The Pack Hall buzzed with quiet anticipation as Luther adjusted the collar of his jacket, scanning the room with sharp, commanding eyes. Gabrielle stood beside him, flawless in a pale cream dress that complemented her golden hair and sharp cheekbones. She was every inch the future Luna, graceful, confident, and poised.

Luther's jaw tensed as he caught sight of the first black SUV pulling into the gravel lot outside. His mother would insist on a formal greeting with hugs and pleasantries. All of the ceremonial posturing he found exhausting, but it served a purpose. The Elders respected image, and he knew how to wield that like a weapon.

He turned slightly toward Gabrielle, offering her his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow without hesitation. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low.

She smiled, serene and proud. “Of course.”

The main doors creaked open. A hush fell over the gathered Pack members as Luther's parents swept into the room. His mother, elegant in navy silk, crossed to him with a brilliant smile and wrapped him in a surprisingly fierce hug.

“My son,” she whispered, pulling back to look at him with open affection. “Look at you.”

His father approached next, offering Luther a firm handshake and a nod of approval. “We’ve been hearing good things. Very good things.”

Luther offered a faint smile. “I’ve been handling Alpha duties as best I can.”

His father turned to the nearest delegate. “He’s been managing negotiations with the Timberclaw and Graypine packs on his own. Kept everything stable and prosperous. I couldn’t be prouder.”

Luther didn’t respond. Praise didn’t move him, but approval was currency in this world. He could feel Gabrielle’s hand tighten slightly on his arm. He turned to her.

“This is Gabrielle,” he said, his voice ringing clear across the hall. “My mate. And your next Luna.”

His mother smiled in approval. His father looked Gabrielle over and gave a nod, as did the Elders and other delegates.

“She’ll do well,” his father said simply.

Luther’s smile never quite reached his eyes. He scanned the room, watching how every face turned toward them, how every pair of eyes held reverence or fear. He liked that.

The clink of cutlery and soft hum of conversation filled the Pack Hall as dinner was served: roast venison, herb potatoes, and the kind of rich, complex sauces the Elders expected. Luther moved among the tables with the grace of someone long accustomed to command, exchanging nods and short greetings, careful to let his presence be felt.

He returned to the head table just as his father leaned in, speaking to a visiting Alpha with a low, conspiratorial tone.

“…obedient just like a mother, but prone to making mistakes. She would need to be disciplined to ensure it doesn’t happen again. But I’m sure you would have some… uses for her. Better she be gone now than leave her for Luther to deal with. You won’t regret purchasing her…”

Luther froze, the words cutting into him like ice through his veins.

Purchasing her? Trash? He sold her.

His father’s voice was calm, smug even. As if he'd just tied off a loose end. Luther felt the blood drain from his face before it roared back, hot and pulsing.

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping sharply against the stone floor. Several heads turned. Gabrielle touched his arm, concern written across her perfect features.

“Luther?” she asked, her voice low.

He didn’t answer. Just gave her shoulder a quick squeeze meant to reassure, to settle her, and turned to his father. “A word. Please.”

Alpha Alric’s expression didn’t shift, but he rose smoothly and followed his son out into the corridor. The heavy doors shut behind them, muting the noise of the feast.

Luther rounded on him. “You sold her?”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “Lower your voice.”

“You sold her,” Luther hissed, jaw tight. “Trash, my girl. What the hell were you thinking?”

“She is not your girl,” Alric said evenly. “She’s a mistake your mother let live. She’s nothing. Keeping her around makes us look weak.”

“You had no right,” Luther growled. “You didn’t even talk to me.”

“I didn’t need to. I’m still the Alpha.” His tone turned colder. “And if you had any sense, you’d see I’m doing you a favor. That girl is a liability.”

Luther took a step closer, every muscle in his body straining to hold back the rage boiling inside. “She’s mine. I decide what happens to her. I have plans. For her, us”

“Plans?” His father scoffed. “To do what exactly? She’s nothing, son.”

Luther’s voice dropped to a razor-sharp whisper. “If Merek or anyone else tries to take her, I’ll kill them.”

Alric went still, studying him. Measuring.

Luther didn’t blink. Didn’t back down.

Finally, his father said, “You’re letting your obsession cloud your judgment.”

“I’m making it clear,” Luther growled. “She doesn’t go anywhere. Ever.”

He turned sharply and strode back toward the double doors. His hands were fists at his sides, his chest heaving.

As he reached the entrance to the hall, Gabrielle appeared in front of him, eyes wide with unspoken questions. He didn’t say a word, just took her hand and led her back to their seats, jaw locked and mind racing.

No one touches what’s mine. Not even my father.

The sun had dipped just below the tree line, casting golden slashes of light across the training grounds. A ring had been cleared in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by warriors, delegates, and a few curious onlookers from visiting packs. Luther stood in the dirt-packed ring, fists clenched, the tight black tank stretched across his chest soaked with heat and anticipation.

Across from him stood Kellen, a veteran warrior from Silverfang. He was taller than Luther by a few inches, broader too, but slower. Luther could see it in the way he rolled his shoulders, all bulk and brute force.

Perfect.

His blood still simmered from the conversation with his father. Trash sold. As if she were livestock. As if she didn’t belong to him.

She’s mine.
Mine.

Kellen gave a lazy smirk. “You ready, future Alpha?”

Luther didn’t answer. The referee called for them to begin.

The moment the signal dropped, Kellen lunged. Big mistake.

Luther sidestepped, fluid as smoke, and drove his elbow into Kellen’s ribs. The older warrior grunted but stayed on his feet, swinging wide in retaliation. Luther ducked the punch and countered with a low kick to the knee, forcing Kellen to stagger.

The crowd shouted encouragement in cheers and taunts, blending into background noise.

Kellen roared and charged again. This time, Luther let him get closer, took the hit to the side, pain flaring across his ribs, and used the momentum to twist and bring his knee crashing up into Kellen’s stomach. The man buckled. Luther grabbed his opponent’s neck and slammed him down into the dirt with a grunt of exertion.

Breathing hard, he let Kellen roll and rise.

“You hit like you’ve got something to prove,” Kellen muttered, wiping blood from his split lip.

Luther smiled grimly. “I do.”

They clashed again. Fists flew; feet slammed into flesh. Luther let himself feel every hit, welcomed the pain. It was better than the helplessness he’d felt in that hallway. Better than watching his father scheme and manipulate.

When Kellen finally dropped to one knee, panting and unable to lift his arms, Luther stepped in with a brutal hook to the jaw that sent the man sprawling flat on his back.

Silence followed. Then applause, the thunderous kind that rose in waves from the crowd. Luther stood over the fallen warrior, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

He turned his head slowly toward the stands towards Alpha Merek, whose gaze was sharp and calculating, arms crossed.

Luther held that gaze as he wiped the blood from his knuckles onto his pants. His message was crystal clear.

You’re not taking her.

He stepped out of the ring, body humming with exertion and rage that hadn't burned out, but at least now, it was focused. Refined.

Let the Elders watch. Let Gabrielle smile at his victory. Let his father seethe.

Trash was his.
And no one, not Merek, not his father, not the Goddess herself, was going to take her away.