Chapter Fourty Six

Chapter Fourty Six
Oliver understood that eliminating Diana wouldn't be an easy task, so he thoroughly crafted a plan to push her into a desperate and vulnerable state. After all, women tend to become most receptive when they are starved of their lovers’ attention and touch. Diana, being particularly needy, was prone to seeking comfort elsewhere—most often in the arms of another man. And Oliver knew exactly whom she would turn to.

He had personally positioned one of his men within the Red Moon Pack, giving him a simple yet dangerous command:
Get close to Diana and ensure she chooses you.

It was a risky gamble—a 50/50 shot either way. The outcome could go as Oliver envisioned or completely falter. Surprisingly, it worked. The plan had been set in motion for over a month, and Patrick, the spy Oliver had embedded, reported that Diana had begun making him her lover. The evident surprise in Patrick’s voice suggested that everything had unfolded precisely as Oliver had anticipated.

Oliver wasn't exactly surprised himself. He had deliberately selected a man who bore a striking resemblance to Grey, knowing how obsessed Diana was with him. Within days, Patrick reported that Diana had explicitly told him to have sex with her. Reluctantly, Patrick obeyed—unable to disobey the Alpha’s orders. What Diana never knew was that Oliver had already prepared for this outcome.

A magic circle—silent, invisible, meticulous—had been activated during the encounter, recording everything without interruption. Patrick had long agreed to the contingency. He’d said it plainly: he had no fear of exposure, no shame in his body, no concern for how others might judge him.

So he mindlinked Patrick, who lingered within the pack borders. Play the recording. Right now, in the heart of the Red Moon pack house, the busiest square.
Patrick sprang into action without hesitation, projecting the illicit footage for all to see while the shameless couple remained oblivious.

It was 11 a.m. Diana had retreated to a cramped cottage deep in the woods, where her mother was based, while Grey was buried in his duties when it began.

Reports lay spread across his desk, borders to secure, disputes to settle, numbers to approve. He moved through them with the mechanical precision of an Alpha who had learned to keep emotion far from leadership. Then the door burst open.

Beta Matthew rushed in, his face pale, breath uneven. “Alpha,” he said urgently. “You need to come. Now.”

Grey frowned. “What is it?”

Matthew swallowed. “It’s… it’s bad. You need to see it yourself.”

There was something in his voice—strained, tight, unmistakably alarmed that made Grey rise instantly. He didn’t argue. He didn’t ask for details. He pushed past his desk and followed, abandoning his work without a backward glance.

As they moved through the corridors, the atmosphere shifted.

Pack members stopped what they were doing. Conversations died mid-sentence. Eyes turned. Whispers rose—not even bothering to stay quiet.

“…Diana…”

“…shameless…”

“…sleeping around…”

“…the Luna—can you believe it?”

Grey’s stride lengthened, his jaw locking tight as the murmurs followed him like a trail of smoke. Faces he passed held a mix of shock, disgust, and something dangerously close to satisfaction. Grey shoved through the crush of bodies, the reek of sweat-soaked fur and surging pheromones choking the air. By the time they reached the heart of the pack house, the crowd had grown. It was 11 a.m. The busiest hour. The worst possible moment.

And no one—not the elders, not the guards, not even Alpha Grey himself—could have foreseen what was already unraveling. A magic projector was flared to life above the stone floor—bright, undeniable, impossible to ignore. Images were spilled outward, suspended in the air for all to see. The quality was flawless. The angles deliberate. There was no mistaking the figures captured within the spell.

Diana.

The Luna of the Red Moon Pack.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a wave of stunned silence so heavy it pressed against the walls. Then the murmurs came—louder now, no longer whispers.

Grey stopped short.

For a moment, his mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing. His breath stalled in his chest as the bond in him twisted violently, reacting not with pain—but with something colder. Something hollow.

Matthew went rigid beside him. “Alpha…”

Grey didn’t answer.

The projection dominated—brutal, unfiltered: Diana's sweat-slicked skin slapping against Patrick's, her nails raking red trails down his back. Her moans weren't pretty; they were guttural, desperate, spilling from parted lips as she ground down, chasing release with a stranger's cock buried deep.
"Fuck—yes, Grey!" Her voice cracked the air, raw and needy, hips bucking erratically.

