Chapter 3

Jason's grip locked up, his fingers trembling violently.

"If you want to die so badly, I can make that happen right now. Do not drag the Darkwater Pack into your grave."

A feral red glinted in his eyes, his voice dropping to a guttural growl. "Impersonating the Luna Queen? Speaking the Lycan King's name today of all days? Claudia, are you trying to get us shredded by his Shadow Guard?"

The guards, who had been sneering a moment ago, drained of all color.

Everyone in North America knew the Blood Moon Pack's law: Impersonators were skinned alive, their pelts hung from the walls to rot.

The offender's entire pack would be slaughtered by nightfall—even nursing pups would be nailed to the border stakes as a warning.

A few cowards scrambled back, avoiding me like I was rabid.

"Damn it, she's lost her mind," one stuttered, pointing a shaking finger. "This wolfless bitch knows she's dying and wants to take us down with her."

"It's revenge! She wants us all executed!"

Jason flung me away. He wiped his hands on his bespoke suit as if I were a disease.

"Crazy bitch."

He loomed over me, disgust dripping from his tone. "It seems three years in the wild only taught you madness, not respect."

I lifted my head. My jaw throbbed, but my gaze remained as calm as a frozen lake, locking directly onto Jason.

He likely hadn't seen me like this before—a "wolfless waste" standing firm, neither kneeling nor trembling under an Alpha's command.

In the deadly standoff, his Beta stepped forward, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.

"Alpha, don't let her spook you. She's just jealous. Maggie is the Luna now, enjoying the worship. She can't handle it."

The Beta licked his dry lips. "Besides, the Lycan King gave Darkwater the honor of hosting the Luna Queen to validate our status. Listening to this trash and ruining the ceremony? That would actually get us killed."

Jason paused.

The words were a lifeline. He didn't even check the logic; he just grabbed it.

Believing I was a jealous lunatic was infinitely safer than believing I could summon the King.

His tension broke. The fear vanished, replaced instantly by that nauseating superiority.

Jason reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash.

He didn't hand it to me. He flicked his wrist and tossed it into the mud at my feet.

"Fine. For old time's sake. Consider this charity."

"Go buy something clean. Cover up that stash of the streets so you don't offend the VIPs later."

He straightened his tie, settling back into his role as the benevolent provider.

"If you behave, I'll mention you to Varg. That old pervert needs a new plaything. It's the only chance a reject like you has to stay in the territory."

I looked down at the money in the muddy water.

A few thousand.

A fortune for a rogue, but not enough to cover a bottle of cheap champagne at a Blood Moon banquet.

Jason expected me to kneel. He expected gratitude.

I watched the bills soak up the filthy black water, sinking slowly into the muck.

Jason was still waiting. But the anger in my eyes had faded, replaced by the cold pity one feels when looking at a corpse.

Time seemed to stop for a second.

Then, I lifted my foot and stepped over the pile of dirty money with precise, disgusted elegance.

"No need, Jason. It's too dirty."

I paused beside him, my voice soft yet freezing.

"Save it for your own coffin. It won't buy a prime spot in the cemetery, but it's good enough for you."