CHAPTER 80: UNGRATEFUL

Camilla

"Things have already started to change," I continue, my voice firm. "Wolves have been losing their female mates, and instead of weakening them, it has only given them more control. They now claim as many ’mates’ as they please—under the guise of safeguarding their positions. But if we take a stand now, we can tip the scales back toward true equality."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a subtle nod from the werecat leaders. It’s promising—but I’m not ready to soften my stance just yet. I need to lay out all my cards, to ensnare every scrap of ambition in this room.

"I know for a fact that many female werewolves are ready—eager even—to abandon the old laws and grant more freedom to other species. If we set the wheel in motion, the other Lunas will rise too. And we will finally gain the freedom and authority we’ve been denied for so long."

I never thought I could sound so... commanding. After a lifetime of being silenced—reduced to nothing more than an ’alpha’s partner’—I had forgotten the force my voice could carry.

And yet... it still doesn’t feel like enough.

"You sure know how to spin a pretty speech, Luna Windthorne," Sally cuts in, her thick brows furrowed, arms folded across her broad chest. "But we’re still waiting to hear the real offer."

I mirror her frown but keep my tone even. I recognize the tactic—a push to force my hand. So I meet it head-on.

"Your hunting grounds are limited," I say. "I can change that. Our pack holds extensive land shares with several neighboring clans, and I’m prepared to advocate for those territories to be opened to you. My focus is on ending persecution and discrimination. I will work to dismantle the hostilities between clans and—if it’s what you want—negotiate exclusive breeding rights for your people as well."

I pause again, but this time, the silence that greets me is steeped in tension—cold and hostile. The women exchange pointed glances; the werefox leaders share a subtle, knowing look with the witch, and I feel my footing start to crumble beneath me.

Clenching my fists at my sides, I clear my throat—awkwardly, far too loudly—and add, "Soon, the wolves will be desperate for partners, and since your clans have more females—"

"So what?" Edwina cuts me off sharply, her eyes narrowing with icy contempt. "Just because we have more women, you think we’re supposed to spread our legs for wolves? To help ensure your species survives?"

"No, that’s not what I meant—" I try to backtrack, but this time it’s the witch who interrupts me.

"Oh, we know exactly what you meant," she says coolly, her voice like shards of glass. "You think this is a golden opportunity for us. That we should be grateful for the chance to lie beneath your kind. You imagine we dream of having your pups in our bellies, as if we’re lining up to serve your cause. But let me make this perfectly clear, Luna Camilla—we do not want to open our bodies to the same wolves who have colonized, oppressed, and violated us for generations. No offer you bring will ever be sweet enough to make us sell ourselves."

The air in the hall turns heavy, charged with animosity. The polite formality from earlier vanishes in an instant, replaced by cold stares and seething glares. They look at me now as if I am the enemy. And just as I part my lips to speak again, my breath catches—and I find I can’t force the words out.

But it’s not their fury that chokes me. It’s the scent.

That scent. Thick. Unmistakable. Suffocating.

"I’m sorry I’m so late! Thanks for stalling before I could get here." That voice—arrogant, loud, vile. It scrapes against my skin like a bunch of nails.

Damien.

He stalks into the room with such brazen confidence it makes my stomach churn. That smug grin on his face—arrogant and venomous—sends a violent shiver down my spine. I expected resistance from these women, yes... but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that he would be part of it too.

Damien.

"Why so surprised?" he drawls, coming to a stop across the table. He plants his hands casually on the backs of the werecats’ chairs, like he owns the room. "Did you really think that I, your Alpha and lawful husband, wouldn’t find out you were trying to stab me in the back?"

I can’t speak. My voice lodges somewhere in my throat, strangled by shock and disgust. Of course, I knew Damien would discover my plan—there was no hiding it from him forever. But what I can’t wrap my head around is this: how did he manage to turn them? These women—these powerful, proud leaders of oppressed clans—how could they be swayed to stand beside him?

"What did I offer them?" Damien says smoothly, as if plucking the thought straight from my head. "Money."

He lets the word hang in the air, sharp and cutting. "Oh, sure—you gave them an inspiring little speech, my love. Moved them with your dream of freedom and equality. But you and I both know none of that means jackshit without gold behind it."

He steps away from the chairs and begins to circle the table, slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with prey. His eyes never leave mine, sharp and cold, drilling into my very soul.

"Money can buy everything, Camilla," he says, voice low and venom-laced. "Freedom. Power. Choice. You had all of that... once. When you were obedient."

He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath. His fingers curl beneath my chin, gripping it with a cruel tenderness that makes my skin crawl.

"But now?" His smile turns into a sneer. "Now you’ve lost it all. Forever."

With that single signal, Damien’s men storm into the conference hall like an unstoppable tide. They swarm around me in seconds, rough hands seizing my arms and forcing me to my knees. I fight back, summoning my wolf, clawing for control—desperate to shift, to defend myself.

But before she can even bare her fangs, searing pain erupts through my limbs. Aconite. Injected into both arms—and my neck. The effect is instant. My strength collapses, my body turns to dead weight. I crumple, helpless, reduced to a trembling shell.

"You... son of a bitch..." The words scrape from my tongue like ash. Even speaking feels foreign, like I’ve been ripped from myself.

"Oh, sweetheart," Damien purrs, kneeling before me with a saccharine smile that makes bile rise in my throat. "I don’t think you’re in any position to be rude. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever."

He brushes the back of his hand over my cheek—slowly, mockingly gentle. I flinch inside, but my body refuses to move. He notices my helplessness, and that vile grin only stretches wider across his face.

He leans in, his scent coiling around me like a noose, choking every breath as he whispers into my ear, "You have no idea how much I want to snap your neck like a fucking twig. But death? That’s far too easy for you."

His voice darkens into a snarl. "So stay alive. Stay alive and let me show you just how thoroughly I can ruin you... you ungrateful bitch."