But it didn't stop. The footage cut seamless—another man joined, hauling her off Patrick onto all fours. This one too: sharp jaw, piercing gray eyes, broad shoulders carved like Grey's own reflection. He gripped her hips, thrusting brutal, her breasts swinging wild as she begged, "Yes—both of you, like him!" Spit trailed her chin; she took them greedy, a whore in heat, switching between cocks with sloppy urgency.

Grey gritted his teeth. There was no mistaking Diana’s face. No distortion. No gaps in the recording. The magic projector was an ancient, regulated construct—used only for documentation and public record. Like human cameras in their entertainment industries, it could record reality, not fabricate it.

Which meant this wasn’t staged.

It wasn’t falsified.

It was truth.

Several women reacted instinctively.

Mothers pulled their pups close, pressing small faces into their chests. Hands came up to cover eyes—then ears—shielding them from a sight no child should witness. This wasn’t shame over nudity.

It was revulsion.

This was their Luna—the woman they had respected, defended, upheld as the perfect image of grace and restraint. And now that image was shattering in real time.

Matthew grabbed his shoulder, sweat beading on his brow. "Grey—Alpha—say the word. We rip her throat—"

A pup whimpered softly.

Grey lifted a hand.

The gesture was small—but absolute.

“Turn it off,” he said, his voice low and deadly calm.

The magic circle flickered, then collapsed inward, the image vanishing as ash scattered across the stone floor. Silence crashed down, heavy and suffocating.

Grey stood motionless for a few seconds. "Find who did this!" Grey's bellow erupted, Alpha compulsion slamming like a shockwave. Wolves buckled—knees hit gravel, gasps ripped free, a few pissed themselves in submission. Growls faded to whimpers, but the air hummed volatile, eyes feral. Grey didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

The Alpha command rolled out—cold, absolute, resonating through the square without being directed at anyone in particular. And yet, there was no confusion about who it was meant for.

Matthew reacted instantly.

He dropped to one knee, fist pressed to his chest. “Yes, Alpha.”

In the next breath, his form blurred. Bones shifted, fur rippling over skin as he took his wolf shape and launched forward, sprinting toward his target without hesitation.

Meanwhile, Patrick knew they would come baying soon. No time to waste. He bolted to his chamber drawer, heart slamming ribs, fingers scrabbling for the magic artifact—his escape lifeline. Empty. Smooth wood mocked him.

"Fuck!" The curse exploded raw, spitting out a spray of saliva. He ripped the pillow from his bed, feathers bursting like blood spray—nothing. Dropped to his knees, cheek scraping gritty floorboards as he clawed underneath. It was neat and clear. Nothing.

Then he heard it.

The unmistakable sound of paws pounding against stone, closing in. Wolves. More than one. They were coming. Patrick spun toward the window without another thought. Capture was not an option. Torture would follow—and torture meant questions. Questions meant names.

He wouldn’t break.

Better to die than live long enough to betray his Alpha.

He vaulted through the window without hesitation, glass shattering behind him as he disappeared into the open air, but Patrick never hit the ground. A surge of magic snapped tight around his body mid-fall, wrenching him back with brutal force. Invisible restraints locked around his limbs, suspending him in the air as his breath tore from his lungs.

Matthew stood at the window above, eyes glowing faintly as he clenched his fist.

“You’re not dying today,” the Beta said coldly.

With a sharp pull, the magic dragged Patrick back inside. He hit the stone floor hard, the impact knocking the wind from him before the bindings tightened further, rendering him completely immobile.

Moments later, he was hauled through the pack house corridors in silence—guards flanking him, magic still coiled around his body like chains. They took him down. Deep beneath the pack house, past sealed doors and wards, lay the underground holding chambers. The air was cold and heavy there.

Patrick was forced to his knees in the center of the chamber.

The restraints dissolved only enough to let him breathe.

Grey stood waiting.

Shadows clung to the Alpha, his expression carved from stone, eyes glacial and unreadable. The bond still churned violently in his chest—but his voice, when he finally spoke, was calm.

“Tell me,” Grey said quietly, “who ordered you to expose what you recorded?”