Chapter 12 The Crown Slips
Cierce woke to pain.
It throbbed behind her eyes first, a deep, punishing ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. Then her neck screamed—hot, tight, wrong. The moment she tried to move, the memories slammed into her like a second blow.
Draven’s face twisted with rage.
His hand around her throat.
The sharp, unmistakable snap.
Her breath hitched.
A low hiss tore from her lips as she forced herself upright, fingers clutching the sheets. The room tilted briefly, but she rode it out, jaw clenched, refusing to let weakness take root. Alpha females did not cower in bed. They did not lie broken.
Her fist slammed down hard against the mattress.
“He broke my neck,” she growled aloud, voice rough with fury. “He broke my neck because of that bitch.”
Elara.
The name burned.
Her wolf surged restlessly beneath her skin, pacing, snarling, furious at the humiliation more than the pain. Cierce inhaled slowly through her nose, steadying herself only to still when her ears caught something out of place.
Voices.
Low. Careful. Close.
Her gaze snapped toward the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar, just enough for sound to slip through.
“…should’ve healed faster,” a voice murmured.
Another, uncertain. “She’s an Alpha female. Shouldn’t take this long.”
A pause. Then quieter, edged with disbelief. “Guess even she bleeds slower when she’s knocked down.”
Cierce’s lips curled.
She didn’t move at first. Let them talk. Let them dig the hole deeper.
“Maybe Draven finally saw what she really is,” the first voice added. “Not Luna. Never was.”
That did it.
“Do you both realize,” Cierce said coolly, “that I can hear every word you’re saying?”
Silence crashed into the room.
The bathroom door creaked wider. Two younger she-wolves stood frozen just inside, eyes wide, faces draining of color. One opened her mouth, then shut it again, throat bobbing.
“We—we were just—”
“Just what?” Cierce asked, rising slowly to her feet. The movement sent a spike of pain through her neck, but she welcomed it. Pain sharpened her temper. “Speculating? Gossiping in my room?”
Her aura rolled out without warning.
It wasn’t deliberate. It never was when she was angry like this. Alpha dominance poured from her in a crushing wave, slamming into the two wolves and driving them back a step. Their knees buckled slightly, wolves whimpering under the pressure.
“Get out,” Cierce said, voice cold as cut stone.
They didn’t hesitate. They fled, nearly tripping over each other as they scrambled through the doorway and vanished down the hall.
The door slammed behind them.
Cierce stood there breathing hard, chest rising and falling as her aura receded. Her wolf snarled, unsatisfied, claws itching to tear something apart.
“I can’t believe this,” she snapped to the empty room.
She turned on the bed, grabbing the edge of the mattress and flipping it with a furious shove. The frame cracked as it hit the wall. Pillows followed. A chair splintered beneath her kick.
“How dare they,” she shouted, voice echoing. “How dare they talk about me like I’m already dead!”
Her wolf pushed closer to the surface, vision sharpening, nails elongating slightly as rage took full control. This was her pack. She had bled for it. Had stood beside Draven for years while everyone else bowed. She had worn the title of Luna without ceremony because everyone knew it would be hers.
Until Elara.
Cierce stalked into the bathroom and planted her hands on the counter, staring at her reflection. Her eyes were too bright, silver ringed with fury. Her hair was tangled from sleep, skin pale—but it was the bruise at her neck that made her snarl.
Dark purple. Finger-shaped.
Proof.
Her jaw tightened.
"He did this," she thought bitterly. "After everything."
She had stood by Draven when the pack challenged him. When Rylan hesitated. When Hector interfered. She had smoothed tensions, silenced dissent, carried herself like a Luna long before he ever earned the Alpha title fully.
And he had broken her neck.
For Elara.
“She took everything,” Cierce muttered, turning her head slowly, testing the stiffness. Pain flared, but she ignored it. “Everything that was meant to be mine.”
She splashed water on her face, scrubbing away the lingering weakness. When she straightened again, her expression was hard, resolved. The woman staring back was not broken. She was furious.
Dressed and steady once more, Cierce strode to the door and yanked it open.
Two guards stood immediately outside.
Her brows shot up.
She stepped forward and both wolves shifted subtly, blocking her path.
“Move,” she ordered.
Neither did.
Her gaze hardened. “Do you have any idea who you’re standing in front of? Or should I remind you?”
One guard swallowed. The other avoided her eyes.
“Answer me.”
“We… we were instructed not to let you leave,” the one on the left said finally.
Cierce laughed, sharp and incredulous. “Not let me leave?” She stepped closer, aura pressing against them. “Are you out of your minds?”
The guard flinched. “It’s… it’s temporary.”
“Who,” Cierce demanded, voice dropping dangerously low, “gave you that order?”
They hesitated.
Her aura flared.
“I asked you a question.”
The guard on the left cracked. “Beta Rylan.”
The name landed like an insult.
“Rylan?” Cierce repeated, stunned. Then her lips peeled back in a snarl. “That useless, spineless—”
She cut herself off with a sharp breath, shaking with rage. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed back into her room, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the walls.
House arrest.
By Rylan.
She paced like a caged animal, claws flexing, mind racing. Draven was gone. Rylan was gone. They had left her here humiliated, watched and restrained while they went after Elara together.
Her chest burned.
“This is all her fault,” Cierce hissed. “That halfling worm.”
She stopped abruptly and turned toward the far corner of the room. There, hidden behind a false panel, was a compartment few knew existed. She knelt and opened it, revealing a dusty wooden box beneath.
Her fingers trembled. Not with fear, but anticipation.
She lifted the lid. Inside lay an obsidian crystal, dark and smooth, pulsing faintly as though alive. Beside it rested a smaller black box etched with runes she had memorized long ago.
Cierce smiled slowly.
“If Draven won’t choose me,” she murmured, lifting the crystal, “then I’ll make sure he has no choice left.”
The crystal warmed under her touch, shadows stirring across its surface.
“I need you to find her,” Cierce said softly, voice laced with promise and threat alike. “Elara. And I need you to get to her first.”
The shadows shifted, forming the vague outline of a man.
“And the Alpha?” the voice asked, amused.
“And the Beta,” Cierce added, eyes blazing. “Make sure neither of them reaches her before you do.”
A pause. Then a low chuckle.
“As you wish.”