Chapter 2

Loud, sharp clicks of high heels echoed through the foyer.

Vivian’s sweet, whiny voice drifted in as she bossed Henry’s warriors around with her luggage.

"Careful with that!"

"Henry bought that for me at an auction. If you scratch it, you're dead!"

She stood in the center of the luxurious mansion, looking around with unvarnished greed and arrogance. Finally, her eyes landed on me sitting on the sofa, quietly flipping through the territory logs.

She strutted over and cleared her throat.

"Luna, Henry told me the air out here is good for me. He said I should move in and learn to get along with you."

"You don't mind, do you?"

I didn't even look up.

I turned a page of the ledger, my voice flat and even:

"I do."

Vivian hadn't expected me to be so blunt. She thought I'd at least keep up appearances.

She froze for a second, but then her smirk widened, oozing pure, foolish confidence.

"Doesn't matter if you mind."

"It's Henry's decision. He said once I get the hang of running the Pack, I'll be the real Luna of this house."

As she spoke, she casually strolled over to my bar cabinet.

She picked up an antique crystal glass from my private collection and held it up to the light.

"This is pretty. I'll use it for my iced tea."

When I ignored her, she brazenly walked back over, sat down right next to me, and yanked the folder straight out of my hands.

"What are you reading?"

"You shouldn't be looking at Pack business anymore. Henry said these files are mine now!"

The freshly printed paper was razor-sharp.

As she pulled it away, it sliced across my palm, drawing a thin line of crimson beads. But the moment the blood appeared, the cut began to knit itself back together. Within seconds, my skin was smooth and unblemished, leaving not even a scar.

Only then did I finally turn to look at her.

My gaze was freezing cold, devoid of any emotion, looking at her like a piece of worthless trash. Honestly, it had been years since I met someone with such a desperate death wish.

"Who gave you permission to come in here?"

"Henry, obviously! Who do you think you—"

"There is only one master in this house," I cut her off, my voice calm yet laced with suffocating dominance.

Vivian choked on her words, momentarily paralyzed by my aura. But she quickly puffed out her chest and stood up, trying to look down on me.

"You wouldn't dare touch me!" she sneered. "Henry told me yesterday was his final warning to you. If you lay a hand on me, he'll throw you out of this Pack himself!"

I let out a soft laugh.

The humor didn't reach my eyes, and Vivian visibly shivered under my gaze.

I stood up, sliding the silver dagger from behind my back and letting the cold blade catch the light right in front of her face.

"Touch you?"

"I wouldn't dirty my hands."

I swung my arm—

Vivian shrieked, dropping to the floor and curling into a ball with her hands over her head.

The fatal blow never came. My blade hadn't been aimed at her.

It flew straight toward the mahogany bar cabinet behind her.

*Crash!*

The crystal shattered violently, raining sharp shards across the floor. A flying piece grazed Vivian’s bare calf, leaving a shallow, bleeding gash. The skin around the cut twitched as it began to heal, but the process was agonizingly slow—far slower than that of any true werewolf.

Just as I thought. A half-blood weakling.

She was frozen in terror, completely pale, forgetting even how to cry.

"The floor is dirty," I said coldly. "Clean it up."

"Yes, Luna," Mike responded instantly.

I leaned down over the trembling girl, dropping my voice to a lethal whisper:

"The last dog who dared bark at me was Limp. I sent him to meet the Moon Goddess yesterday."

"If you don't believe me, I can send you down to ask him yourself."

Straightening up, I opened a Mindlink directly to Henry.

*You have twenty minutes to get your bitch and her garbage out of my sight.*

*Otherwise, you can start planning her Pack funeral.*