanted to admit what we all knew. They’d ignored it. They’d ignored the signs. The missing scouts. The torn patrol gear.
The howls that sounded too human in the woods at night. The stench of blood from abandoned dens. The burned ssages scratched into trees.
But I knew.
And I don’t an I guessed. I don’t an I heard so rumors and pieced it together. I an I knew. Because I had seen the patterns.
Because when you grow up at the bottom—Oga, girl, marked as pretty but not powerful—you learn how to listen. You learn how to see what no one else sees because they’re too busy thinking you’re just a set of tits in a tight shirt.
So I leaned forward. Still sitting in the dead man’s chair. Still covered in Damon’s scent. Still wet between my legs and tingling from adrenaline. I leaned forward and spoke.
"Do any of you know how many disappearances were reported last month in the southern crescent?"
They turned to look at
like I had grown another head. Like I wasn’t supposed to speak. Like I wasn’t supposed to know anything. But I didn’t wait for permission. I wasn’t that kind of Luna.
"Eleven," I said. "Three border patrols. Two ssengers. One Beta. And five girls. All Ogas. None found."
Damon’s head turned toward
slowly. He was listening. Really listening now.
I didn’t stop.
"Most of those reports never made it here. They were buried. Blad on rogue animals. Dismissed as elopents. But they weren’t. They were taken. Lured. By soone who knew the patrol schedules. By soone who knew where to find the girls who wouldn’t be missed right away."
One of the elders opened his mouth to interrupt , but Damon raised a hand and he shut up so fast I swear he swallowed his tongue.
I kept going. My voice was steady. Loud. Clear. Not just loud-for-a-girl. Not just brave-for-an-Oga. Powerful. Because I had their attention now. And fuck, it felt good.
"The rogues are building a pack," I said, standing now. "Not a gang. Not a rebellion. A pack. They’re taking Ogas to breed with.
"They’re converting weak Alphas with promises of freedom and power. They’re attacking the small ones first—packs on the edge of the map.
I saw Damon’s eyes darken. Not with rage. With sothing else. Sothing hotter. Sharper. Respect. Surprise.
"They’re not stupid," I said. "They’re strategic. They’re watching. They’re infiltrating the mail routes. They’re targeting ssengers. If we don’t change course now, they’ll have numbers strong enough to co after us directly. And when they do, they won’t just take the Ogas. They’ll take everything."
And the entire room was staring at .
Even Damon.
No—especially Damon.
He was staring like he didn’t know whether to fuck
or crown .
"Where did you learn that from, kitten?"
His voice was rough. Deep. Just slightly frayed at the edges like his restraint was slipping.
I looked up at him slowly, still seated in that blood-soaked council chair like it was my birthright, and his eyes were on —not the n, not the ss, not the body on the floor—, like I’d just ripped my shirt open and moaned his na in front of everyone.
"Fuck," he muttered, low and thick like it punched straight through his chest. "That turned
on so fucking good.
"I love watching you dominate. I love it when you take control like that. When you talk in a room full of wolves and make them sit like obedient little dogs. Shit, kitten, keep going. Don’t stop now."
I smirked.
And not the shy kind of smirk. Not the girlish, oops-I-didn’t-an-to-cause-a-stir kind of smirk.
No. I smirked like a bitch who knew exactly what the fuck she was doing.
Like I’d just bent the whole room to my voice and my mouth and my mind, and now the scariest Alpha alive was getting turned on watching
rip the floor out from under his enemies with nothing but facts and fury.
I leaned back in the chair. Legs crossed. Arms resting lightly on the armrests like a queen on her throne, blood still staining the corner of the wood beneath .
"I read," I said casually, loud enough for all of them to hear. "I listen. I ask questions.
Damon groaned softly under his breath, and I felt it. Felt the way it wasn’t just admiration anymore—it was hunger. A different kind of tension building under his skin. Lust mixed with reverence. Filthy awe. Respect wrapped in a snarl.
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