My Mate Broke Our Bond at the Altar

The file was finished.

I set the last page on top of the stack and pressed my palm flat against it, feeling the weight of three months' work compressed into sixty-two pages of documentation. Financial records. Transaction chains. Correspondence logs. A border-watch testimony from Nighthollow's official archive, signed and dated, describing a rogue incursion that matched one of Cassian's mercenary payments down to the week.

Kamari sat across from me at the separated quarters table. She'd been silent for the past twenty minutes while I did the final cross-reference, her pen resting against her notepad, her gaze tracking my hands as I moved through the pages one last time.

I looked up. "It's airtight."

She didn't smile. She just nodded once, sharp and certain. "What are you going to do with it?"

I'd been avoiding that question for weeks. Building the case had been methodical, absorbing, a way to channel everything I couldn't say aloud into something concrete. But now the file was complete, and the question wasn't theoretical anymore.

I met her gaze. "I'm going to approach the Lycan Prince."

Kamari went still. Not surprised—she'd known this was coming—but the stillness was deliberate, the kind that came before a decision locked into place.

"Not as a supplicant," I added. "As a political equal. With jurisdiction grounds and a legally irrefutable case."

"Border-treaty violations," Kamari said quietly. "Council authority."

"Yes."

She was quiet for three seconds. I counted them. Then she asked, "When?"

I opened my mouth to answer.

The knock on the door cut me off.

Kamari's hand moved to the folder instinctively, covering it. I rose and crossed to the door, my pulse steady, my mind already cataloging possibilities. It was mid-afternoon. No scheduled meetings. No expected visitors.

I opened the door.

An Omega courier stood in the corridor, holding a sealed envelope with the Silverfang pack crest stamped across the front. Official correspondence. He handed it to me without meeting my eyes, then turned and left before I could speak.

I closed the door. Broke the seal. Unfolded the single page inside.

The words were formal. Bureaucratic. Devastating.

*Notice of Administrative Suspension: Asset-Separation Filing, Luna Accord Clause Invocation. Pending Elder Council Review. Convened by Alpha Authority. Effective Immediately.*

At the bottom, Rowan Voss's signature. The ink was darker than usual, the letters pressed hard into the paper like he'd been gripping the pen too tightly.

I read it twice. Then I handed it to Kamari.

She scanned the page. Her jaw tightened. "He can't do this."

"He just did."

"Rowan signed under duress. Look at the signature—"

"I know." I pressed two fingers briefly to the cold mark on my neck. "It doesn't matter. The suspension is filed. The protections are frozen."

Kamari set the notice on the table beside the evidence file. The two documents sat next to each other like opposing arguments. "He's closing the window."

"Yes."

"If he revokes the filing before you can act—"

"I'll have no legal standing. No territorial guarantees. No Accord protections." I looked at the evidence file. Sixty-two pages. Three months of work. "And no leverage."

Kamari's gaze was sharp, assessing. "How long do we have?"

"Elder council review takes a minimum of five days. He'll push for expedited processing." I calculated quickly. "Three days. Maybe four."

"Then we move now."

I nodded. "I'll contact the Lycan Court tonight. Request a formal audience with Prince Kael. Present the jurisdiction grounds and the evidence summary."

"And if Cassian finds out before the audience is granted?"

I met her gaze. "He won't have time to stop it."

Kamari was quiet for a moment. Then she picked up her pen and added a note to the timeline we'd been building. The scratch of ink against paper was the only sound in the room.

I turned back to the evidence file. My hands were steady. The window was closing, but it wasn't closed yet.

Three days.

I could work with three days.

---

They arrived the next morning.

I heard the cars first—two of them, pulling up the gravel drive to my family estate with the kind of deliberate slowness that announced arrival rather than approached it. I was in the study, drafting the formal audience request to the Lycan Court, when Kamari appeared in the doorway.

"Cassian," she said quietly. "Gabriela. Bella. Three Omega servants with boxes."

I set down my pen. "Boxes?"

"Luna belongings. From the quarters." Her tone was flat. "They're calling it a courtesy return."

I rose. Smoothed the front of my dress. "Let them in."

Kamari's gaze sharpened. "Amira—"

"Let them in," I repeated. "I want to see what they're performing."

She hesitated, then nodded and disappeared down the corridor.

I followed a moment later, moving through the estate's front hall toward the entry room. The boxes were already being carried inside—four of them, stacked neatly by the door. Cassian stood near the threshold with his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed in a way that was obviously calculated. Gabriela was beside him, her expression cool and imperious. Bella lingered near the doorway, her gardenia scent reaching me even from across the room.

I stopped three paces from Cassian. Met his gaze. "What is this?"

"Your belongings." His voice was polite, almost courteous. "From the Luna quarters. I thought you'd want them returned."

I glanced at the boxes. They were labeled in neat handwriting—*Personal Items, Wardrobe, Archive Materials*—and sealed with pack-house tape. The performance was thorough.

"How considerate," I said evenly.

Gabriela stepped forward. "We need to discuss the estate assets. There are traditional Luna obligations that were never formally transferred when you... left." Her gaze swept the room, lingering on the furniture, the artwork, the polished wood floors. "This property, for instance. It was part of the original alliance terms."

I looked at her. "The estate is my mother's. Not pack property."

"Alliance terms supersede individual ownership in cases of—"

"No," I said quietly. "They don't."

Gabriela's mouth tightened. She opened it to argue.

Cassian cut her off. "Mother. Not now."

She turned toward him, visibly irritated, but he was already guiding her toward the front room with a hand on her elbow. The distraction was smooth, practiced. He settled her into one of the chairs near the window and began speaking in a low, placating tone.

I watched for a moment. Then I turned toward the kitchen.

My mother was preparing afternoon tea. I could hear the quiet clink of porcelain, the soft hiss of the kettle. She always made tea in the afternoons—chamomile with honey, served in the small cups she'd inherited from her own mother.

I started toward the kitchen doorway.

Bella was already there.

She stood near the counter, her back to me, her hand resting on the edge of the tea tray. My mother was at the stove, her attention on the kettle. She didn't see Bella's other hand move.

But I did.

A small vial. Glass. The liquid inside was dark, viscous. Bella's fingers were quick, practiced. She uncapped the vial and tilted it over one of the teacups—the one on the left, the one my mother always used.

Wolfsbane.

I knew the color. The consistency. I'd studied it for years in my mother's medical kit.

I moved.

My hand closed around Bella's wrist before the liquid touched the tea.