After They Drove Her to Death, This Luna Unleashed Hell

It was Rayan Carr who gave the order.

Though the pack members dared not say it outright, there was only one person in the entire pack who would dare move against me—Rayan Carr.

He didn’t have the courage to face me himself, instead sending a Beta with a pack decree, posthumously honoring Malia Hughes as the Luna of the Silver Crescent Pack.

I shredded the decree with my claws, the golden necklace Rayan had once gifted me glinting in the dim light. The pack members knelt in silence, the grand hall of the Silver Crescent Pack’s headquarters eerily quiet until Rayan finally arrived.

“Giselle, Malia is gone. If you’re not satisfied, I can grant her an even more honorable title.”

“What if I kill Elizabeth Warren and then posthumously name her Luna? How would that sit with you?”

Rayan remained silent.

“I want them to pay with their lives.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Fine.”

My response came too quickly, catching Rayan off guard. He looked up sharply, his piercing gaze locking onto mine.

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘Fine.’”

I would do it my way.

I forbade anyone from setting up a memorial for Malia. None of them deserved to mourn her. Then, I sent my warriors to reclaim everything that belonged to Malia.

Shawn Price stood in my way, claws unsheathed, refusing to let us pass.

Elizabeth Warren knelt to the side, her teeth clenched tightly over her lower lip, not daring to speak a word.

With a mere flick of my hand, my warriors flooded the room, pinning Shawn to the ground, his knees slamming hard against the polished floor.

Years ago, when he had begged for Malia’s hand, he had knelt before me just like this.

He and Malia had been caught in secret meetings, and to protect Malia’s reputation, I had forbidden them from seeing each other. Shawn had knelt in front of the entire pack, begging me to allow their mate bond.

If I didn’t give my approval, no matter how close he was to Rayan, he would never have been granted the marking ceremony.

Back then, I had asked Malia,

“If you mark him, you can’t go back.”

Malia’s cheeks had flushed pink.

“Giselle, he promised he would only ever have me. I want to try.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’ll accept it.”

Malia might have seemed gentle, but she was clever and stubborn—a lesson I had learned firsthand.

Her decision to choose Shawn had been as firm as her resolve to leave when the time came.

As children, she had always taught me, “The greatest victory is to conquer without fighting.”