When My Alpha Stripped Me of My Luna Rights

The riddle Dorothy had taught me echoed in my mind as I crept through the darkened corridors of the Pack House. "When the moon hides her face, seek the wisdom of ages in the heart of stone."

It was three nights after Dorothy's death, and the pack had finally fallen into uneasy slumber. I pressed my palm against the cool stone wall of the archive room, feeling for the hidden mechanism Dorothy had described.

"Here," I whispered, finding the slight depression in the wall. "This is it."

My fingers traced the outline of a loose stone, carefully extracting it from its place. Behind it lay a small cavity containing a leather-bound book that made my heart race.

*Dorothy's True Grimoire.*

I pulled it out with trembling hands, settling cross-legged on the floor to examine its contents. The pages were filled with her elegant script—not the simplified recipes Andrew had been using, but the true knowledge she had perfected over decades.

"Modified Aconite," I murmured, flipping to the section on poisonous herbs. "Here it is."

The entry was detailed, listing not only the effects but also the distinctive scent signature—exactly what I had detected on Dorothy's lips. But it was the next page that made my blood freeze.

*A record of theft.*

Dorothy had meticulously documented every time Andrew had stolen her formulations, even noting when he had presented her work as his own "Golden Tongue" creations. The final entry, dated just days before her death, chilled me to the bone:

*Eden seeks what I protect. The girl's ambition blinds her to the true cost of power. I fear she will strike when I least expect it.*

"She knew," I whispered to my wolf, who stirred anxiously within me. "She knew Eden would try to kill her."

But the most crucial discovery came at the end of the book—a description of a "Spirit Echo" spell Dorothy had placed on the archives. It would record any intruder who came searching for her knowledge, preserving their actions and words as a final insurance.

---

"Are you certain this will work?" Marcus asked, his voice barely audible as we crouched in the shadows of the archive room.

"Eden's too arrogant to resist," I replied, clutching the projection stone he had given me. "She'll come for the will."

Earlier that evening, Marcus had spread the rumor through carefully selected channels—pack members loyal to him rather than Andrew. The story was simple but devastating: Dorothy had left a hidden will in the archives that named her killer.

"Remember," Marcus whispered, "we need irrefutable evidence. The Lycan Council won't act on suspicions."

I nodded, adjusting my position to ensure I had a clear view of the main archive chamber. The projection stone felt warm in my palm, its surface glowing faintly as it absorbed the moonlight filtering through the high windows.

"Someone's coming," Marcus hissed, pressing himself against the wall.

The archive door creaked open, and Eden slipped inside, her face twisted with barely contained fury.

"Old witch," she muttered, tearing through the shelves. "I killed you once, I'll destroy anything you left behind."

She moved frantically, pulling books from their places and hurling them onto the floor. Her eyes were wild, her movements increasingly erratic.

"I won't let a piece of paper ruin me," she snarled, ripping open a leather-bound volume. "I worked too hard!"

I activated the projection stone, feeling it pulse with energy as it captured her image and voice. Marcus stood ready with a second stone, ensuring we had multiple recordings of her confession.

"I killed the old witch to get this far," Eden continued, her voice rising with desperation. "She was always in my way, always protecting that pathetic Clara!"

She tore through another shelf, sending papers fluttering to the ground. "I deserve to be Luna! I deserve everything she had!"

I held my breath as she moved closer to our hiding spot, her eyes scanning the darkness where we stood. For a moment, I thought she had seen us—but then she turned away, continuing her frantic search.

"There!" she exclaimed, seizing a document from behind a row of books. "The will!"

My heart pounded as I watched her tear it to pieces, unaware that it was the fake we had planted earlier that day.

"Destroyed," she whispered, satisfaction replacing the panic in her voice. "No one will ever know what I did."

As she turned to leave, Marcus and I remained frozen in place, the projection stones still recording. We waited until she had gone before daring to move.

"We got her," Marcus whispered, his eyes gleaming with grim satisfaction.

I nodded, clutching the stone that held Eden's confession. "Now we have what we need."

What neither of us realized was that Eden had left a trail of her own—a scent marker that would soon bring Andrew to the archive room, and to the evidence we had so carefully hidden.