LUNA Madison

"Sit. Eat. You look like you’ve been chewing on gravel for twenty years."

Jonathan Clarke didn't look like a man who had spent two decades grieving. He looked like a mountain carved into a tuxedo. He shoved a plate of blood-rare steak toward Madison, the heavy ceramic clattering against the mahogany table.

Madison didn't sit. She stood in the center of the vaulted dining hall, the hem of her cheap, oil-stained jeans dragging against a rug that probably cost more than the Silver Moon packhouse. Her skin still buzzed from the shift, the phantom weight of the white wolf pressing against her ribs.

"You’re my father." It wasn't a question. The scent of him—ancient pine and old blood—matched the vibration in her marrow.

"I am," Jonathan said, his voice a low vibration that rattled the crystal glasses. "And that man you called Alpha for twenty years? Gregory Cain? He’s a worm who was paid to keep you invisible. The Great War didn’t leave room for princesses, Madison. I had to bury you in the mud so the vultures wouldn’t find you."

Catherine Clarke stepped from the shadows, her hand resting on Jonathan’s shoulder. She didn't offer a hug. She offered a glass of amber liquid that smelled like woodsmoke. "Drink. You’re home. The cover story is officially dead."

The doors to the hall burst open. Five men strode in, their footsteps a synchronized beat of heavy boots. They didn't look like the "starving brothers" the Cain family gossip had described.

"Which one is she?" the tallest one barked. He had a scar slicing through his left eyebrow and shoulders that blocked out the light.

"Silas, shut up," the youngest one muttered, pushing past him. He dropped a sleek, titanium briefcase onto the table. "Madi. I’m Leo. Here."

He flicked the latches. Inside wasn't money. It was a stack of legal documents and a hardware prototype. Madison’s breath hitched. She recognized the coding architecture.

"My patent," she whispered, touching the cool metal. "The Cain pack told me it was useless. They said I was a wolfless freak who couldn't even code a basic firewall."

"They lied because they’re terrified," Silas growled, leaning against the wall. He was a General in the Northern Lycan Army, and he looked like he’d personally strangled a dozen enemies before breakfast. "You’re a Celestial Lycan, Madison. And that patent? It’s the backbone of the global defense grid. It’s worth a billion. Minimum."

"A billion?" Madison laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. "Austin called me a charity case. He told me I was lucky he even looked at me."

"Austin Reynolds is a dead man walking," another brother, Elias, chimed in. He was flicking through a tablet, his eyes cold. "He thinks you’re in a slum right now. He thinks you’re huddled in a shack with five losers and a crippled dad. He actually sent a drone to scout the 'poverty' we’re supposed to be living in."

Jonathan let out a dark, guttural chuckle. He stood up, and for the first time, Madison saw the way he moved. The "disabled" warrior from the stories was gone. He moved with the predatory grace of a king.

"Let them think it," Jonathan said. "Let them believe you’re starving. It makes the fall much more satisfying when the floor turns out to be a trapdoor."

The brothers circled her, a wall of muscle and royal blood. They weren't just doting; they were arming her.

"The private jet is fueled," Leo said. "The patent is back in your name. All you have to do is master that white wolf of yours."

Madison felt the heat rising in her chest again. Not the shame Gregory Cain had tried to drown her in, but a cold, calculated hunger. She looked at her father, then at the patent she’d been told was garbage.

"Mastering the wolf is easy," Madison said, her eyes flashing silver. "I want to know how long it takes to buy a pack's territory out from under them."

"About forty-eight hours," Elias grinned.

"Good. I want their land. I want their dignity. I want them to realize they didn't just throw away a girl—they threw away the Queen of the North."

Madison walked toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the mountain fortress. Below, the world was dark, but she could see everything. The training would be brutal. The revenge would be better.

She wasn't a beggar. She wasn't a fake.

"Get the jet ready," Madison snapped. "I have a pack to bankrupt."